As Close as Sisters

by Colleen Faulkner

  I tried not to think about the first time Buddy came into my room.

  I had gotten really good at blocking the memories, but sometimes they seeped through the cracks . . . or just exploded in my head.

  My mother had gone away overnight to see her sick aunt or something and taken my brother with her. I was twelve. Twelve fucking years old. He’d just walked into my bedroom in the dark and climbed into bed with me . . . climbed on top of me. He didn’t say a word. I didn’t even realize what was going on until it was too late. Then I only struggled for a second before he wrapped his hand around my throat and told me if I made a sound, if I ever made a sound, to anyone, first he would kill my dog Scooter, then he would kill my brother, then my mother, and then me. He told me that because he was a cop, he knew how to get away with it.

  At the time, I remember being the most afraid for my dog, of all things.

  That intimidation worked for a while. Then, when I got older, he started in on the whole idea that it was all my fault, what he did to me. How I had tempted him. How I made him do it. How nasty I was. How ashamed my mother, my friends would be if they found out.

  I believed him. I believed it was my fault, and I was so afraid someone would find out. When I started becoming friends with Lilly, McKenzie, and Aurora, I remember being petrified they would, somehow, know what my father did to me in my bedroom at night.

  I thought it was my fault, but not Aurora. Not Aurora who was able to recognize Buddy for the monster that he was, and was willing to protect herself.

  Like sand shifting under my feet, I moved back to the present. Aurora. Aurora was out here somewhere. I gazed north, up along the waterline.

  I felt bad that Aurora thought I would care why she went downstairs and got the pistol that night. That I would think any less of her, knowing her true motivation. She stopped him when I couldn’t. End of story.

  I felt bad for Aurora, but it also ticked me off a little that she thought I would care. All these years she’s known me and she didn’t know me any better than that? I’d always suspected Aurora was screwed up in the head, but this . . . guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.

  I found her T-shirt and shorts about three blocks north of the house. I recognized the artsy graphic shirt she’d been wearing. At least she hadn’t gone in naked.

  I stood at the edge of the water, my bare feet wet, trying to spot her in the water. “Come on, Aurora,” I murmured. “Don’t be an idiot.” It had crossed my mind back at the house, and again when I was walking, that she could drown, as drunk as she was, as upset as she was. But Aurora was stronger than that. Better than that. I knew she wouldn’t do that to us.

  Fritz stared out into the dark water. Whined.

  “I don’t know,” I told the dog. We stood there for a long time, then I sat down, next to her clothes, willing to wait until she came back for them. Even if it meant sitting there all night.

  Maybe another twenty minutes passed before I thought I spotted someone in the water, north, swimming south, beyond the breakers. I stood up, and Fritz and I walked to the edge of the water. It was dark, and the moon hadn’t come up yet so I couldn’t see much. As the swimmer got closer, I recognized the stroke. It was Aurora, all right.

  I called her name. She didn’t answer, but the swimmer headed in for the beach.

  When she walked out of the ocean, water streaming off her hair, I was waiting with the towel. Neither of us said a word as I picked her clothes up off the sand. We just started walking south, her in her bra and panties, me with my dog and her clothes.

  We walked all the way back to the house in silence. An oddly comforting silence. I could tell Aurora was spent, physically and emotionally. And mostly sober. I found another towel hanging from a hook next to the outside shower, and I offered it to her after she rinsed off and wrung out her long blond hair. She dropped her bra and underwear and wrapped one towel around her head and the other around her naked body. I scooped up her clothes and followed her up the steps to the deck and into the house.

  “Janine?” McKenzie called from the bedroom. Then, hesitantly, “Aurora?”

  Aurora walked into Mack’s room, and I went in behind her. McKenzie was lying in the bed, in a sleep tee and boxers. Lilly was in one of her silly, white, little girl nightgowns. Curled up asleep beside McKenzie.

  I was halfway in the room when I realized that McKenzie wasn’t wearing a scarf or one of her nighttime terrycloth turbans. She was bald, except for the slightest cast of red peach fuzz on her head. I didn’t say anything about it.

