by Luanne Rice
“Go home, be with your kids,” he said, meeting Maura's eyes. “Gracie needs to get warm.”
But Beck walked straight to the open window, stuck her hand inside. “Thank you,” she said, and Maura watched as the cold look in Beck's eyes turned to warmth.
J.D. shook Beck's hand. “You don't have to thank me,” he said.
“But I do,” she said. “We were apart, and now we're together.”
And Maura stood beside her sister, her arm around Carrie and Gracie, hearing Beck's words so strong and clear, and she knew that she had never heard anything so true.
WEPILOGUE
IT'S MARY LANGLEY DAY, A SCHOOL HOLIDAY, THE anniversary of Mary's death. Feels so strange, a whole school commemorating a death when it feels as if our family has just come back to life. Carrie and Gracie have been with us a week now. Having them come home was the best Christmas present anyone could ever dream of.
The snow is beautiful. White, thick, filled with these ridiculously lovely ice crystals that make everything sparkle like a Christmas card. The sun gleams behind dark clouds, throwing molten silver on the surface of the rough, gray sea. I can't stop staring at the water right now. It started the night my sister came home, when I put my feet in the pool. Later, driving home from the bridge, when Mr. Campbell's car slid into the snowbank, we met my mother on the road. I saw my mother hugging Carrie, and I heard the waves crashing, and I shook J.D.'s hand. And I stopped being afraid.
Redmond says he'll take me out whale watching next summer. There are boats that leave right from Boston Harbor. I laugh, because I can't wait. A week ago, I would have preferred life imprisonment to having to go anywhere on a boat. Life takes some peculiar twists and turns, I think you'll agree.
Everything's going my way. It's pretty remarkable. Here's what's happening this afternoon. The whole school is gathered on the cliff—snow boots, ski parkas, knitted hats, mittens, and all—to remember Mary Langley. Angus has brought a huge wreath—it's a tradition he follows every year—to throw into the sea at the exact spot where Mary's carriage tumbled in.
Mr. Shannon, the teachers, the whole school board, people from Newport join the ceremony. It's rather solemn. A bagpipe plays. I am standing with Lucy and Redmond, looking across the crowd at my mother, Aunt Katharine, Carrie, and Gracie. Dell Harwood, a woman who helped Carrie, is here, along with some of the girls from Hawthorne House.
J.D. is beside my mother. He's part of this, part of our lives. I'll say it, even though I have mixed emotions: he is part of our family. The truth is the truth, no matter how you feel about it.
I keep thinking about that great night—when Carrie came home, and the snow was still falling, and J.D.'s garage apartment had lost power and so did our carriage house, and we all wound up staying in Blackstone Hall. I don't think any of us, except Gracie, slept for even a minute that night.
Angus built a roaring fire in the massive marble fireplace, and we pulled the sofas close, and put sleeping bags on the big red Oriental rug, and felt how amazing it was to have Carrie and Gracie with us. J.D. waited for the right moment, when he saw me looking over at him, to gesture me over. I could have turned my back, pretended not to see. But something made me cross the floor to him. I think it had to do with how peaceful Carrie seemed—as if something in her life had just been solved.
“Hi, Beck,” he said.
“Hi, J.D.”
“Are you okay?”
“I'm better than that. I'm good,” I told him. “When I shake hands, I mean it. Ask anyone. You found Carrie for us.”
I saw his gaze slide to my mother. She was watching from across the room, sitting quietly beside Carrie and Gracie. It hurt to see my mother look at another man that way, and I thought of my father. It still tears me apart, the truth of what happened in our family, and probably always will. For a long time, anyway. I briefly considered stealing J.D.'s gloves after he fell asleep.
But those days are over, and I decided to let it be. As I told J.D., I'm good. Lucy and I have made major strides in our quest for infinity. Soon we'll find our fathers. Our breakthrough involves a proof I worked on. I won't bore you with the details, but we are well on our way.
So much so, Mr. Campbell took my case to the board. He met with them in secret. I'll never know what he said, but I have the feeling it had to do with my sorry background. I do know I had to give permission for my psychologist in Columbus to fax a letter. I guess she explained to them the stuff I went through that made me steal. Whatever she said, they voted to not expel me.
