“We’ve been looking for the chicken spots,” Oliver tells me quite seriously between bites. “But we don’t have any.”
“That’s terrific.” I cuddle him. The curve of his head is hard and whole beneath my cheek. I’ve seen photographs online of somber-faced people with sunken depressions above their temples that look as though someone took a bite out of each side, leaving behind a narrow isthmus of face. Theo had noticed what I was doing and closed the laptop. You don’t need to see that, he told me. You don’t need to prepare yourself for that. Arden’s head is contained in a helmet of gauze. I don’t know what I need to prepare myself for.
“How’s Rory?” my mother wants to know, and Theo says, “She’s on the transplant list, but they’re worried…”
“She’s so young. Shouldn’t she be at the top?”
“Lot of people on the list, Mom.” Theo has always called my mother this, and it pleases her when he does. It draws the circle closer.
Henry’s telling me about the hospital gift shop Grandma had walked him past. It has Cool LEGO Sets in the window, and stuffed animals that Look Real. “Want to check it out?” I look to Theo, who nods. “You go on. I’ll get us both something to eat. What can I get you?” he says to my mom.
I take the boys by their small warm hands and they pull me across the cafeteria. It’s late afternoon, but the storm outside the windows makes it look like midnight. The cafeteria’s blessedly empty of gawkers and whisperers. No one jerks a chin toward us; no one turns away abruptly as we approach. There’s just an elderly couple holding hands at a small table, a woman sitting back in her chair and texting. A cafeteria worker is mopping the floor. No one’s paying any of us the slightest attention. The boys are my good-luck charms. They always have been.
I buy Oliver a stuffed tiger and Henry a plastic dinosaur with beady yellow eyes. The boys practice roaring as we make our way back to the cafeteria. They’re arguing over which beast makes the scariest noise, and I’m enjoined into volunteering an opinion. I’m keenly aware of the time ticking past. Arden’s been alone now for twenty minutes.
“Look, Grandma.” Henry elbows Oliver out of the way and jumps his dinosaur toward her.
“Oh, my. That’s a scary one.”
“Not as scary as THIS.” Oliver smacks at Henry’s dinosaur with his tiger.
This is an interesting development—Oliver’s never the instigator. Theo and I exchange looks. We are always urging Oliver to stand up for himself. “There are lots of dangerous animals around in the forest,” my mom says to the boys. “Your dinosaur and tiger would be better off working together to defeat them.”
“Good idea,” I say.
“Yeah,” Oliver says. “One of them can be the lookout.”
“They need a secret password,” Henry says. “In case the aliens abduct them.”
Theo’s gotten me a salad. “Thanks.” I pick up my fork. I haven’t eaten anything since nibbling the burrito he brought me—was it today? Yesterday? I’m suddenly ravenous. It’s an ordinary salad, but the lettuce is green enough and the tomato not too mushy. I take a bite and chew. I think about a light poppy-seed dressing and seared bay scallops. Fresh bread smeared with goat cheese and sun-dried tomato. A tablespoon of good olive oil.
I catch Theo looking at me. “What?” I reach to brush something from my chin, my cheek. “Where is it?”
He smiles. “No. You’re fine.”
“Your phone’s ringing, Mommy,” Oliver says, wrapping the long striped tail of his tiger around his finger.
Arden
AUNT GABRIELLE LOWERS her arm. Now I can see her whole face, the round swells of her cheekbones and the dark hollows beneath them, her almond-shaped eyes and high plucked eyebrows pushed together in a frown. She glances over her shoulder, then brings her face closer. “Rory?” I feel her breath light against my lips.
Not Rory. I look into her eyes. She’s the only one looking at me, and so I have to trust her. I have to reach past. I don’t know what I’m afraid of, just that I’m afraid.
Look at me. See who I am. Tell me—am I awake or am I asleep? I try to move my hand to grab her arm, but I’m frozen. I’m stuck to this bed. Am I paralyzed? My eyes go hot with tears.
“Gabby,” Uncle Vince says.
She suddenly straightens, turns away. “Qu’est-ce que c’est?”
No no no. Come back.
“It’s Arden.” His voice is choked.
