Bella laughed. “Doesn’t everyone make bad judgment calls at least half of the time? Well, maybe not Ariel. She always seemed to know the right thing to do.”
“I’m sure she suffered her own agonies of indecision,” Frieda said. “Just because she didn’t talk about her interior struggles doesn’t mean she didn’t endure them.”
“Yeah. Do you think she wrote about her thoughts in all those notebooks she kept? She must have. I mean, what else is there to write about? Unless she was writing poems and stories, and even then they had to have been about her in some way, right?”
“I don’t know,” Frieda admitted. “But you’re probably right. Those notebooks are Ariel in a way.” And maybe, she thought, someday I’ll find the courage to read them.
“What’s going on with you and my grandfather?” Bella asked suddenly.
“I’m learning more about him,” Frieda told her. “And about the time we spent together before he left. I’m remembering some things I thought I’d forgotten, good things.”
“So, you’re cool with him calling?”
“Yes. I am.”
“I can’t imagine—”
“What?” Frieda asked.
“I was just going to say I can’t imagine life without my father around. And my father isn’t around.” Bella shook her head. “What I meant to say was I can’t imagine my father leaving me the way your father left you. It seems . . . It seems impossible somehow, though I know it probably happens a lot. The daddy you count on to make pancakes Saturday mornings, the daddy who pumps up your bike tire when it goes flat, the daddy who takes you and your friends to the movies during Christmas break—suddenly he’s not there. If Dad had left me, not died, just walked away, when I was eleven I . . .”
“But he didn’t,” Frieda pointed out, “and he never would have.”
“I know. But you can’t stop yourself from thinking about things that didn’t happen, can you? You can’t stop imagining all sorts of scenarios about what might have been in the past or what might happen in the future. At least, it’s not easy to stop imagining.”
“No. It isn’t easy. And imagining isn’t always a bad thing.” Frieda handed the check back to the hovering waitress. “Well, if we’re done here we should move on. There are the stores on Exchange Street to check out and that gelato place on Fore Street is calling my name.”
Bella leaped to her feet and adjusted her cross-body bag. “About that money I haven’t been spending this summer,” she said. “I think that might be about to change.”
Frieda laughed. “Don’t even tell me how much you have with you!”
Chapter 65
Bella frowned at her phone. Clara was calling her. A third ring, then a fourth. At the tenth ring the call would go to voice mail. There was still time to decide.
The other day at Andie’s Wharf her mother had asked what she found interesting about Clara. Bella hadn’t been able to tell her the truth, that Clara had nothing to offer her and that the only reason she kept spending time with Clara was out of a sense of duty. She wasn’t sure that her mother—or her grandmother for that matter—would agree that she was doing the right thing. Still, there was no reason she couldn’t try to be helpful to someone so clearly in need of help.
Bella answered the call. “Hi,” she said.
“Hey,” Clara said brightly. “What took you so long to answer? It doesn’t matter. I was thinking we should go to the beach. We can work on our tans. I’ve never been so pale in August!”
Clara sounded clearheaded, Bella thought; maybe she hadn’t taken any drugs that morning and surely she wouldn’t be crazy enough to walk around high in public, especially in a place crowded with little kids.
“Sure,” she said. “How about I come by the cottage around one?”
“Great. We’ll take my car and stop for steamers after. I love steamers, don’t you?”
People addicted to drugs usually didn’t want to eat. Clara’s interest in food might be a good sign. Personally, Bella thought steamers were gross, but if Clara wanted to order them, fine. She would get a crab roll. She opened her mouth to respond, but Clara abruptly ended the call without waiting for Bella’s reply.
* * *
A canvas beach bag slung over her shoulder, Bella rang the doorbell of the cottage, and almost immediately it was opened by one of Clara’s housemates. “Sorry,” she said, brushing past Bella. “I’m late for work.”
