“Emily who?” Lily asked.
“Case.”
“Who’s that?”
I sighed. “She’s someone in my class, Lily.”
“Why do you even want to go?”
Excellent question. I started to answer, but Lily cut me off. “Just try not to talk to me.” Even after all this time, her cruelty slashed like a razor.
“Lily, apologize,” our mother said, her voice harsh.
“Sorry,” she sang.
“Who’s your date?” I asked. I knew, of course. Everyone knew.
“Luke Fletcher.” She looked at me and smiled evilly, her pure blue eyes narrowing like a cat’s.
That’s why I was going, of course. To see them together. To see what it would be like to be as effortlessly beautiful and confident as my sixteen-year-old sister, to have the attention of the best-looking, most popular boy on the island. To torture myself with unrequited love for both of them.
I didn’t go to Darby’s, of course. I stayed home and tried to flat-iron my hair, which was having none of it. I ended up putting it in a puritanical bun. Emily’s father picked me up, Em sitting in front, me in the back of their minivan, which smelled like dog. There was a bag of pretzels on the floor, reminding me that I was hungry.
Back then, Scupper Island couldn’t afford a big prom at a banquet facility or hotel, so it was held at the gym each year, the decorations comprised of tired crepe ribbons in yellow and black—our school colors—with clusters of black and yellow balloons tied to a weight for centerpieces.
Aware of our status as Invisibles, Emily and I clung to the edges of the gym and took a seat at the table farthest from the entrance. I tried to talk to her (maybe we’d become real friends!) and asked all the questions I could think of—What bands do you like? Have you seen any good movies? Do you like math? I was treated to monosyllabic answers and gave up. Emily chugged Hawaiian Punch and manically nibbled Chex Mix, one piece after another, like a starving mouse. I occasionally offered a comment, no matter how banal, just for the sake of making it look as if we were talking. Not that anyone was checking.
“Check out Mr. Severy’s tie!” I said, laughing, though his tie was perfectly normal. Emily didn’t respond.
Chances were, we both looked unstable. Neither of us cared.
The Cheetos hadn’t arrived yet. Prom had already been going on for more than an hour, and they’d probably spent that time getting drunk or high. Until then, everyone (except the freaks like Em and me) had been having a pretty good time, dancing, talking, the girls a little nervous in their finery, the boys awkward and sweaty.
Then the doors opened, and in they came—Amy, Darby, Carmella, all so hatefully beautiful, so fake-tanned, their teeth bleached too white. I’d have sold my soul to look like any of them. They were like beautiful, exotic birds in their bright dresses and sparkling sequins. Sullivan, Brett, Lars and Luke trailed in after them, aware that prom was really for girls.
And then I saw Lily—oh, Lily, she was the most beautiful girl in the world. She was Snow White—pure and lovely and perfect, and I couldn’t help the surge of pride and love that flooded through me at the sight of her.
My sister, though she belonged to the group, was not technically a Cheeto—her skin was ivory, her hair black and shiny, its natural color, cropped short and chic when all the other girls in our school, including me, kept theirs long. Her dress was a one-shouldered black gown, full skirt with some kind of silky, sheer fabric over the skirt, so it looked as if she were floating. I didn’t know when or where she got the dress; she well may have stolen it, but no matter the case, it was ethereal, making my royal blue dress seem as cheap and common as it was.
For once, Lily’s makeup wasn’t overdone, making the Cheetos look like RuPaul on performance night. No, my sister was simply stunning. She was Audrey Hepburn. She was Anne Hathaway. She was Lily Stuart, the most beautiful girl in Maine. In the world.
And she was with Luke, who already looked sloppy, his tie askew, his gait crooked.
“That’s your sister,” Emily said flatly.
“Yes.”
“You don’t look anything alike.”
I didn’t dignify that with a response. The truth was, I couldn’t take my eyes off Lily. Everything about her was flawless. She seemed both to absorb the light and reflect it, and I felt such a rush of tenderness for her, the same as when we were little and she’d fall asleep, and I’d just stare at her and stroke her hair until Mom told me to stop.
