The reporter then asked if Marion had turned to her family for help when things began to go sour.
“There wasn’t anyone by then,” Marion replied. “My parents were long gone and I’d had no children. I’d lost touch with my sister when I married. We’d had a falling-out. She thought I was making a mistake marrying the man I did. Well, in the end she was right.”
The reporter asked about friends, and still Evie watched and listened.
Marion laughed bitterly. “Friends might be happy to put you up for a night or two, but who is going to adopt to what amounts to a sixty-three-year-old dependent? Or give money to you when it’s clear you’re always going to need more, and more? Even if you were always generous with them in the past . . . No. When you’re destitute, you have no friends. Not anymore.”
The reporter then asked Marion how she felt about the shelters she frequented.
“The shelters I’m forced to frequent, you mean. I know I should be grateful and I am of course, but . . . There can be trouble. I woke in the middle of the night one day last week to find a man groping at me . . .” The woman turned away from the probing eye of the camera for a moment. “The staff does their best,” she went on when she had recovered her composure. “They’re angels. But they can’t do everything that’s needed.”
Evie still desperately wanted to turn off the TV, but she couldn’t make her finger hit the power button on the remote. She had to know more. Like probing a wound. Like seeing into her own dismal future.
The reporter thanked Marion and moved on to a man sitting at an adjacent table. His name was Tommy. He told her that he had grown up in a family that had been homeless on and off for years. When he was seventeen, he had left his parents and struck out on his own. Evie couldn’t at all guess how old he was. He had no top teeth. He was very skinny and there were dark bags under his eyes. He was wearing a Boston Red Sox T-shirt.
“It’s a cycle,” Tommy was telling the reporter. “What they call a vicious cycle. My mother and father had nothing, no money, no education, no one to help them out when they lost jobs, which they did when they was drinking. Now I got nothing. No way out. That’s what I tell anyone who asks me. No way out.”
“How old are you, Tommy?” the reporter asked.
“I was twenty-eight last month.”
Evie was shocked. So young, so deteriorated, so without hope. Finally, finally, she felt able to press the power button on the remote and the screen went blank. She sank farther into the couch and thought of her father, wherever he was. A man who had lost everything. A man who might, like Marion, be ashamed. A man who might, like Tommy, be caught in a vicious cycle. And there it was in Evie’s heart, a glimmer of sympathy for what her father had suffered, for what he might be suffering now.
The police had investigated the accident that had killed her mother and had concluded beyond a shadow of a doubt that her father was innocent. The medical staff attending to her father had assured her time and again that he wasn’t to blame, that it had all been just a terrible accident, a mischance. “These things happen,” one nurse had murmured over and over as Evie stood staring down at her father in his bed. “No one is to blame.”
But Evie hadn’t believed any of them. She had felt she couldn’t afford to believe them though now, at this great distance, alone in a stranger’s house, Evie wondered if it had been wrong not to believe in her father’s innocence. But if he was indeed innocent, why had he allowed himself to get addicted to those painkillers, to lose his job, his house, his daughter! Guilt. His guilt had driven him to it. His guilt for having killed his wife. Or his belief that he had killed his wife, no matter what the authorities said?
Guilt. Innocence. Evie clutched her head in both hands. What if some day she saw her father on a TV show like the one she had just watched? What if some day she had no other choice but to take refuge in a shelter and what if her father was staying at the same one? “Hi, Dad, what a coincidence!” The thought made her feel sick.
Evie ran up to her temporary bedroom, jammed the chair under the doorknob, and, clutching Ben, she burrowed down under the covers on the bed. She wasn’t sure how long she could go on like this. Maybe she should just give up and go back to her aunt and uncle’s house. Of course, they might not take her in; they were probably really mad at her for running off. But if they did take her in it would only be for two years, until she turned eighteen, and then . . . And then she would be right back to where she was now. Alone.
