The Sweetness of Salt

by Cecilia Galante

  “Well, this is a pretty—what’s the word I’m looking for?—personal gift to give a friend.”

  I blushed, glancing briefly out my window. The tiny window seat across the street was empty. “What do you mean?”

  “nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.” I bit the inside of my cheek as Sophie read the quote aloud. For some reason, it didn’t sound quite so magical coming from her. “Are you serious?” Sophie asked. “That’s practically intimate.”

  I shrugged. “It’s about hands. What’s intimate about hands?”

  “Julia.” Sophie sat down on the bed with her knees open wide. “That is an incredibly intimate line. Think about it. The person who wrote it was obviously deeply in love with someone. People don’t write things like that for just anyone, you know. There’s meaning behind those words. He’s trying to tell you…”

  I rolled my eyes, cutting her off. “Okay, so maybe Milo and I sorta, I don’t know, tried something.” (Or whatever taking me to the prom was.) “But it didn’t work. We’re better off as friends.” (If we were even that.) “Believe me.”

  “Oh.” Sophie paused. “Why?”

  “We just are.” I shook my head. “It’s not really something I want to talk about.”

  Sophie got up and walked over to me. She pulled one of my hands out and studied it for a moment, like she was examining it under a microscope. “I never thought of you as having small hands,” she said finally.

  I pulled away uncomfortably and headed for the closet. “I don’t. That line’s not literally about me. Milo just likes that poet.”

  She paused for a few beats. “That’s e. e. cummings, right?”

  “Yeah.” I paused, hanger in my hand. “How’d you know that?”

  “I know a lot of things you don’t know that I know.” For a split second, she held my eyes with hers. “Anyway, whatever the situation is between you and Milo, the boy’s got good taste. In girls and poetry.”

  I exhaled as I realized the moment had passed, hung up my robe, and began to unbutton the front of my dress.

  Sophie looked amused as I shimmied out of it and made a beeline for my dresser, clutching the dress against the front of me. “Can I ask you a question without you getting mad?” she asked, flopping down on top of my bed.

  “Maybe.”

  “Are you still a virgin?”

  I whirled around, still holding the dress against me, and looked at her, aghast. “What?”

  She rolled up along her back so her legs stuck up straight above her. “I’m just saying. You look so uncomfortable getting undressed in front of me, and I remember that I used to be like that too, until I started sleeping with Eddie.”

  “You and Eddie…?” I let the sentence trail off.

  Sophie let her legs fall back down. “Had sex?” she finished. “Well, yeah. You ever get a good look at him? Jesus, I think even the boys in our school wanted to sleep with him.”

  I turned back around, yanked open my dresser drawer, and rummaged inside for my favorite jeans. This little bit of unwanted information had just sullied the golden image I still had of Eddie. Sophie watched me intently, still in her upside-down position, as I pulled on a black camisole and a V-neck T-shirt edged with tiny sparkles. I didn’t know what Zoe was planning on wearing to Melissa’s party, but this was about as fancy as I got when it came to going out.

  “So, are you then?” she asked. “A virgin, I mean?”

  I reached down and snatched my dress off the bed. Of course I was still a virgin. “You know what, Sophie? That’s really none of your business.”

  “Oh, I know.” Sophie rolled back down, stood up, and walked over to look at my shot glass collection. “God, Mom would be horrified, wouldn’t she?” She picked up a shot glass Dad had bought me from Wellesley when we had gone to visit the campus last fall. It said GO BLUE on the front. “Where’s Pitt?” she asked finally, turning around.

  “What?”

  She pointed to the shot glass collection. “The one from Wellesley is front and center, and it looks like you have one from every other place in the country, but nothing from Pitt. Don’t you think it’s weird that you don’t have a shot glass from the school you’re going to?”

  I shrugged. “It’s there. I think it’s toward the back.”

  Sophie set the shot glass back in its place. “What’s your major going to be there, anyway?”

  “Political science,” I said. “I’m doing the whole prelaw thing.”

  Sophie stared at me. “Prelaw?” she repeated. “As in becoming a lawyer? Like Dad?”