Then Lily bumped into a chair and burst into wild laughter, and the spell was broken.
My sister was high. That probably wasn’t new, but it was the first time I’d seen it so blatantly. I stood up, the metal chair screeching behind me. Lily was lost in the crowd of Cheetos and their dates. Sullivan and Amy were dancing, I noted, their foreheads touching. He could do better, I’d always thought.
I made my way to the dance floor, alone, moving like a silent hippo through the crowd, who parted reluctantly for me, a few castigating looks from girls at my dress, my hair, which was coming out of its bun, my ordinary sandals. I didn’t care. I wanted to get my sister home.
Her pupils were dilated, her voice shrill. “Shut up, Brett!” she said, giggling wildly. “I did not. Not yet, anyway.”
This caused a roar of laughter and some jostling among the boys. Whatever Lily hadn’t done yet was sexual. I wasn’t stupid.
“That’s not what Conrad says,” someone said.
“So what? It’s no big deal,” said Darby, trying to steal the attention from Lily. “I already did it.”
“So did I,” said Carmella.
“Yeah, no kidding,” Brett said. “Come on, Lil. Have some more.” He offered her a flask.
“Lily,” I said. “Hey.”
Silence fell over the little group. “Hey, Nora,” Luke said. After all, this was junior year, before he realized I might threaten his future.
“What are you doing here?” Lily asked. “Oh, right! You came with that girl! Are you a lesbian, Nora?”
Another roar of laughter. “Lily, come with me a second, okay?” I said. I took her arm and started dragging her to the bathroom. She struggled for a second, but, hey, I outweighed her by at least seventy pounds.
“Everything okay?” Luke asked, trailing after us, blinking too much. Stoned, I guessed.
In my instant fantasy, he’d be sober. I would tell him someone gave Lily drugs, and he would be furious. It would be Brett, and Luke would whirl around and punch Brett in the face and take Lily and me to Stony Point Lookout (I had no idea why). Lily would fall asleep in the back seat, and Luke and I would talk and talk, remembering good times at the Math Olympics and Robotics Club in seventh grade. He’d say something like “Nora, you’re so funny.”
And that would be enough. That would be the world to me.
But in reality, I knew better. “We’re fine,” I said.
I got Lily into the bathroom. “What did you take?” I asked, future doctor that I was.
“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I’m great. Where the hell did you get that dress, by the way?”
“Lily. Do you know what you took? What it looked like?”
“Nora. Do you know how you look in that dress? Like a fifty-year-old housewife crashing the prom, that’s how.”
Anger and hate and love wadded in a ball in my throat. “You are such a bitch, Lily,” I hissed.
It was the first mean thing I’d said to her...ever. She looked at me for a second with those clear blue eyes, shocked.
Then she heaved forward into a stall and started puking.
Oh, God. And yet, good. She’d get it out of her system, whatever it was. Ecstasy or a roofie or painkillers.
I crouched next to her and put my hand on the back of her neck, the way Mom used to when we had a stomach virus.
“Nora,�
�� she said, glancing up at me. Her eyes were streaming, and I was undone.
“It’s okay, baby,” I said. “Get it all out.”
She vomited again, and then again, and then there was nothing but dry heaves. I stroked her cropped hair until she stilled, her sleek little otter-like head resting on that skinny arm.
“Come home with me, honey,” I whispered. “Let’s go home and watch TV, okay?”
She turned her head and looked at me. “You don’t understand, Nora,” she said, closing her eyes, and her voice was so weary and old my eyes filled with tears. “You just don’t get it.”
“No, and I don’t want to. Not if it means being with them. They’re so hateful, Lily. They’ll use you up.”
“I don’t have any other choices, do I?”
“You do. You can come home with me.”
She almost laughed. Didn’t open her eyes. “Yeah, right. If I’m not with them, then what am I? How do you think I’d survive if I wasn’t popular?”
