As Close as Sisters

by Colleen Faulkner

  “Then I suggest that you take better care of the phone you buy yourself.”

  I looked up to see Mia’s and McKenzie’s gazes meet and caught a hint of identical smiles.

  29

  Janine

  “Who’s got the Goldfish crackers?” Lilly leaned forward, eyeing me on the end.

  We were lined up side by side in beach chairs in the sand. The tide was coming in fast. It would be high tide in less than two hours. It was time to go in and shower and let Aurora decide whether she was having Mexican or Chinese food delivered. (Her turn to make dinner.) But none of us were in a hurry to go.

  I took another handful of cheese crackers and passed the bag to McKenzie, who passed it to Aurora, who passed it to Lilly.

  Lilly thrust her hand into the bag. “These things are addictive. I should have never opened the bag.”

  It was nice this time of evening. The beach always cleared after the lifeguards went home, especially after a hot day like today had been. The thermometer outside the kitchen window had hit ninety-six at lunchtime. By this time of day, families had packed up their coolers and sand toys and umbrellas and dragged their sunburned, whining kids off the beach.

  We hadn’t come down today until four. McKenzie had needed to rest. She’d slept a lot of the day or read in her room, which wasn’t something she’d been doing.

  I had suspected, from day one, that maybe she was pretending to feel better than she did, to keep things upbeat. I’d been suspicious enough that yesterday, when she and Lilly were shopping, I had gone into her room to see if she was using the oxygen tank. It had been full, though, and seemed to be in the same place where I’d left it when I carried it in the house almost two weeks ago.

  I glanced at McKenzie as I tossed a cracker into the air and caught it with my mouth. She looked fine to me. She looked pretty good, in fact. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt so she didn’t look so bony. And a canvas bucket hat and new wraparound sunglasses.

  “I need to talk to you guys about something,” McKenzie said. “It’s kind of serious.”

  I groaned out loud and glanced at her. I tossed another cracker into my mouth. “Can it wait?”

  Chris had said the same thing to me last night. I hate these kinds of conversations, the kind that people feel the need to introduce. We’d gotten into it on the phone. One of the only real arguments we’ve had since we moved in together. It was stupid. It wasn’t that I didn’t want Chris to meet McKenzie and Aurora and Lilly, it was just that . . . I didn’t know if I was ready. It seemed like such a big step. Bigger than moving in together. Everyone had liked Betsy so much. (Including me.) I knew they were disappointed when I screwed things up; I guess I didn’t want to disappoint them again.

  “Can it wait until after cocktail hour?” Aurora asked. She was drinking a beer, covered by a neoprene Koozie, advertising the Dogfish Head brewery. Not exactly subtle—alcohol wasn’t permitted on the beach. We didn’t pay much attention to the rule.

  “Looks like you started an hour ago,” McKenzie teased, eyeing the open cooler of empties.

  “Beer doesn’t count.”

  “I’m going to need more munchies if we’re going to have a serious conversation,” I put in, trying to continue to keep things light.

  “I’ve got licorice.” Lilly produced a two-pound bag of red licorice from her canvas beach bag. She opened the package, took two pieces, and passed it down.

  Aurora took a piece. (Beer and red licorice?) McKenzie took two. I was afraid this was going to be a three-piece chat. My eating habits were slipping fast; I was drinking too much. Eating too much sugar, too much fat. I don’t like how it makes me feel, which was out of control.

  “I want to talk to you about my funeral.”

  I knew this was coming. Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t brought the subject up sooner. McKenzie has always been the one who likes to organize things. Why would her death be any different?

  I began to peel off strips of licorice. “Do we have to?” I asked.

  “You promised, no more morbid talk today,” Lilly pouted, sticking the piece of licorice in her mouth as she folded up the top of the cracker bag. “We already talked about where you wanted us to take Mia and Maura out for dinner after their high school graduation. I don’t think I can stand any more of this today.”