Chapter 46
The letters charged at her, huge and densely black, capital letters zooming toward her face and only at the very last moment darting off to the left or to the right. And all the while she was dodging the M and the B and the Z she was desperately trying to free her father, prisoner in a jail cell of black and white squares. All the while she was desperately trying to solve the crossword puzzle that stretched across the sky before her. “I can’t think, I can’t think!” she cried. “Five down, ten across, a thirteen letter word.” From inside the bars of the puzzle her father tried to speak. He was trying to help her. He opened his mouth to give her a clue, but not a word would come out. His lips refused to form the words that would save him. And then he shook his head. It’s hopeless, he was thinking. I can’t help you! “But it can’t be hopeless” she cried. “If only I can think harder I can get you out!” But the theme of the puzzle, she couldn’t discern the theme! First it was one thing and then it was another and still one by one the white squares darkened, blotting out the sight of her father, inexorably imprisoning him, burying him behind the blackness and still Daisy, pulling her hair in frustration, couldn’t find the right words to set him free.... Only three white squares left. Two. Only when the final white square was beginning to darken did Daisy wake, haunted by the image of only her father’s anguished eyes peering out at her from his doom.
“It’s that time of year again,” Joel said.
Daisy was slumped in one of the Adirondack chairs her father had loved so much, sweating. Joel, looking cool as the proverbial cucumber and entirely unwrinkled, was sitting next to her in his own chair. Just out of earshot Violet was crouched among her herbs. So hot. So humid. Why am I out in this goop? Daisy wondered. Why am I not inside with the air conditioning blasting?
“What time of year again?” she asked, not really interested in the answer.
“Time for the annual summer party for the groundskeeping crew at The Starfish Hotel and Resort. Swimming in the outdoor pool, free food, decent music if you can stand techno-pop. So, how about it? You’ll be my plus one again?”
At the moment, the idea of going to a party with a bunch of happy, nicely dressed and probably un-sweaty people didn’t appeal to Daisy at all. She was still haunted and depressed by that maddening dream. The awful, Daliesque dream in which she hadn’t been able to release her father from his doom.
“Why don’t you ask Evie, instead?” she suggested. “She has so little and she works so hard. She deserves a fun night out.”
Joel frowned. “You don’t mind? You had such a good time at the party last year.”
Last year my father was alive . . . “No,” Daisy said honestly. “I don’t mind at all.”
“Okay. That’s nice of you, Daisy. I’ll pop over to The Clamshell right now.”
When Joel had gone Daisy finally went inside the house, leaving Violet, who didn’t seem fazed by the dense wet weather, to her plants. She wandered into the sunroom. Her father’s favorite room. She sat in his favorite chair. She felt depressed. She also felt a sort of free-floating anger, but she couldn’t locate its source. Without a second thought she took her cell phone from her pocket and placed a call to Pine Hill. The receptionist put her through to the office of the volunteer coordinator. “This is Daisy Higgins,” she told the administrative assistant who answered the line. “I’m calling to say that I’m resigning from the volunteer staff.” The admin was sorry to hear the news and asked for Daisy’s reason. Daisy told her that it was personal. The admin didn’t press her.
Why, she wondered, feeling tears come to her eyes. Why had she done it?
Chapter 47
“So, it’s a week from Saturday, from seven until ten. It should be a lot of fun. Well, some fun,” Joel amended. “The music’s usually pretty awful. But we’ll have a perfect view of the water—what you can see of it at night.”
Evie’s initial flush of excitement was rapidly followed by a sort of horror. It was impossible. How could she, Evie Jones, go to a party? Evie Jones couldn’t be part of a crowd. She didn’t even exist. “I don’t have a bathing suit,” she said lamely.
Joel shrugged. “I’m sure you can borrow one from Daisy. Besides, not everyone goes swimming. You could wear whatever you have. Shorts and a T-shirt would be fine. There’s no dress code.”