Uncle Vince sees me. He’s missed me, too! But no. Now they’re both gone and I’m alone.
—
After our fight, I curl up on one of the grungy sofas in the lounge and listen hard for any noises down the hall that can tell me what’s going on. Stupid me, I stormed out of the room in my nightgown and without my phone. Sad little me, I don’t have anywhere else to go. So I wrap my arms around my bent legs and rest my cheek on my knee and try not to cry. You can be such a baby, Rory’s scolded me. You really have to get a grip, little cousin. Will she ever call me that again? Will she ever talk to me again?
All my fault. All of it.
I hear D.D. go down the hall, and a little while later the door to our room closes. When I peek out, I see Rory going around the corner. I have to wake the RA to get him to let me in my room. Sorry, I keep saying. Sorry, sorry.
I find my cell at the bottom of my backpack and fish it out. Hunter answers it, laughing. “Hey,” he says. He’s with people. I can hear noises in the background, but as I talk, the noises go away. Hunter’s gone into a room by himself. “Shit.” His voice is dull.
“What do we do?” I wail.
“I’m such an asshole.”
We both are. “Rory’s on her way over there. She should be there any minute.”
“She hasn’t called or texted.”
“She probably knows I’m giving you a heads-up.” I stay on the phone with Hunter, pacing in the darkness and kicking piles of clothes out of my way, but Rory never shows up. I don’t know where she is.
—
Rory’s already there by the time I get to class the next afternoon. I stand in the doorway and scan the room and there she is, over in a middle row. I’m stopped by undecision. Where do I go? What do I do? I wait for Hunter, but he never shows. He’s upset with me, too. I’ve ruined everything for everyone.
Professor Lee walks into the room and goes to the lectern. “Lights, please,” she tells her assistant, and as the room goes dark, I slink into a seat at the back of the auditorium. Rory never once turns around. Fifty-five minutes spin past, slide after slide popping up on the screen and then disappearing. When the lights flare on again, I look down at my notebook. I haven’t written down a single thing.
Rory’s standing up. Turning, she sees me across the room and her face goes blank. She looks exactly like her mom. Our whole lives, I’ve never seen her face look so still and cold. It’s as though I’m not even there. I gather my things and rush to meet her at the top of the stairs. “Rory, we need to talk.”
“You said plenty last night.” She won’t even look at me. She just keeps on walking. I hurry to keep pace.
“I screwed up, okay? It’s over. I’m sorry.” I told Hunter this last night on the phone. I don’t get it, he’d said. Isn’t this what you wanted? To have him all to myself? Yes, desperately, but not this way. He hung up without saying goodbye. I don’t even remember falling asleep, but when I woke up, I felt hollowed out. Empty. I’d blinked at the early-morning sunlight slanting through the open window and glanced toward Rory’s bed, which lay smooth and untouched.
“You think apologizing can make everything better?” She’d gone back to the room at some point, showered and changed, applied her makeup. She smells bright with flowers; she’s been especially careful to blend her eye shadow so you can’t tell where it starts or ends. I imagine her doing this, humming as she leans close to the mirror with her little brush, happy with self-righteousness and a clean conscience. Yes, she’s upset and hurt and betrayed, but this time she stands on the good side.
People are pushing past us, trying to get through the door.
“What can I say? What can I do?”
“Nothing. You’re nothing to me. I can’t stand to look at you.”
Her voice is rising and I’m embarrassed. “Please, Rory. Can’t we go somewhere?”
She puts her face close to mine. “You want to go somewhere? I know where you can go.”
She turns and steps into the stream of students, and just like that, she’s gone.
—
Aunt Gabrielle’s in my room when I drag myself back. Hunter’s texted me twice and I’m looking down at my phone trying to decide whether to text him back when I hear her talking on the other side of my door. I’m confused. She can’t be in there with Rory. I’d just left her, going in the other direction. When I open the door, she’s by Rory’s bed. The nightstand drawer is open and she’s reaching inside, turning things over. “Can we move it to tomorrow?” she’s saying, and I realize she’s got her cell phone pressed to her ear.
I let the door bang against the wall and she turns and sees me.