  McKenzie pushed up on her elbow and put out her hand to Aurora. In just the towels, she climbed into the bed and stretched out, sandwiching the sleeping Lilly between her and McKenzie. McKenzie laid her head on the pillow, but she was watching me.

  “There’s not enough room,” I argued, knowing exactly what she wanted, without her having to say it.

  She tilted her fuzzy head ever so slightly, beckoning me. I glanced over my shoulder at Fritz, who had settled down in the doorway between the dark house and the pale light of the bedroom.

  I hesitated. Then gave in and climbed into bed. It was a close fit with the four of us. I didn’t have a lot of room, especially since I tried to lie there for a minute without touching Aurora. But then she rolled onto her side, throwing her arm around Lilly’s belly. McKenzie met my gaze over the two of them and then shut out the light and lay down.

  I rolled over and put my arm over Aurora to touch Lilly’s belly . . . and to feel the warmth of McKenzie’s hand. I closed my eyes against the tears that stung them. We had done this when we were in middle school, all slept together. And in high school, and occasionally in college. But I couldn’t remember ever having slept like this in our adult lives. All lying together in the same bed, and feeling the rise and fall of each other’s chests with each breath.

  I drifted off to sleep.

  33

  McKenzie

  When I woke in the morning, I found myself alone in my big bed. I could smell coffee brewing; the scent of Lilly’s perfume was still on my pillow. When I rolled over, I was surprised to see that the digital clock displayed nine forty. I couldn’t believe I’d slept in so late on such an important morning.

  I dressed and stood in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of the room, trying on a paisley scarf, discarding it, and then putting on a ball cap. I had a collection now. I tugged on the brim, then yanked off the hat and tossed it.

  I studied myself in the mirror for a minute and found I was caught between feeling self-conscious about my fuzzy head and the sentiment of liberation. Why was I bothering with the hats? They’d all seen me without it last night. No one had even commented on it. And Chris wouldn’t know that I’d once had long red hair. And she already knew I had terminal cancer.

  Looking at myself, I suddenly saw a correlation. All these years, Aurora had assumed we would think less of her if we knew she had killed Buddy to save herself. It hurt me; it hurt all of us to think we would judge her. Was I doing the same thing to them, underestimating my friends, on a smaller scale? Why did I think any of them cared what my head looked like? It certainly wouldn’t be an issue for me if it were one of them who was sick. Weren’t we beyond such trivial things?

  I left the hats and scarves on the dresser, put on my silver starfish earrings, and went out into the living room. I stopped at the bathroom, then followed the smell of the coffee, wondering if I dared try a cup. Maybe just a half cup, black or with a little sugar? It smelled so good.

  In the kitchen, Lilly was busy arranging bacon on crumpled foil on a cookie sheet. She was dressed in her signature capris and a cute top with an apron tied around her waist. Lilly is the only person I have ever known, other than my grandmother, who has ever worn an apron. Janine and Aurora sat on stools at the island, sipping from mugs.

  “McKenzie!” Lilly waved both hands. “She’s on her way. She’ll be here any minute. I’ll get you a cup of tea. I found a teapot. I knew it was here somewhere,”
she chattered. “No loose tea, but I still think it’s nice, brewing it in a teapot. Don’t you?” She poured water from the teakettle into a white-and-yellow primrose teapot. It had to have been something she’d brought from home, sometime in the past. It was too cutesy to be anything the three of us would have brought.

  I looked from Aurora to Janine. Neither looked worse for wear after last night. Aurora didn’t look like she even had a hangover. Janine was freshly showered, and if I didn’t know better, I would have thought she was wearing tinted lip balm.

  Aurora nudged a stool in my direction with her bare foot. She was in a tank top and white shorts, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. No makeup, no earrings. Still, a perfect face.

  “Should we carry the table out onto the deck?” Lilly asked. She put the tray of bacon in the oven and set the timer. “I love to eat outside, but I know it’s a pain to stack the Adirondacks and carry the table out and back in.”

  “I should have made the deck bigger when I had it rebuilt. You told me to make it bigger,” Janine told Lilly.

  “Right.” Lilly considered that for a moment. “But the permits were going to be a pain in the butt. And I don’t know if you would have gotten the variance. I was talking to Lori, two houses down. She had a heck of a time with her driveway permit. The town really cracked down on the rules.” She went back to the teapot, lifted it, swirled the hot water inside, and poured tea into my favorite blue mug.