Bella went inside and passed through the living room, scattered as usual with empty soda cans, water bottles, magazines, bathing suits, and damp towels. When she came to the small room at the back of the cottage she knocked on the closed door. “Clara?” she called. “It’s Bella.”
There was no reply and Bella leaned closer to the door. “Clara?” she called a bit more loudly. Slowly she opened the door and peered inside. There was enough natural light coming in through the small bare windows for Bella to see Clara sitting hunched on the edge of her unmade bed.
Bella closed the door behind her and switched on the lamp that stood on Clara’s dresser. As she did so she noted no sign of the hypodermic needle that had been there the other day. She also noted that Clara looked awful. Her hair was obviously unwashed. Her eyes were red and swollen and she was still in the T-shirt and sweats Bella knew she slept in.
“What’s wrong?” Bella asked gently. “Why aren’t you dressed? What happened?”
Clara wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Look,” she said, holding out her phone. Bella took it and read the message on the screen.
Marc is seeing someone in CA. Thought u should know. “Who sent this?” Bella asked. “How do you know this is true?”
“A girl from back home sent it. Her brother is Marc’s best friend. She’s not lying.”
“Maybe not,” Bella said, “but she didn’t have to tell you that Marc is seeing someone and not in this way! That was cruel.”
Clara shrugged and put out her hand for the phone.
“Delete the message,” Bella instructed. “Stop rereading it. You’re only torturing yourself.”
Clara clutched the phone but made no effort to delete the message.
“You . . .” Bella hesitated. She didn’t want to make an obviously bad situation worse, but she had to know. “Did you take anything today?” she asked. “Any drugs?”
Clara’s reply was spoken very softly. “No.”
Bella wasn’t sure she believed her, but she probably couldn’t prove that Clara was lying. “Good,” she said. “You’re vulnerable right now. You don’t need—”
“Wait,” Clara interrupted. Suddenly she sat up straight and her eyes took on a look of determination. “I’ve lost the only guy I’ll ever love,” she went on fervently. “You’ve lost your father and your sister. What do we have to live for? I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. Let’s make a suicide pact. We’ll do it together, end all the pain. We’ll make them all feel like shits. They’ll know they hurt us and that it’s all their fault!”
Bella automatically took several steps backward. She was appalled. She hadn’t seen this coming, not at all. Drugs were bad enough, but suicide? And she didn’t want to punish anyone! “Are you crazy?” she cried, not caring if Clara’s housemates heard her. “I don’t want to kill myself! And neither do you!”
“Yes,” Clara insisted, leaning forward. “I do. I’m tired of being alive. I’m tired of being in pain.”
Bella fought the urge to run. She could simply leave the cottage and disappear from Clara’s life. People did it all the time. There was even a name for it on social media. Ghosting. Cutting someone out of your life simply by ignoring her. But that was a cruel thing. It was something Ariel would never do. No, Bella decided. I’ll stay. She would do what she could do, even if it was very little.
Bella knelt by Clara and reached for her hands. “Look at me, Clara,” she commanded, holding her hands tightly. “Look at me.”
Clara did look but only for a second before lowering her eyes
.
“Life is precious, Clara. Don’t throw it away! You only get one chance here, only one chance to watch a beautiful sunset and listen to your favorite music and eat your favorite foods and pet a cute dog and maybe even have a baby someday. One chance!”
Clara sighed and slipped her hands from Bella’s. “I don’t care about any of those things, not anymore,” she said, sounding weary once again. “Not without Marc.”
“Look,” Bella went on, “I know it doesn’t feel like you have anything to live for right now because you’re hurt and you’re sad. But time changes things. You won’t always feel as bad as you feel right now; I promise. All sorts of good things might happen and a lot of them will happen. You just have to believe that.”
Bella had no idea if Clara was really hearing what she was saying, but she had to go on. “I know what loss is,” she said urgently. “But I also know that it’s so much better to be alive than dead. Life is so much better than oblivion.”