Still Evie hesitated. Hanging out with so many people could be dangerous; what if she got nervous and let something slip, something important, like her real birthday or her real name? She had already made a mistake by having Daisy and Joel to Nico’s house. For days afterward she had expected to find one of Nico’s friends at the front door, saying he had seen Daisy and Joel at the house, telling her that he had called Nico in Tangiers and that Nico had told his friend to throw her out. The friend, of course, would be accompanied by a burly policeman.
“Say yes,” Joel coaxed. “There’s always a big spread—including lobster rolls, but maybe you’ve had your fill of them working here—and generally my coworkers are decent people. It’ll be like being on a mini-vacation.”
Evie knew further resistance was hopeless. Joel was trying so hard to convince her to come along she felt it would be insulting to turn him down. He might not want to be her friend any longer. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll go. Thanks, Joel.”
“Great. I’ll pick you up at seven.” With a wave Joel was off and Evie went back to her station behind the order counter at The Clamshell, where it suddenly occurred to her that Daisy must have put Joel up to asking her to the party. Daisy was much closer to Joel than she was and would have been his obvious first choice. Evie wondered how she felt about Daisy’s gesture. She could try to convince herself that she didn’t need special attention, that she didn’t want it. But that would be a lie. She had been so blue after seeing that awful show the other night about homelessness. Maybe a change in routine—thanks to her friends—would nudge her out of her depression. At the very least she could finally get her fill of something other than fish and chips, coleslaw, and the occasional Chinese takeout.
Chapter 48
“Carpe diem.”
“What?” Daisy asked. She and Poppy were in the kitchen. Poppy was prepping for dinner. Daisy was slumped on a stool at the counter, doing not much of anything.
Poppy looked up at her sister. “I didn’t know I’d said that out loud. I was just thinking. My parents—our parents—both died young. Too young. Who’s to say I won’t die young, too?” Or that Daisy or Violet won’t . . . “I’ve only got this one life and here I am, wasting it.”
“Peeling potatoes is a waste of time, isn’t it? The skin is perfectly edible and it has a lot of fiber.”
“I’m not talking about peeling potatoes, but you’re right. Why am I doing it?” Poppy put down the vegetable peeler. “No, I meant that I’m wasting my life by not doing anything important, anything meaningful.”
Daisy frowned. “Gee, sorry being our legal guardian is such a waste of your time. I’m sure Violet and I don’t mean to be ruining your life.”
“I don’t mean that you’re the waste. Really, Daisy, don’t be so touchy. I mean that I want my life to be meaningful like Mom’s and Dad’s were meaningful, out there in the world, affecting the lives of thousands of people for the better. I feel I’ve done absolutely nothing of public value since graduating from college.”
“I thought you liked your job in Boston,” Daisy said. “You were writing articles that lots of people were reading.”
“I wrote about fluff topics, Daisy. What café made the best decaf latte. What nightclub served the weirdest cocktails. Nothing that made a significant difference in anyone’s life. I guess what I’m saying is that I want to have a calling. But a calling just comes to you, I think. I don’t think you can force one.”
“Not everyone can be a superstar, you know,” Daisy said.
“Thanks,” Poppy said dryly. “I do know. And I’m not saying I want or need to be famous. Look, you’ve always known you want to work in the medical profession. Even Violet already knows what she wants to do with her life. Me? I keep drawing a blank.”
“Maybe you should see a career counselor. Or take one of those standardized tests that tell you what you’d be good at.” Daisy grinned. “Maybe your calling is to be an accountant.”
“Ha.”
Poppy went back to peeling the potatoes (vowing it would be the last time she bothered) and Daisy occupied herself by kicking the counter with her sneaker, one of her more annoying habits in her sister’s opinion. And then the kicking stopped.
“You know,” Daisy said suddenly. “When you left for Boston, I was really upset. I think I actually hated you for a while.”
Poppy felt her eyes widen in surprise. “I had no idea you were upset. Mom didn’t say anything to me about it.”