And to let me go to the nationals in Boston this coming week.
The biggest surprise: guess who spoke up for me? Mrs. Nicholson! I have no idea why she had the change of heart, but Mr. Campbell said she was adamant. She said, “People deserve second chances. I've missed opportunities to give them before, and I don't want to miss this one. Let Rebecca go to Boston.”
There she is now, standing in a knot with her fellow board members. Mrs. Nicholson's mink is ruffled by the sea wind; you can see the little dead creatures on her back, their fur zinging in the breeze. Her pearls match the snow. I want to go over and thank her, but she is staring with strange, shimmering hope, and I'm not exaggerating, at my brother.
Travis. He's the one member of my family who's not totally happy right now. He's standing with Pell. She is going away. Either for Christmas, or for the summer. Lucy told me the whole story. Pell is going to Italy. She's traveling over to see their mother—the first time they'll have spent a holiday together since Pell was six.
It's also the first time Lucy will be without Pell in her whole life, and she's dreading it. Her sleeplessness is worse than ever.
It's not as if Pell is running away, and I'll help Lucy. There are algebraic ways of bringing the lost back home. Then there are the more straightforward methods: Pell's going straight to her mother, to get to know her and tell her that she and Lucy need her.
She told Lucy she's not coming back without their mother. I think, although I'm not sure, that that explains the weird, shimmering hope in Mrs. Nicholson's eyes. I think she's giving Travis silent kudos for setting the ball in motion.
I get that, I do. Lucy says that Pell was so inspired by Travis and our family, by the way we pulled together after such a big break, the way we couldn't stay apart. Lucy said it hit Pell hard the night Carrie came home. Apparently she and Travis had quite a talk. He asked why she wouldn't go to Italy to see their mother.
I guess he was thinking of how Aunt Katharine came back into our lives—how hard she tried to heal the rift, to give my mother what she wanted more than anything: her daughter back. Travis told Pell the whole story then, as they looked for me in the snow, about Aunt Katharine and my mother.
I think Pell began to develop her own notion of seeking… of leaving a comfortable life to go in search of the person you need more than anyone else, the one you believe will make you whole; Travis's story of our family, of what it took to get us all back together—even, in a strange way, J.D.'s lighthouse on the island— took hold of her soul, shook her out of accepting something that was so wrong.
See, the Davises have been split up a long time. It was one thing for us to miss knowing our aunt. Imagine how Pell and Lucy feel, missing their mother. Mrs. Nicholson is the matriarch of a family suffering with demons—I have the feeling many of them are her own. She's not easy, but she's smart. And I think she somehow understands that Travis and our family's story may help hers.
I gaze at my brother. He is right beside Pell, staring down at her. Her attention is focused on the sea, all the way across the water, as if she is looking over to Italy, trying to imagine what her mother was doing, what awaits her there.
I've seen Pell talking to Travis, watching him at every game. I know she saw me steal that emerald earring, and I know she was the one who returned it to Lucy. I know Pell has helped my brother through the breakup with Ally, and I realize that she's been holding back her own feelings for him, waiting until they are both ready. She
is wise, and has a certain stillness I've never seen in a girl about our age. I look up to her and I feel proud to think that she learned something from us—from Travis. And I know, from the bottom of my heart, why she has to make this journey. It makes me respect her all the more.
The sun dips down behind Blackstone Hall, and the sky darkens. Mr. Shannon gives a signal and the academy lights up, illuminated by thousands of tiny white Christmas lights. I've never seen anything like it before. I must have gasped, because Redmond squeezed my hand.
Now Angus bends down and picks up the huge evergreen wreath. One lucky student will get to throw it into the sea for Mary. I've heard students whispering, that usually Mary and Beatrice let their presence at the ceremony be known by some sort of mischief: one year the lights didn't go on, another year Mr. Shannon's scarf twirled off his neck and blew into the waves, and once a gust of wind caught the wreath and nearly pulled the student throwing it over into the sea.
But this year, things seem quiet. I catch my sister's eye. She is beaming, as if she knows something. Maybe she is thinking of next semester, when she'll be enrolled as a student. Or perhaps she is dreaming of the future, when Gracie can go to school here.
Mr. Campbell walks over.