“Hi, Aunt Gabrielle.”
She holds up a finger to signal me to wait. She doesn’t even look guilty about going through Rory’s things.
“Yes, that will be fine. Thank you.” She turns off her phone and slides it into her lime-green bag. Aunt Gabrielle has a million purses, all colors and sizes. My mom has one slouchy black bag that’s worn on the bottom from being dropped to the floor a million times.
“Bonjour, Arden. How are you?”
“Fine.” I’m a bird, small and nervous.
She looks around the room. “You girls need to spend some time tidying up in here.” Aunt Gabrielle’s house is so clean I’m afraid to get a glass of water even on the hottest days. She keeps a black plastic tray on the floor by the front door for people to place their shoes. I’m always nervous walking across her gleaming floors in my socks.
“My parents want me to focus on my studies.” A total joke. The last thing I’ve been doing is studying. I can’t even cut it at this place, where partying’s practically a major. I’ve got a Spanish test in the morning, a million math problems due, my self-portrait that still isn’t finished because Rory’s right—it looks just like her—and that freaking art history essay. What about Rory’s paper? I could still do it for her. It might be a way to bring her back. At the mention of my parents, Aunt Gabrielle’s lips tighten. She’s wearing her usual orange-red lipstick. It makes her eyes glow umber. Like a tiger’s, I think.
“Yes, well. Do you know where Rory is? I’ve been calling and calling.”
“We just got out of class. I don’t know where she is now.” I drop my backpack on the floor. “How did you get in here?”
“The girl who lives next door let me in. She saw me waiting in the hall and took pity on me.”
“D.D.? Whitney?”
“The girl with the pink hair. As if that’s at all original.” She’s shaking out a short pleated skirt of Rory’s and re-clipping it to the hanger. “You know, she’s been lying to you.”
Aunt Gabrielle’s been going through Rory’s things. She must have found her stash. Does she know D.D. supplies her? “Who, D.D.?”
“She doesn’t come from money. Her mother’s a nurse at the hospital and she doesn’t even have a father.”
Typical Aunt Gabrielle. She is scary good at finding out stuff about people.
I wonder if Rory knows this about D.D. I want to talk to her, see what she thinks. Will we ever have a conversation again? Will we sit on the swings and talk, or are all those days over? I don’t want Aunt Gabrielle to see me cry. She will only ask why. She won’t give up until I tell her. The only one who can lie to Aunt Gabrielle is Rory. “D.D. doesn’t have a key to our room.”
“Well, apparently, she does.” Aunt Gabrielle stares at me coolly, daring me to decide which one of them is the liar.
—
Are my eyes open? I blink. Yes, yes!
A woman’s talking in a muffled voice. “…you get that?”
A curtain covers the wall. Someone’s moving down by my feet. Everything else is shifting shades of gray.
“Got it,” another woman says. She’s closer to me, up by my head. A nurse? Two of them, talking around me like I’m not even there. I want to yell, Look at me! Talk to me! Tell me where everyone is. “Such a pity.”
“A real tragedy. You must get down on your knees every night to thank the good Lord for sparing your girl.”
“When I think that she could have been caught in this…She moved back home, did you know that? Went straight into her old room. I hear her crying every night. The clinic had to give her something so she can sleep. Daphne was a good friend with all three of them.”
Dizzy Doolittle. Daffy Dishes. Daphne.
“She blames herself. She saw Arden carrying that can of paint thinner down the hall. She said she should have suspected something was wrong.”
There’s no way. D.D.—Daphne—is lying. She was at the pep rally with everyone else. She never saw me carrying anything.
“You tell her it’s not her fault. Who would have ever thought a girl with everything going for her would do something so terrible?”
They think I set this fire. They know I did. Did Rory and Hunter tell them? The nurse is standing close beside me. I see the front of her green top, the bottom of her chin. If I could, I’d reach out and touch her. If she reached down and put her hand to my heart, she would feel it leaping out of my chest.
“It’s this generation. They’re spoiled. They never had to work a day in their lives. Everything gets handed to them. And when things don’t go their way…Too bad they learned their lesson too late. None of them will grow up to see that time heals all.”