  I nodded, pushing down another flutter of annoyance. “What’s wrong with being a lawyer?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with it.” Sophie sat back down on my bed. “I mean, if that’s what you want to do.” She looked at me. “Is that what you want to do?”

  “Of course it’s what I want to do.” I picked up a folded T-shirt, shook it loose, and then began folding it again.

  “Why? Because Dad’s a lawyer?”

  I gave her a look. “Don’t be annoying, Sophie. Why would Dad being a lawyer have anything to do with what I want to do with my life? I do have my own brain, you know.”

  “You think so well on your feet, Julia, which is exactly the kind of trait you need to become a good trial lawyer.” Dad had said that to me in ninth grade, solidifying my decision once and for all.

  Sophie sidestepped my question by asking another one. “Okay then, why do you want to be a lawyer?”

  “Because I think it’s interesting, okay? And I like it.”

  “What’s interesting about it?”

  I sighed exasperatedly. “Everything’s interesting about it. It’s…the law. You know. You get to uphold our constitution every day, protect people’s rights. See that the accused get a fair and honest trial. It’s a noble profession, Sophie. Maybe one of the noblest. ”

  “Since when have you been interested in being noble?” Sophie drew her head back as if she had just tasted something bitter.

  I put a hand on my hip. “Why do you always have to be so critical?”

  “I’m not being critical,” Sophie said. “I’m just trying to understand. What is it about being an attorney that excites you, Julia? What gets your blood pumping? Helping people? Is that it? Or do you have some kind of burning desire to keep law and order in Silver Springs? I mean, what is it?”

  Excites me? Was she kidding? This wasn’t about being excited. It was about getting things accomplished. Creating a career that would lead to bigger and better things. Assistant district attorney maybe, or even the district attorney, if I created a sharp enough record. Maybe even a judgeship somewhere in the future. “You know what?” I said. “You’re being a real jerk.”

  Sophie looked away. “Well, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be. I just never would’ve thought you’d go that route. You were always so creative, Julia.”

  “Creative?” I repeated. “I don’t have a creative bone in my body!”

  “You do too!” Sophie insisted. “What about all those adorable little fruit people you used to draw when you were little? Remember? Mr. and Mrs. Apple? The Twin Bing Cherries? With their tiny striped arms and legs. Mr. Lima Bean even had a little fedora. They were so cute!”

  I cocked my head. “Sophie, I was like six when I did that stuff. It was doodling. You can’t make a career out of doodling.” I tossed my head. “I’m getting a chance to see things up close up this summer too. Dad got me an internship at the DA’s office.”

  “So you’re gonna tail the district attorney around all summer?”

  I shrugged. “Probably not the district attorney himself. But definitely the assistant DAs. Dad said I’ll probably be able to sit in on a few trials too.”

  Sophie got up from the bed and went over to my shot-glass collection again. “Well, I hope you have fun,” she said, picking up the Harvard glass. “That’s what it’s all about, Julia.”

  Fun. This was only one of a gazillion things that separated my s
ister and me. She insisted that life was meant to be lived in some weird, constant state of amusement, even if it meant not making enough money to pay for heat in the winter or falling behind on her rent. It was probably the reason why she was leaving a steady, good-paying job at the nursing home to go open a bakery. Fun was for weekends, I wanted to tell her now. Fun was for later. After the hard work. “I’ll have fun. I always have fun.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Sophie said. “It seems to me you haven’t—”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” I said, cutting her off sharply.

  She turned, absorbing the blow of my statement, and then put the shot glass back on the shelf. For a moment she just stood there, aligning it neatly with the others. Then she nodded, as if accepting the ugly fact.

  “You know, I used to have a collection,” she said finally.

  “Of what?”

  “Condoms.” She grinned slyly. “Unused, of course.”

  “Sophie…,” I started, but she pulled on my arm and sat me down on the bed next to her.

  “I’m serious! I did!”

  I extricated myself from her grip. “Whatever. You’re acting really weird.”

  Sophie’s eyes narrowed. “Why? Because I’m talking about things like sex?”