“Beck,” he says, “will you and Lucy please come with me?”
I freeze. “Did I do something wrong?” What if Mrs. Nicholson changed her mind again? I'm set on going to the competition, proving myself, making my school proud. Seeing the town with Redmond, and kicking Boston math butt.
“No,” he says, smiling. “You've done something good.”
Lucy beams, and together we walk through the snow. The crowd parts for us. I hear Gracie laughing, and I swear she is saying “Beck!” It makes me laugh too, or maybe this is just how it feels to be really, really happy.
When we get to the cliff's edge, I look down. The waves are dark and swirling, topped with frothy white edges as they advance, break, and split apart. One wave after another, eternally. I think of Mary. She died in the water, just like my dad. I hope that they are at peace; I want them to know that I will never stop trying to make a connection.
Mr. Campbell puts his arm around my shoulders, and Angus comes stomping over with the wreath.
“Here,” Angus says, giving me a big smile under his walrus mustache.
“What?” I ask.
He pushes the wreath into my and Lucy's arms.
“Give it a good throw,” he says. “You'll be sending it into the wind, so make sure you put all your strength into it.”
“But…” I begin. I'm a disgrace, I was nearly expelled, I stole your keys.
Angus pats me on the head. “Mary's sleeping,” he says. “For the first time since I've worked at this school, she and Beatrice are at rest. I don't know how to explain that, but I have the feeling it has to do with all of you being together here. All you sisters.”
I look around, and my mother, Aunt Katharine, Carrie, and Gracie have come to stand with us. So has Pell. Lucy and I hold the wreath between us. Pell and Carrie flank us on either side. Four sisters paying our respects to Mary while two more—my mother and aunt—stand behind us with the baby.
“To Mary” Lucy says.
“And don't forget Beatrice,” I say.
The wind blows into our faces, straight across the sea from Italy. It is cold and full of salt. We taste the sea. The bagpipe plays “Adeste Fideles.” It sounds so sweet. Angus and Mr. Campbell count to three. We wind up, and with all our might send the wreath spinning into the air. It twirls once, twice. For a second it seems to rise, as if it has sprouted wings, as if it is about to fly away all on its own.
“Mary,” I whisper.
I know mischief when I see it. She might as well have materialized, shown herself, sung the carol along with our school. Because I know she is here with us.
The evergreen wreath lifted a little more, then swooped down the rocky cliff into the sea. We stand there, all us sisters, staring down and watching it disappear into the cold, cold waves. But I am not sad.
Because, you see, I know: some things are forever. It's pure math.
And then we turn back, our faces to the crowd, who come to greet us and embrace us and remind us where we belong: at school, on earth, in life, with the people who loved us then and love us now and will always love us forevermore.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For his valuable help with mathematics, I thank Injae Choe. All errors in this book are my own.
With gratitude to Teresa Lonergan for introducing me to Rose Hawthorne.
I am enormously grateful to everyone at Bantam Books, especially Irwyn Applebaum, Nita Taublib, Tracy Devine, Kerri Buckley, Betsy Hulsebosch, Carolyn Schwartz, Melissa Lord, Cynthia Lasky Barb Burg, Susan Corcoran, Gina Wachtel, Paolo Pepe, and Virginia Norey.
Thank you to Andrea Cirillo for everything.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LUANNE RICE is the author of twenty-six novels, most recently Last Kiss, Light of the Moon, What Matters Most, The Edge of Winter, Sandcastles, Summer of Roses, Summer's Child, Silver Bells, and Beach Girls. She lives in New York City and Old Lyme, Connecticut.
THE GEOMETRY OF SISTERS
A Bantam Book / April 2009
Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2009 by Luanne Rice
Title page photograph by Robert Aichinger
Book design by Virginia Norey
Bantam Books is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Rice, Luanne.
The geometry of sisters / Luanne Rice.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-553-90622-6
1. Women teachers—Fiction. 2. Sisters—Fiction.
3. Loss (Psychology)—Fiction. 4. Private schools—Fiction.
5. Newport (R.I.)—Fiction. 6. Psychological fiction.
7. Domestic fiction. I. Title.
PS3568.I289G46 2009
813′.54—dc22
2008055703
www.bantamdell.com
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