  “This is important,” McKenzie said, taking a bite of licorice. “It’s important to me that you know what I want. I can’t ask my parents; they’re going to be a mess. And obviously, I don’t want Jared doing it.” She pulled off her sunglasses, looking at me on one side of her, then at Aurora and Lilly on the other. “Which leaves you guys.”

  A big wave washed onto the shore, and the water almost reached our feet. We’d have to pull our chairs back or go up to the house soon.

  None of us said anything.

  “Come on,” McKenzie begged. “I have to know you’ll take care of the details. I’ve written out instructions. They’re on my laptop in a folder called Fini Opus. I need one of you to be the contact person. I’ve already chosen the funeral home. I’m going to be cremated. I don’t want my girls looking at my dead body. I wrote down what songs I wanted for the memorial service, the contact person for Mom’s church, everything you need to know.” She paused. “I’d do it for you.”

  Knife in the gut. I looked past McKenzie to Aurora.

  Lilly was looking at her, too. “Aurora can do it,” she said. “I’ll be too big of a mess. You know I won’t be able to do it.”

  I wanted to be able to tell McKenzie not to worry about it. I really did. That I’ll make sure everything is done to her specifications. It makes sense that it would be me; I live the closest to her and I don’t have a baby and I’m not famous. Who knows what country Aurora will be in when McKenzie passes? I mean, I hope we’ll all be together when it’s really . . . time. But that’s one thing not even McKenzie can plan. Her exact time of death.

  I just can’t imagine myself making those phone calls: the funeral home, the fucking florist. I don’t know anything about grave blankets. Lilly is right. Aurora is the best choice. She’s the strong one. She was the only one of us we can depend on when the time comes.

  McKenzie looked at Aurora.

  Aurora stared straight out at the water rolling in. “Fine.” She took a gulp of beer. “Thanks, guys,” she said, resentment in her voice. Which surprised me.

  McKenzie rubbed Aurora’s bare arm. “I knew I could count on you. I’ll send you the file. You don’t even have to open it until . . . you have to.”

  Aurora just sat there, staring out at the water, drinking her beer, and I just sat there looking at her. We all did. No one said it, but I knew what the three of us were thinking. It was certainly what I thought of every day of my life. How thankful I was to have Aurora. She’s my hero. Our hero.

  30

  Aurora

  Saturday morning I walked out onto the front deck, coffee in hand, to find McKenzie sitting alone. “Morning.”

  She smiled up at me. She was wrapped up in a beach towel. It had to be eighty-five degrees already. How the hell could she be cold?

  “Good morning.” She cradled a mug of tea between her hands. “You sleep well?”

  “Sure.” Which was a lie. How could I have possibly slept? I’d laid in bed the first half of the night thinking about making funeral arrangements for her. The second half, thinking about Jude.

  Last night, we’d hashed out, ad nauseam, the whole Jude situation over Thai takeout. Janine had said she thought his reaching out was important to the next step in our relationship. His and mine. I think she’s full of shit. She was just saying that because she thought it was what I wanted to hear. Lilly thought that maybe the fiancée would encourage Jude to see more of me. That was just Lilly and her rainbows and unicorns. I know very well that I’ll never see my son again, and all of us sitting around discussing it for hours isn’t going to change that.

  I looked at McKenzie. “You know,” I said, “you don’t
have to wear a hat all the time. It’s starting to bug me.” I sat down in the chair beside her.

  She tugged on the brim of her ball cap like she was afraid I might reach over and snatch it off. An impromptu game of keep-away.

  “I can see your hair’s growing back. You’ve got cute little sideburns.” I touched my jawline.

  “I do not.” She made a face at me and sipped her tea.

  “I can see the red. I can’t believe it’s coming in red. You wouldn’t believe how many gray hairs I have.”

  “I look like someone colored my head with a red marker.”

  “Better than bald.” I looked out over the dunes below. Someone must have cut through under the house last night. There was a Coors Light can lying in the dune grass. “How long have you been on the new drug?” I asked, trying to remember if she’d told me when she started it. We hadn’t talked about the drug trial since the first night here.

  She glanced in the direction of the open door.