The same way I do, but we could be together again. “Let me take you home and take care of you. Please, Blueberry.” My old name for her.
“I miss Daddy.”
The words punched me in the heart. “I know,” I whispered, petting her head again, savoring the sleek curve of her skull. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go.”
Lily opened her eyes and looked at me for a second, and I saw how tired she was, how empty, and all I wanted was to save her.
But then the bathroom door squeaked, and in came Amy. “Um...are you two okay?” she asked.
For one second, I thought Lily might choose me. For one second, her eyes said something other than disgust.
Then she looked at Amy. “I had the pukes,” she said brightly, struggling to stand up. “I feel better now. Do you have any gum?”
“Yeah. You sure you’re all right?”
“Totally. Just not used to that, you know?” She rinsed her mouth out and spit into the sink, somehow making it not look gross.
Amy glanced at me, then back at my sister. “Lily...um, watch out for Luke, okay? He gets around.”
“I know.”
Amy looked at me again.
“Why don’t you come home with me?” I said. “Lily? I think it’s best if we go home.”
She glanced at me in the mirror. “I’m staying, Nora,” she said, her voice full of contempt. Whatever moment we’d had was dead.
The tears gathered in my throat. “Okay,” I whispered. I kept my eyes on the floor, the ugly beige-tiled floor, and stood there as Amy gave my sister the gum and they chattered and laughed and then, finally, left.
You wonder how much abuse you can take and still love someone. You wonder how long they can treat you like nothing but still want them back. You wonder how many years it will take to forget how things used to be, how long you’ll burn yourself with that tiny ember of hope before the deluge of their neglect drowns it.
A long time, in my case. A long, lonely time.
* * *
On Thursday about an hour after I got home from work, Sullivan Fletcher called and asked if he could take me out to dinner. “To thank you for everything you’ve done for Audrey,” he said.
“Um...sure!” I said. I’d been sitting on my couch in a tank top and pajama bottoms, watching the news (always a bad idea), eating sunflower seeds and fantasizing about cheese.
“How about Stone Cellar?” he suggested, naming the chic restaurant I hadn’t yet graced with my presence. “Pick you up in an hour?”
“Sure!” I chirped again. “See you then!”
I hung up, then ran to my room. It wasn’t a date, per se. I shouldn’t treat it like a date. It was a parent who wanted to thank me for being (cough) a brilliant doctor, because yes, Audrey’s diagnosis had been confirmed in Boston. Sullivan probably wanted to ask me a bunch of questions about treatment and such.
Which didn’t mean I couldn’t dress up a little.
I’d given up on my hair here in Maine. My flatiron was no match for life on a windy island where it rained a lot. I pulled it back into a ponytail, though, and put on a pair of cropped jeans, a cute pink peasant blouse and a suede jacket. Sandals with a stacked heel, a little blush, a little mascara, and voilà. I was date ready, even if it wasn’t a date.
“How do I look?” I asked the Dog of Dogs.
“Beautiful,” he said. Well, his eyes said it. I fondled his silky ears and gazed into his loving eyes. Dogs. The best work God had ever done.
Sullivan arrived five minutes early. He looked like he’d come right from the boatyard—faded jeans and a T-shirt, making me glad I hadn’t tried too hard (pause for laughter). Despite it being June, a chilly wind gusted. It would be in the forties tonight, for crying out loud.
“Hey,” he said. “You ready?”
It was Maine. Conversation wasn’t really our thing. “You bet.” I turned on the porch light, and off we went.
“So this is unexpected,” I said as we bounced down Spruce Brook Road in his pickup.
Sully didn’t answer. Right. He was deaf in that ear, and unless he turned his head, he wouldn’t be able to hear me. He glanced at me, didn’t smile and glanced back at the road.
It was a little odd. Something I’d have to get used to, no car chatting. Or no, I wouldn’t have to get used to it. I was only here for the summer. Riding with Sullivan Fletcher wasn’t going to be a regular thing.