“That’s because I didn’t tell her. I didn’t tell anyone, not even Dad, that I felt you were . . . abandoning me.”
“But why?” Poppy asked. “Why hide how you were feeling?”
“I’m not really sure,” Daisy admitted. “Maybe because I’m stubborn. That’s not really the right word. Perverse? Maybe because I don’t like anyone to know when I feel weak or vulnerable or sad. Anyway, what would you have done if you had known I didn’t want you to move away? Stay home?”
“No,” Poppy said, “but I might have been able to offer you some comfort.”
Daisy shrugged. “I was only being silly, anyway. Everyone leaves. Nothing stays the same for long.”
Poppy sighed. “I can’t argue with that.”
“And that,” Daisy pointed out, “means that this stasis and indecision or whatever it is you feel won’t last forever.”
“You’re right I suppose.”
Daisy grinned. “I’m smart.”
“That, too. You’re way smarter than I am.”
“That’s your problem, Poppy. You’re always putting yourself down! It’s like a reflex. Where did that come from? Not from Mom and Dad. They were, like, ridiculously supportive of us.”
“I know.”
“Even when we were just being ordinary kids they acted as if we were . . . How can I say it? It’s not that they spoiled us . . .”
“No, you’re right. They didn’t spoil us, but at the same time they didn’t push us to be people we weren’t. They just—accepted each of us. Is that it?”
Daisy nodded. “Yeah. That’s it. And you know what? I think that’s pretty rare.”
“Me, too.”
Daisy grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl and loped out of the kitchen.
Poppy now began to cut the potatoes into chunks. She was pleased by the conversation she had just had with her sister. She felt it had been a bit of a breakthrough; she felt now that maybe she and Daisy might become real allies in the new life the family was forging. And maybe the conversation had been possible because a day earlier she had apologized to Daisy for being such a grump about driving her to and from her volunteer job. Really, Poppy was a bit ashamed of her behavior. She wasn’t supposed to let a bad mood affect her conduct toward the girls—the children—who were in her care.
Poppy dumped the potatoes into the pot of water boiling away on the stove. Bad moods aside, Poppy thought, she wa
s still not going to buy Daisy a new phone until the old phone died. Supportive she would be, but she would not ruin her parents’ good work by giving in to her sister’s unreasonable demands!
Chapter 49
Monterey Jack cheese. Pickle relish. Whole wheat bread. It was just after noon and Violet was in the kitchen making herself lunch. She might be feeling anxious and her spirits might be depressed, but her appetite was still strong. Violet was grateful. She really enjoyed food.
After what had happened to her the morning she had read the article in the New York Times, Violet had made it a point to research the topic of anxiety, both on the Internet and in a book she had found in the study. She knew now that she had had a full-blown panic attack.
Anxiety, the experts said, was a natural response to danger, like an alarm that went off when you felt you were being threatened or when you found yourself in a stressful situation. The problem with anxiety was that while it could be productive by keeping you alert and focused, it could also get out of control and take over your life. And Violet was determined not to let that happen. So she had bought a box of green decaf tea and was drinking three to four cups a day. Trouble was, she wasn’t sure if she was feeling any calmer or if she was only convincing herself she was feeling calmer because she wanted to be. And maybe that was okay. It was called the placebo effect. If you got the result you wanted, did it really matter how you got it?
Daisy came tramping into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Hi,” Violet said. “Do you want a sandwich?”
“Hi. And no thanks. I had two corn muffins this morning. I feel like I’ve swallowed a brick. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“That they were delicious,” Violet said. “Allie’s a really good baker.”
“And I have no self-control!”
Violet didn’t think that was true, but Daisy liked to exaggerate. “Isn’t it about time for that party Joel’s boss throws every summer?” she asked. “Or did you already go and I spaced on it?” That was possible, Violet thought. Keeping focused on day-to-day stuff wasn’t all that easy these days.
Summer with My Sisters Page 18