  “I think making the deck bigger would have made the house look weird from the shore,” Aurora put it. “It would have ruined the lines, architecturally. You did the right thing.”

  “We don’t have to move the table, Lilly. We’ll push back all the curtains. You see the ocean from the table.” Janine sipped her coffee. “It’ll be fine. It’s not the president of the United States coming to breakfast. I really don’t want this to be a big deal.”

  I added sugar to my tea. “Speaking of big deals . . .” I looked from one of them to the next. “Are we going to talk about last night?”

  Aurora raised her eyebrows as if I had said the most ridiculous thing. “You want to talk about that?” She pointed to my fuzzy head.

  I refrained from stroking it. Instead, I stirred my tea, liking the sound the spoon made against the mug. “Nothing to talk about,” I said.

  Janine made eye contact with Aurora. “Works for me.”

  “I’m not apologizing for getting drunk, if that’s what you’re waiting for.” Aurora held up her hand. “If I can’t drink too much and make an ass out of myself in front you guys, where can I?”

  “You didn’t make an ass of yourself, Aurora,” Lilly said sympathetically. “I think McKenzie’s right. I think we should talk about it. See how everyone is feeling this morning. Don’t you, Janine?”

  Janine shook her head once. “Nope. I’m tired of rehashing the rehash. Aurora’s shocking revelation wasn’t that shocking. She’s probably disappointed,” she joked.

  “So . . .” Aurora clapped her hands together. “Let’s talk about what we all really want to talk about.” She spun on the stool to face Janine. “What do we need to know about Chris?”

  Janine closed her eyes, her fingers wrapped around her mug. “This is a bad idea. I knew it was a bad idea.”

  “No, no, it’s a wonderful idea.” Lilly plugged in the waffle maker. “I hope Chris likes waffles. I decided against eggs. You think bacon and waffles is enough? We’ve still got fresh fruit I cut up yesterday. And Greek yogurt. I could make eggs. Scrambled or fried. I don’t like fried eggs, but—”

  “Lilly!” Janine interrupted.

  We all started laughing.

  “Please,” Janine said. “Let’s just have a nice breakfast and pretend like this is not a big deal. Please?” She put her hands together, begging.

  Lilly sighed loudly and dramatically. She knew the role she played with us, and she played it well. “I’m not making a big deal.” She poured a carton of orange juice into a glass pitcher. “It’s just breakfast.” She carried the pitcher and five glasses on a tray out of the kitchen.

  Janine rolled her eyes and reached for her coffee. I wished I’d had my phone to catch the eye roll on video. Realizing I’d left my phone plugged in to the wall in the bedroom, I took a sip of tea and went to go get it. I was brushing some blush on and was checking out my eyelash stubble when I heard Fritz bark.

  “She’s here!” Lilly squealed in the other room. “I’m so excited. She’s here!”

  I heard Fritz run through the living room into the kitchen. I threw on some peach-colored lipstick. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to look nice for Janine’s girlfriend. It wasn’t like she and I were going to have a long-term relationship.

  As I came out of my bedroom, I heard the back door open. Janine’s voice.

  I walked into the kitchen, phone in hand, as Fritz shot into the kitchen from the laundry room. I was really tempted to hit the record button on my phone, for posterity’s sake. But if I did, I knew there was a possibility Janine might drop my phone into my mug of tea.

  Janine walked into the kitchen, followed by a blond man. A man. She stopped inside the doorway, and he stopped. He was in his late thirties, possibly early forties, nice build. He was wearing board shorts almost identical to Janine’s, a faded surf-shop T-shirt, and dark, wraparound sunglasses.

  For a second, none of us said anything. Even Lilly was at a loss for words.

  Janine pointed at the man beside her. “Chris,” she introduced. Then she pointed at each of us. “McKenzie, Aurora, and Lilly.”

  He took off his sunglasses. He was average looking, with brown eyes, but he had the nicest smile. “Great to finally meet you all. I had to practically beg Janine to get an invite.”