Fifteen silent minutes later, we were seated at a table in the restaurant, a newer place, a perfect mix of comfortable and posh. “Your server will be right with you,” said the maître d’, handing us the menus.
“Thank you,” Sully said, looking at his.
The restaurant was fairly full with the pleasant rattle and hum of food preparation. “Thank you for asking me out,” I said.
No answer.
Right. I touched his hand. He looked up. “Hey. This is nice. Thank you.”
He looked at me a long minute. “This is really nice,” I repeated.
“Well. The least I could do.”
“Audrey stopped by yesterday. She’s pretty excited.”
“Yeah. Weird for a kid to be psyched about surgery.” But he smiled, and if he was nervous the way I was, it cracked for a minute.
“Hi, I’m Amy, and I’ll be your—oh.”
We looked up. There was his ex-wife, pad in hand. Her face was frozen. Sullivan stood up. “When did you start working here?” he asked.
“Yesterday.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“What I do is none of your business.”
“Of course, it is. We’ve had this conversation, Amy.”
“Well, you’re not exactly falling over yourself to fill me in on things, are you?” she said, gesturing with her elbow at me. “If you have a girlfriend, don’t you think I should know?”
No, this wasn’t awkward at all.
“Hey,” I said. “How are you, Amy? I’m not his girlfriend.”
“Right,” she said. “So. Listen. Thank you for Audrey. We went to Boston on Monday, and she’s good to go for surgery. Me and Sully, we owe you big-time.”
They were still both standing. “Why don’t you sit down for a second?” I asked. “Pull up a chair. Sully asked me out so he could pump me for information. Do you have any questions about the procedure or recovery or anything?”
Sullivan sat back down. I was fairly sure he’d missed everything I just said.
Amy hesitated. “I gotta work.”
“Here.” I fished a pen and gas receipt out of my purse and wrote down my cell number. “Call me for anything. Audrey’s a sweet kid, and I really like her. You’ve done a great job raising her.”
Amy’s face softened. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “Okay. Drinks, you two? Sully, you want a Sam’s Summer?”
“Sure,” he sa
id. “Thank you.”
“I’ll have a mojito,” I said. “Supposedly, it’s summertime, no matter what the weather says.”
“Be right back.” She snapped her pad shut and walked away.
Sullivan and I looked at each other. “My ex-wife is our server tonight,” he said, and we both laughed.
“It’s okay. She’s still very...” Think of something nice to say, Nora. I glanced at the menu. Succulent? No. “So pretty.”
“Excuse me?”
I looked right at him. “She’s still so pretty.”
“Ah. Ayuh.”
Amy came back a minute later with our drinks. “On me,” she said, setting down my drink.
“Thank you so much,” I said.
She smiled—Amy Beckman, smiling at me! squealed my inner dorky adolescent—and put down Sully’s beer. “What would you like for dinner? Want to hear the specials?”
Sully would have to work that much harder to hear over the crowd, looking up at Amy.
“No, that’s fine,” I said. “I mean, unless you do, Sullivan.”
“No, I’m good. Go ahead.”
I ordered the lobster roll (I would go for a run tomorrow, I swore it) and a salad to counteract the butter (ha). Sully ordered scallops.
When Amy had taken our order, I leaned forward. This kind of intense conversing was a little unnerving. “Do you have any questions about Audrey?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “The doctor you recommended—Patel?” I nodded. “He covered everything. She goes in next week.”
“It’s a great hospital, and Raj is the best. I’m sure everything will go smoothly.”
“Amy and I, we...we really can’t ever thank you enough.”
I shrugged, a little embarrassed (and secretly thrilled). “Just doing my job. You know, like a firefighter, running into a burning building and saving lives and stuff.”
“I’m sorry. I missed everything you just said.”
Just as well, since I was babbling.
“Hey, you two.” Amy again. “I got you another table where it’s quieter. He’s deaf as a stump, you know,” she said to me.
“I heard that,” he said.
Now That You Mention It: A Novel Page 24