Clara suddenly laughed wildly, causing Bella to flinch. “Don’t tell me you actually believe that crap!” she cried.
“Yes,” Bella replied fiercely. “I do, and it’s not crap. Maybe I didn’t believe it for a while, but I do now. I don’t want to die, ever, but I know that someday I am going to die so I want to make every single day I have count. I want to live.”
Clara was quiet for a long moment and Bella hoped it was because she was seriously thinking about what she had just heard. “Do you really believe that good things might happen for you?” Clara asked then, almost in a whisper. “That good things might happen for me?”
“Yes,” Bella repeated. “I absolutely believe that one hundred percent.”
Clara turned away. “All right,” she said quietly. “I won’t kill myself.”
“Swear it, Clara,” Bella demanded. “Look at me and swear it.”
Slowly Clara turned back, and Bella saw a great weariness in her eyes. “I swear,” she said. “Really.”
Bella believed her. She had to believe her. “Let’s go to the beach like we planned. You shouldn’t be driving right now, so we’ll walk. It’s not far and the sun and fresh air will do you good.”
Clara shook her head. “No. I want to stay here,” she said.
To do drugs? To think dark thoughts? To indulge again in a fantasy of ending her own life? “Then I’ll stay with you for a while,” Bella said.
“No. I want to be alone. I’ll be fine.”
Bella sighed. “Look,” she said, “at least take a hot shower and put on some clean clothes. You’ll feel better. Okay?”
Clara nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”
“And you need to eat something. I could make you a sandwich before I go. I’m sure there’s something in the fridge. Everybody has peanut butter and jelly.”
“No,” Clara said with a small smile. “That’s okay. I’ll get something myself.”
“All right. Look, call me later if . . . If you need to talk.”
Bella hesitated another moment and then left the room. She didn’t close the door entirely. Maybe one of Clara’s housemates would be moved to check on her. But Bella knew that wasn’t likely. Clara hadn’t exactly endeared herself to the other girls.
Bella walked through the living room, down the broken steps, and out onto the front lawn. Suddenly she felt exhausted, more exhausted than she had ever felt in her life. She had never experienced a conversation like the one she had just had with Clara, if it could be called a conversation and not an encounter with naked despair. Before getting on her bike she walked over to the big pine tree at the edge of the yard, dropped her canvas bag to the ground, and sank down against the tree’s trunk. The branches provided a degree of shade and, more important, a sense of safety, something Bella realized she very much needed at the moment.
She wondered what Ariel would do in this situation, faced with a friend who wanted to take her own life. She was sure that Ariel would have seen long before now what Bella hadn’t seen, that Clara needed help and not from another teen but from a professional. But Bella still felt she owed Clara a degree of personal responsibility. And what about Clara’s responsibility for me? she thought. Clara wanted me to commit suicide. How could she possibly care one bit for me if she wanted me to die? Bella felt a surge of anger. To try to persuade someone you called a friend to end her life just so you wouldn’t be alone when you ended yours was the most unbelievably selfish act, the most outrageously awful suggestion, Bella could imagine. Yeah, it was probably unfair to be angry with someone so obviously unwell. But how could she not be?
It was some time before Bella got to her feet, picked up her bag, retrieved her bike, and rode back to the house she was very happy to call home—and to the people who truly cherished her. The people she never, ever wanted to hurt.
Chapter 66
Frieda had brought a book outside with her—one of the Agatha Raisin stories by M. C. Beaton—but at the moment her attention was entirely focused on the neighbor’s cat Stanley, who was making his way stealthily across her mother’s backyard. Stanley was a distinctive fellow. His ears were enormous, massive furry white triangles set atop a white head far too small for them. His nose was the feline equivalent of a classic Roman nose, with a sort of majestic bump to it normally not found in a domestic breed, and all four paws were black, as was the tip of his tail. The sight of Stanley slinking along, stalking real or imaginary prey, always made Frieda smile. As long as she didn’t have to witness the actual kill.