  “Chris?” Lilly breathed. “Chris!” She rushed over, wiping her hands on her apron. “We are so glad to finally meet you. We’ve been threatening Janine to come find you on our own if she didn’t invite you over.” She grabbed his hand and shook it with both of hers.

  Aurora was looking at Janine and then she burst out laughing.

  I was grinning, ear to ear.

  Chris looked up. “What?” He smiled and laughed because all of us were smiling, I’m sure.

  “Nothing.” I came forward, offering my hand. “It’s just so nice to finally meet you, Chris.”

  At noon, Lilly, Aurora, and I headed down to the beach, walking single file over the dunes. We’d left Janine on the back deck, talking with Chris. Lilly had tried to convince him to come back for dinner, but Janine said she’d had enough big happy family for one day. We’d made arrangements, instead, for him to come back Wednesday night. We’d gotten a highly sought after permit for a bonfire on the beach, and he was invited to come then instead.

  “Holy Christ,” Aurora said, carrying a striped canvas beach chair in each hand. On her back, she wore a woven textile backpack with her towel and suntan lotion in it. The chairs were for Lilly and me.

  “Holy Christ,” she repeated. Then she looked over her shoulder to Lilly, who was walking between us. “You notice I didn’t say holy fu—”

  “And I appreciate that,” Lilly interrupted. “As does my unborn child.”

  I trooped behind Lilly, in flip-flops because the sand is always hot. I was only carrying my small canvas beach bag. I was wearing my dumpy blue swimsuit with a cover-up and a big straw hat. There was no way I was taking my bald head on the beach, even in light of my big reveal. It would sunburn.

  “Did either of you suspect for a minute that Chris was a guy?” Aurora asked, still sounding truly stunned.

  We all were. I certainly was.

  “I had no idea,” Lilly said. “Did she ever say he, referring to him? I feel like I would have noticed. On the other hand, I guess I just assumed Chris was a she because—you know—”

  “Because she’s a lesbian?” Aurora asked.

  “I know I had to lift my jaw up off the kitchen floor.” Lilly adjusted her big straw hat. “I texted Matt. He thinks it’s hilarious. Like
the joke is on us.”

  “I hate to agree with Matt.” Aurora led us toward our usual spot in the sand, just behind and to the left of the lifeguard stand. “But it is kind of funny. That at forty-two years old, Janine’s coming out of the closet,” she threw over her shoulder. “And she’s straight?”

  “I can’t imagine why she didn’t tell us,” Lilly mused. She was wearing a white cover-up over a pink swimsuit that was amazingly cute for being in a toddler color.

  “Janine and a guy.” Aurora slipped one chair and then the other off her shoulders. She opened mine first. “You think this means she’s bi?”

  “Well, clearly.” Lilly took her chair from Aurora and opened it, setting it next to mine. “I mean, she was definitely in love with Betsy.”

  “Weren’t we all?” Aurora asked.

  Lilly propped her hands on her hips. “But Janine’s never even dated a guy.”

  “That we know of.” I dropped my bag in the sand and sat down to catch my breath. It wasn’t that hot out today, so I wasn’t that out of breath.

  “What’s the world coming to?” Aurora took her towel from her backpack and flapped it in the air before laying it in the sand. “There are certain things you’re supposed to be able to depend on in life. The sun rises in the east.” She gestured toward the ocean. “And Janine only dates girls.”

  I reached for my sunblock spray. “You sound disappointed.”

  Aurora stretched out on her stomach on her towel. Today, her teeny bikini was tie-dyed. “I do, don’t I?”

  34

  Janine

  I dawdled around the house for at least twenty minutes after Chris left, putting off the inevitable. I took out the garbage. I rinsed out Fritz’s water bowl. I even checked my e-mail.

  I knew Aurora, Lilly, and McKenzie were going to have the same question Chris had posed the minute he and I were alone. The same question I’d been turning over in my head for days, weeks . . . months.

  I know why, in the beginning, I didn’t tell them Chris was a guy. Why I didn’t tell Chris I hadn’t told them he was a guy. I was uncertain of the relationship. Uncertain of myself. All I’d ever been is a lesbian. It was the way I identified myself. This was a big deal for more reasons than anatomy.