  “Where’s everyone else?” I asked.

  “Lilly went back to bed. Janine is running.” She picked up her cell phone and checked the time. “Long run. She’s been gone an hour.”

  “So it’s no one but us.” I studied her green eyes, maybe the prettiest green eyes I’ve ever seen. “How long have you been on the drug?”

  She held on to the mug like it was a life vest and glanced away. “Eleven weeks.”

  “Maybe it’s working.”

  “It’s not working. There’s a beer can in the dunes.” She pointed. “Two. Someone should pick them up.”

  I ignored the cans and her ploy to distract me. “Your hair’s growing back. That has to mean something.”

  “Yeah, that my body is getting used to the drug.”

  I thought about that for a minute. “You’re still puking,” I pointed out. I heard her last night. I sat on the stairs and listened, but I didn’t have the guts to come down. What help could I have been? I would have just made her feel shittier than she already felt. “So you’ve got that,” I said, purposefully sounding fakey cheerful.

  “I’ve got that.” She set her mug on the arm of her Adirondack chair. “Aurora, I’m going to tell you the same the thing I’ve told my girls . . . and my mom . . . and Janine . . . and Lilly.” She turned to look at me. She had a solemn look on her face. Too solemn for this time of morning.

  “I’ve given up hope that I’m going to beat this cancer, and it’s time for you to give up hope, too.” She didn’t sound all doomsday. She sounded like herself: calm, confident.

  I shook my head, looking away from her. I can’t stand her looking that way at me. I guess maybe a part of me still doesn’t believe it, which is ironic because I’m the one who always thinks everything is hopeless. “I never thought you were that kind of person, Mack. The kind that gives up.”

  “Well, in this case, I am. You’ve seen the statistics. There’s a zero percent survival rate at this stage.” She was quiet for a second. “I don’t know exactly how to explain this, but . . . Aurora, in a way, this is a relief to me.”

  I don’t want to be here. Not here at the beach house. Certainly not here having this conversation. I think about the ocean and its cold, its darkness. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s a relief to know I’ve done everything I could, so it’s okay. You know . . . to die. I fought the good fight and now . . .” She shrugged under the beach towel. “I don’t have to fight anymore.”

  I didn’t say anything. I just sat there looking at the sand and the sky and the blue deep. I could feel the tide pulling me. Calling me.

  “You understand, don’t you?” she asked.

  I nodded because I did. I didn’t want to, but I did.

  She picked up her mug and took another sip. “I need to go to UPenn in Philadelphia on Thursday for scans and an appointment. For the drug trial. I agreed to it, so I feel like I should. It’s the only way they’re going to beat this kind of cancer. Someday.” She sat back and lifted her bare feet to rest them on the chair, her knees to her chest. “I could probably just drive myself up, but the drive alone—”

  “Not a problem. I need to go to an art galley in Philadelphia, anyway,” I interrupted. It was half-lie, half-truth. “My manager says I need to have lunch with this chick from this art gallery. I’ll make it for Thursday. We can ride up together. You do your thing. I’ll do mine.”

  “That would be great.”

  I was glad she didn’t ask me to actually go to the appointment, and I didn’t offer. It was one thing to let her out the door at the hospital; it was another to go in with her and listen to the death sentence.

  “Janine will be at work, and Lilly said something yesterday about meeting Matt for lunch in Salisbury one day this week. I’ll tell her she should do it Thursday so I can tell them I’m going with you to your lunch,” McKenzie plotted. “Matt bought huge life insurance policies for both of them, and he needs her signature or something.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “Hope he’s not planning on killing her for the money.”

  That made McKenzie laugh. “I don’t know what you have against him. I really don’t. They’re practically perfect together. Way better suited than Jared and I ever were.”

  I didn’t remind her that I warned her not to marry Jared.

  I looked up as Lilly walked onto the deck from the living room.

  She was on her cell phone. “Okay, talk to you later. Love you.”

  “What the hell are you wearing?” I asked her as she lowered herself into her pink chair on the end. She’d been moving them around again. I never understood why she did that.