  “No, because you’re talking about things like sex with me. We’ve never talked about stuff like this, Sophie, because we don’t talk more than two or three times a year, and when we do, it’s about school or grades or the weather. I mean, I don’t even know how I’m supposed to respond when you tell me things like that.”

  The expression on Sophie’s face changed from amusement to annoyance to confusion—all in five seconds. “What do you mean, how you’re supposed to respond?” she asked. “It’s just a conversation, Julia, not a test.”

  “Well, it makes me uncomfortable,” I said firmly.

  “Okay. Fine. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  I headed for the door. “I’m going down. You coming?”

  Sophie sighed. “Yeah,” she said, dragging herself off the bed. “I’m coming.”

  chapter

  6

  Dad was sitting at the dining room table drinking a glass of seltzer when Sophie and I came downstairs again. “It’s the head cheese!” he said, slipping an arm around my waist. I kissed the top of his head. Sophie stood behind one of the dining room chairs, cracking her knuckles. Mom walked in from the kitchen, placed a salad down on the table next to a vase of pink tulips, and nodded to Sophie and me. “You girls have a seat. I just have to finish up the pasta, and then we can start.”

  Sophie eyed Dad, who was staring into his water glass, and then reached for her own. Taking a long, slow swallow, she wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist and set the glass back in its place. “You guys don’t have that silly no-smoking rule in this house anymore, do you?”

  “We sure do.” The ice cubes in Dad’s glass rattled as he brought it to his mouth. “If you need to smoke one of those things, take it outside.”

  Sophie took another sip from her water glass. Above the rim, her eyes had formed two dark slits. Suddenly, she held it up. “Julia, here’s to you.” I bumped my glass clumsily against hers. Dad extended his glass toward Sophie and me. We clinked and then set them back down. Sophie pushed back her chair. “I was going to wait until later but…” She raised her eyebrows, looking first at Dad and then at me. “Well, I guess I can do this now.”

  I watched carefully as she leaned down and retrieved an envelope from her back pocket. She held it against her chest for a moment and looked at me. “I’m really proud of you, Julia, for everything you’ve accomplished.” She took a deep breath and then let it out, cocking her head as she did. “This is for you,” she said, leaning over the table and handing me the envelope. “From me and Goober. For all your hard work.”

  I took the envelope gingerly, giving Dad a sidelong glance as I ran my finger under the flap. He was holding his breath. Literally. My cheeks felt hot. “You didn’t have to do anything,” I said. “Really.”

  Inside the card were two tiny envelopes. One was pink. The other was blue.

  “Open the blue one first,” Sophie said.

  Mom came back in, setting a large platter of shrimp and linguine down as I opened the envelope. She put her hands on the back of her chair and watched us, smiling. Inside the envelope was a large silver key. The letters VW were printed on the rubber edge. I held it up and looked over at Sophie, confused.

  “It’s yours,” she said, calm as daylight. “The Bug. Sitting outside. It’s yours, Jules. I’m giving it to you.”

  I swallowed. Closed my eyes tight for a moment and then opened them again, as if the words I knew I should say would appear suddenly in front of me. They did not.

  “She’s speechless!” Sophie laughed. She got up from her chair and came around the back of mine, putting her arms across my shoulders. “What do you think? Are you excited?”

  I nodded. There was no way I could take it. The gift totally outdid Mom and Dad’s, which had been a Prada briefcase for my internship at the courthouse.

  “Wow,” Dad said softly. He cleared his throat. “That certainly is generous of you, Sophie.”

  Mom’s eyes were still roving over the key. She sat down and pressed her hand against the base of her throat. “The car?” She looked at Sophie. “You’re giving her your car?”

  Sophie nodded gleefully. “She’s gonna need one anyway, right? Getting to and from Pittsburgh, driving God knows where else.” She grabbed my shoulders with both hands and squeezed. “You gotta hit the open road, girl. Spread your wings. Take a road trip now and again.”

  Mom’s face had paled considerably. “I just…” She glanced over at Dad for help. “It’s just…such a…”

  “Big responsibility?” Sophie finished.