“You don’t think so?”
I close my eyes. I lie perfectly still. I feel my chest rise and fall, air pushed in and air sucked out, by the machine beside me. Where is Rory? Why hasn’t she been in here once to see me?
—
I Skype my mom Wednesday. I am going to tell her everything. I am just waiting for the right time. I am going to make her stop and listen. I talk about blue sweaters and then Oliver takes the laptop and we talk about ant farms. I want my mom to take the laptop back so I can tell her, Mom, I’m so scared.
I call my dad Friday. Things are even worse, and I’m holding my cell against my ear and pacing back and forth. I’ve bitten off all my nails. My jeans hang loose. But my dad doesn’t answer and I don’t leave a message. What could I say? I’ve already done it; I can’t undo it. I hang up. I turn to my self-portrait, propped on the easel by my bed. I run a finger around the oval of my face. I look into my painted eyes.
I am Alice in Wonderland. I have fallen down the hole.
Rory
I SPEND THURSDAY NIGHT with Chelsea, curled up in her massive bed with its heavy comforters that we push to the floor. She’s working beside me, her laptop on her lap, frowning at the screen. I’m doing math problems, or pretending to. “Have you ever been to France?”
“No, can you believe it? I’ve never been to Italy, either. There should be some sort of law that says people who teach art history have to actually see the stuff in person. It’s ridiculous.”
I think of this, the two of us walking along the streets in Paris, going into shops and talking to the salespeople. I’d have to translate everything for her and she’d be so amazed. I had no idea, she would say. We would eat at sidewalk cafés, lingering over bottles of wine or cappuccinos. I’d use sugar, not sweetener, and she would smile at me.
“You know, your essay was due today,” she says.
“Right. I meant to turn that in.” I don’t even try to make it sound like the truth. She should know that I’ve had other things on my mind.
She lifts one of her eyebrows, a swift in flight. “You can’t just not turn in work.”
Like I’m a child? I’m pissed. I rub the eraser hard across the paper. “I know.”
“Is this th
e way you treat your other professors?”
I look at her and raise my eyebrow. “Oh, so that’s what you are?” She’s got her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail and she’s wearing a man’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I wonder where she got it from, but I haven’t dared to ask. She sighs and shakes her head. “What?” Are we about to fight? I feel on the edge, tense and jittery. I can’t deal with her heavy sighs and superior way of looking at me.
“Have you ever been diagnosed?”
I frown. She can’t be talking about my trial run with anorexia. “Is this the reading thing again? Are we going to play a fun little game? You know how much I enjoy that.”
“Were you tested in school?”
“Of course not.” I go back to my math problems. She’s looking at me, but I ignore her.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed about, Rory.” Her voice is velvet, smooth and soft. “Lots of people have dyslexia. It’s just the way your brain is wired. There are things you can do. There are tricks you can learn.”
“I don’t have dyslexia.” My brain is fine. My brain is perfect.
“Rory. I care about you.” This makes happiness bloom inside me, a warm circle that pushes the dark shadows all away. She sits up in front of me and cups my face between her hands. “How on earth did you manage all this time without help?”
I did have help. I had Arden.
—
Hunter’s been texting, which is so lame. He should know by now that I’m not going to answer. If I’d run into him, I’d have had it out with him, loud and dramatic and sure to humiliate him in front of everyone. But I haven’t seen him and I guess that’s because he knows exactly how it’d play out. What a coward. I delete our text conversations, all the emoticons and exclamation points gone with the press of a red button. Buh-bye.
My mom’s been texting, too. YOU NEED TO CHECK IN. She uses all caps when she’s really upset. Then she moves on to exclamation points, and finally she just gets in the car. While Chelsea’s in the shower, I think about what to text back. My mom won’t want to hear apologies. I’ve already used the study group excuse. In the end, I don’t answer her, either. Let her get in the car. “You’re going to have to go back to your room sometime,” Chelsea says as she’s toweling off. A flurry of alarm. “You getting sick of me?” I pull on my jeans and she smiles at me. “Of course not. But you do need to work things out with Arden.”
The Good Goodbye Page 28