When Stanley was out of sight behind the azalea bushes at the far end of the yard, Frieda opened her book, but she found her mind wandering to the lovely day she and Bella had shared in Portland. A degree of real reunion had been accomplished. Real communication had taken place. And Frieda fervently hoped that she wouldn’t damage that rapprochement by reintroducing what had been such a sore topic for Bella.
It had been several weeks since Frieda had broken things off with Jack, and since then she had had a lot of time to think about her future. And what she had come to accept was that she simply did not want to be alone going forward. She loved the idea of marriage as well as the daily practice of it; marriage had nurtured her and she had flourished within its bounds. A solitary life was a good and valid choice for some—it had been for Ruby for a very long time and it was for Phil as well—but not for Frieda. She had come to realize there was no shame in needing another person. She didn’t have to prove to anyone—not even to herself—that she was tough enough to stand on her own. If a solitary life were forced upon her she would accept that life. But she probably wouldn’t like it very much.
“Hey, Mom.”
Frieda smiled. Bella had come into the backyard from around the side of the house.
“Hi. I thought you were going to the beach this afternoon.”
Bella shrugged and sank into the chair next to Frieda’s. “Clara had to go into work at the last minute and I didn’t feel like going on my own, so I came home. I figured you might be here and we could hang out.”
Frieda reached for her daughter’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sorry you missed out on the beach, but I’m glad you’re here.”
“It’s so peaceful at Grandma’s,” Bella said with a sigh. “It’s like a sanctuary or something. I’m glad we have this house we can come to. I feel like nothing bad can happen to us here, that all negative stuff from the outside world gets stopped at the door. I know that can’t really be true, but that’s how being here makes me feel.”
“I feel that way, too,” Frieda said. “Grateful for the security Grandma’s house offers us.” Frieda looked more closely at her daughter. “Did anything in particular bring on those observations?” she asked.
“No,” Bella said.
Frieda wasn’t entirely convinced, but she didn’t push for a more honest answer. “You just missed Stanley on the prowl.”
Bella smiled. “He must be twelve or thirteen by now. Did he catch anything?”
Frieda shuddered. “No, thankfully. I love Stanl
ey, but I hate watching him toy with a poor little mouse or chipmunk.”
“Mother Nature isn’t pretty. That’s what Grandma always says.”
“And she’s right.” Frieda considered. Now might be as good a time as any to broach the topic of the future. At least she could sound the waters. “Bella,” she said. “I’ve been doing some serious thinking in the past few weeks.”
“Yeah.” Bella laughed. “Me, too. I feel like I’ve done more thinking this summer than I have in my whole life.”
Frieda nodded. “I know exactly what you mean. Bella, I’m sure you’re aware that I haven’t been spending time with my old friend Jack.”
“Yeah,” Bella said, shifting in her chair. “I figured . . . I mean, yeah.”
“Well,” Frieda went on. “I’ve been thinking that I would like to see him again. I would like to get to know him. I would like to see if we might actually be friends. Assuming, of course, that’s what Jack wants, too, and I have no idea if he does. I’m afraid I didn’t handle things quite as well as I might have when I told him I couldn’t see him any longer.”
Bella didn’t reply immediately. Finally, looking out over the yard, she asked, “Did you tell him why you couldn’t see him?”
“I told him that it wasn’t a good thing for you and me.” It was a slight manipulation of the truth but one Frieda thought justified.
“Oh.”
“How do you feel about this, Bella?” Frieda asked, watching her daughter’s profile closely. “I want us to be clear with each other.”
Bella turned to look at her mother. “I guess it’s okay,” she said. “What I mean is, I know you don’t have to have my permission to do what you want to do.”
“No,” Frieda agreed, “but I’d like your support.”
“I just wish . . . I just wish you’d been more honest with me before. Like maybe brought him around or something.”
“I should have been more honest,” Frieda said. “You’re absolutely right. It was another mistake in judgment.”
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