  Mom nodded, and fiddled with the cord on her hearing aid. I knew responsibility was not her main concern at all. Mom’s main concern was my safety, which no car—however well built—would be able to live up to. Every morning, she watched from the front window as I got into the back of Zoe’s rusty Ford Taurus, waiting until I fastened my seat belt. Once, I had forgotten, and she dashed outside, arms waving, shouting, until Zoe slowed again. I was mortified.

  Sophie shrugged. “I got it covered,” she said. “I just paid this puppy off in April. Julia won’t have to worry about car payments at all. Just insurance.”

  Mom looked over at Sophie. “It’s a wonderful gift, Sophie. You’re very generous, honey.” She glanced down at the large serving dish. “We really should eat before everything gets cold.”

  Sophie grinned. “Hold on, Mom. There’s one more thing.”

  “Oh?” Mom’s voice was faint. “What’s that?”

  Sophie nodded at me. “Open the pink envelope, Jules.”

  I looked inside it again, shaking another, much smaller key out of the side corner.

  “What’s that?” Mom asked, making her way around the table with the bowl of linguine.

  “It’s a key to my place,” Sophie answered. “I want you to take a trip this summer, Julia. To Vermont. Come visit me for a few days. I’ll show you around Poultney. It’ll be great.”

  Dad set his water glass down. “That sounds terrific, Sophie. We’ve never been to Vermont and I’m sure…”

  “Just Julia.” Sophie did not take her eyes off me. “You guys can come another time.”

  Mom exchanged a quick look with Dad. “Well, I don’t know about that,” Dad said. His voice was much too loud, as if he was trying to regain control of the situation. “Julia’s never driven such a long distance before. It’s not an easy drive. And she’d have to do it alone.”

  “This is Julia’s gift,” Sophie said. She had started eating, shoving enormous forkfuls of the long, oily pasta into her mouth. “It should be her decision.”

  I held Sophie’s gaze as long as possible before dropping it again.

  Sophie put her fork down and swallowed. “You don’t
want to go, do you?”

  I shrugged helplessly, fingering a lone piece of linguine that had drooped over one side of my plate. Mom and Dad’s eyes were burning a hole on one side of my cheek; Sophie’s eyes on the other. “Of course I do. I mean…”

  “Then why do you look as if I’ve just asked you to donate an organ?” Sophie asked.

  “She’s not…,” Dad started.

  “Can you let her answer a question for herself?” Sophie turned on him, eyes flashing. “Just once?”

  “Sophie.” Mom wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Let’s go for a walk around the block. Cool down a little.”

  “I don’t need to cool down,” Sophie retorted. “And I don’t need to go for a walk. What I need…” She paused, turning back to look at me. “What I need is for Julia to answer me. Herself.”

  “I’ll come,” I said, flicking my eyes at her quickly, wanting to get this over with. “Okay? I will. Sometime.”

  Sophie inhaled deeply and then took another sip of water. The heavy clink of silver against Mom’s good china echoed throughout the room. Dad chewed violently, the sides of his jaw flexing in and out, while Mom ate in small rabbit bites. I speared a wilted piece of lettuce and snuck a look at Sophie, who was busy twirling another forkful of pasta. “I hate you,” I thought to myself. “You ruin everything.”

  Suddenly Sophie set her fork down on the side of her plate. “You know what? This is going to be my last visit to Silver Springs.”

  “Sophie.” Dad’s voice had assumed the exhausted-impatient tone reserved strictly for her. “Please. Don’t start.”

  Sophie held up her hands, palms out, as if surrendering. “I am not starting anything. On the contrary, Dad, I guess I’m ending something.”

  “What?” Dad’s lips had begun to twitch. “What are you ending?”

  “This.” Sophie encompassed the table, the living room, the entire house with a swoop of her wide-open arms. “All of this. It’s a lie. And you know it’s a lie. Until you tell her the truth about what really happened in Milford all those years ago…”

  Three hours. It had only taken her three hours to bring up Milford. If there was one thing I could say about my big sister, it was this: she did not disappoint. Not when it came to Milford.