  “A housecoat,” McKenzie explained.

  I made a face like I was horrified, which I was. It was a hideous white knee-length cotton robe that zipped all the way from the hem to the neckline, and was totally without shape, except for her basketball belly under it.

  “Go ahead, make fun of my housecoat,” Lilly warned, not in the least bit offended. “I’m getting both of you one for Christmas. Matching.” She pointed at me and then at McKenzie. “And I’m going to make you wear them.”

  That evening, we all sat around the table, setting up the Clue game board after having leftovers for dinner. I didn’t care for the game, but it was Lilly’s turn to choose. Had it been me, I’d have gone for something more fun, like Truth or Dare. Janine was tipsy enough that I might have gotten her to do a little striptease. Better yet, Lilly. She wasn’t drinking, of course, but our sometimes-uptight Lilly could be amazingly not uptight when she was in the mood.

  I had a fun day on the beach, and everyone was in a good humor. Lilly and McKenzie had both taken naps, so neither of them was falling asleep on us. Somehow, we’d gotten on the subject of getting caught naked in public places.

  McKenzie had told us about one of Maura’s boyfriends walking into the bathroom as she was stepping out of the shower and how when she reached for the towel on the rack, she came up with an itty-bitty teenage girl’s T-shirt instead. Lilly’s story involved a gym locker room at a health club and wasn’t that funny. Janine refused to contribute. I had the best story, of course. I always do.

  “Wait!” Lilly was laughing so hard that she was pressing one hand to her big belly.

  It’s taken me a while to get used to that belly, but I’ve decided (maybe because I was a little drunk) that I like it. It makes me feel . . . good. Like life really is going on. That kind of bullshit.

  “You’re making that up, Aurora. You were naked on the balcony of the Park Hyatt in Paris? Those balconies are right on Rue de la Paix!” Lilly set stacks of cards in the appropriate places on the game board: one for suspects, one for weapons, and one for the rooms. “I’ve been there. Matt and I stayed there on our fifth anniversary.”

  “It was broad daylight?” McKenzie was setting the pawns in the appropriate starting places, laughing so hard that her eyes were watering.

  “I’m not surprised. Why would anyone be surprised?” Janine took one card from each
pile and slipped it in the solution envelope. “If I saw a naked woman locked out on the balcony of a ritzy hotel, I’d expect it to be Aurora.”

  She and I had started on the gin and Jack before dinner. Even McKenzie was indulging in her allotted glass of pinot grigio.

  She looks good. Her cheeks are a little pink from being out in the sun today. And she looks so happy. It’s why I keep telling these stupid stories. Because they make McKenzie laugh.

  Tonight, she doesn’t even look sick. I don’t care what bullshit she was feeding me this morning about accepting her death. Maybe she doesn’t look like herself, but she doesn’t look like she’s dying, either.

  “So what did you do?” Lilly started to laugh again and then held up her finger as she got out of her chair. “Wait.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw McKenzie raise her phone. I realized what she was doing and started to laugh. Everyone was laughing, though not all for the same reason.

  Lilly was going to be sooo pissed when she saw this segment of the video. Then she’d cry, of course.

  We had talked over dinner about the video diary. McKenzie refuses to let us see it. She wants it to be a surprise. That’s all she’ll say. I wonder if she’ll send it to us once we all go back to our lives in two weeks or if she’ll save it until she dies.

  I wonder if she wants us to play clips at her funeral. Will that be in the funeral instructions she’s going to e-mail me?

  We could, I guess. People do that. Play videos of the deceased. McKenzie has even joked about it. But I know we won’t. Not even if she tells us she wants us to. We won’t because none of us will want to share what has passed between us, here. Not even with the people who love McKenzie, like her mom and dad. This is going to be for us and only us. Maybe always. Maybe whoever of us dies last will have it buried with her.

  “I have to pee,” Lilly said. “Stop right there. Don’t you dare say a word. Anyone. Until I get back.”

  The three of us watched her waddle down the hall and disappear through the bathroom doorway.