Little Sister

by MacDonald, Patricia

  “Can I use your phone?” asked Burt.

  Andrew nodded and then clutched his stomach. “I don’t feel well,” he said. And it was true. The beer in his empty stomach, aggravated by the stress, was suddenly revolting on him. “I’m gonna be sick.”

  Freeing himself from Noah’s treacly attentions, he bolted for the front door. The clap of cold air felt wonderful, but it was too late to help his stomach. Grabbing the porch railing, he leaned over and began to heave up the rancid mix of beer and stomach acid.

  The younger cop, who had been standing awkwardly to one side until that moment, rushed out after him, followed by Noah. One stood on either side of Andrew as he retched into the bushes below. Once the heaving had started, it was uncontrollable. Andrew wanted to scream at them to get away from him. Their nearness to him only made it worse.

  Over Andrew’s bent form the young policeman and Noah exchanged an anxious glance. “Poor kid,” said the cop. “It’s tough.”

  “Just let it out,” Noah advised.

  Noah reached over and patted Andrew on the back, murmuring encouragement.

  Fools. You believed it, Andrew thought triumphantly as his stomach turned inside out on him again, and he gagged, sweating and moaning, in the chilly night air.

  Chapter 21

  BETH woke at dawn, awash in uneasiness, as if she had had a bad dream that she couldn’t remember. Mike slept quietly beside her. She felt like reaching out for him, but she didn’t want to wake him. With his exhausting schedule he needed all the sleep he could get. She lay back and closed her eyes, waiting for the night terror to subside and for sleep to overtake her again.

  It must be the traveling, she thought. It was hard to get a good night’s sleep when you knew you had to travel that day. That’s it, she thought. The traveling. Her thoughts turned to Francie. Once she got her settled at Aunt May’s and got the house put up for sale, she could come home. But perhaps she could get back up there to visit Francie one of these days. Or maybe Francie could come down to Philly and stay in the guest room. She tried to imagine herself proposing this to Francie and was struck by how unrealistic a plan it seemed. They had little common ground between them. Once this settling up was over, they would have even less.

  She tried to change the subject mentally, making lists of things she had to do when they got back. It would be a busy few days. The prospect of it filled her with dread. You’re just exhausted, she told herself. That’s the problem. You’re overtired. You’ve been trying to do too much. She thought of Francie, sleeping soundly down the hall. Well, you’ve taken most of the burden of this off her. At least you did that for her.

  All of a sudden she heard the sound of the medicine chest squeaking and then the rush of the tap in the bathroom. After a moment she heard Francie’s footsteps padding back to her room. She can’t sleep either, Beth suddenly realized. Probably taking an aspirin. She could picture her sister, lying there awake, fretting about the trip back. For some reason the thought made her eyes fill up with tears. She’s anxious, Beth thought. We’re both anxious.

  But instead of troubling her, that realization was oddly comforting. In a few minutes she had fallen asleep again.

  The second time she awoke, there was sunlight coming through the slats of the pine shutters and Mike was leaning over to kiss her good-bye. Beth clung to his fingers and kissed him repeatedly until he laughed and told her he had to go. Reluctantly she let go of his hand.

  “When will you be back?” he asked.

  “Soon. A couple of days.”

  “Good,” he whispered. “Tell Francie I’ll see her soon.” He slipped out the door with a wave.

  “I love you,” said Beth. She wondered briefly what he meant by seeing Francie soon. Probably the wedding, she thought. He always found a way to bring that up. She smiled and stretched. She hated getting out of the warm bed, but it was time to get started. It wasn’t as warm, anyway, with Mike gone.

  By the time she got dressed and made up and went downstairs, Francie was already in the kitchen. There was a pot of coffee on the stove and three bowls on the table. As Beth walked in, Francie was searching through the cabinets for cereal boxes.

  “Beside the sink,” said Beth, getting out some coffee cups. Then she picked up one of the bowls and put it back in the cabinet. “Mike leaves kind of early,” said Beth. “He has to be at the hospital.”

  “Oh,” said Francie, “I thought he was still here.”

  Beth smiled to herself, thinking that she had hoped Francie wouldn’t even know he had stayed over if he left early enough. She was going to keep the thought to herself when she remembered what Mike had said the night before about being less guarded and saying what was on her mind. She hesitated, and then she said, “I didn’t want you to know he stayed over.”

  Francie raised her eyebrows. “Why not?”

  “Oh, some Victorian impulse, I guess. I thought you might be shocked.”

  “I’m fourteen,” said Francie, as if that explained everything.

  Beth recalled how naive she had been at fourteen. Then she decided to say it. “I would have been shocked when I was fourteen.” It came out sounding a bit disapproving.

  Francie’s face closed up again. “Things have changed.”

  “I think it’s better this way,” Beth said hurriedly. “I mean, it’s better to know about things, be more accepting. Although I don’t necessarily think it’s good to get too much experience too soon.”

  Francie shrugged, and Beth felt as if she were prying. She wondered, as she often had, what the nature of Francie’s relationship was with Andrew. She reminded herself that it was none of her business. She shouldn’t have said anything about it.

  “Knowing them doesn’t mean you do them,” Francie said, and Beth felt relieved and a little grateful to the girl.

  “That’s true,” she said. “Well, I guess it seems stupid to you, but—I was worried about Mike’s being here. I’m afraid I still think of you as a little girl.”

  Francie sat down at the table and began to eat her cereal. “He’s a great guy,” she said.

  “Thanks,” said Beth, feeling a little glow of pride. Then she reminded herself about opening up. “I think we’re going to get married.”

  “Really? That’s great. You’re lucky.”

  Beth was about to get defensive. She caught herself reacting and tried, lamely, to turn it into a joke. “I tell him he’s the lucky one, getting me.”

  “Well, yeah,” said Francie earnestly. “You’re both lucky to have someone, you know, who you belong to. You seem happy together.”

  Beth nodded, feeling a surge of warmth for Francie. “We are.” She hesitated. Then she said, “I’m glad you like him.”

  Francie poured her coffee and began to sip it, her eyes looking past the steaming cup into the distance. “When’s the wedding?” she asked in a diffident tone.

  “Oh, we don’t know yet,” said Beth. “We have no definite plans.”

  Francie nodded, and Beth suddenly felt as if her sister thought she was evading the question. Perhaps she didn’t want to appear to be angling for an invitation. “It’s my fault really,” Beth added hurriedly. “I’ve been a little bit—afraid, I guess, to go ahead.”

  Francie said nothing, clearly not wanting to pry.

  Beth took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “I have this fear that I’ll ruin it somehow. That it won’t work out. It’s irrational, really. But still—it’s there. I remember Mom and Dad. It wasn’t exactly a picnic with them. I wouldn’t want to live like that.”

  Francie blushed to the roots of her hair, and Beth steeled herself, half expecting the girl to lash out at her for not respecting their parents’ memory. After a second Francie said, “It doesn’t have to be like that. You seem to get along really well together. I think you should do it. That’s just my opinion, of course.”

  Beth smiled. “Thanks. I think you’re probably right.” They sat there in a rather awkward silence for a moment. Then Beth looked at h
er watch. “Well, we’d better get packing.”

  Francie nodded and jumped up to take her dishes to the sink. “When do we leave here?”

  “About an hour.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  “Okay.” Beth left the kitchen and went up to her room to repack. It did not take her long to get the few things she needed reorganized and stuffed into a bag. When she was done she went down the hall and rapped on the guest-room door, which was ajar.

  Francie was sitting on the bed, staring out the window through the bare branches at the street. She jumped up as Beth came in.

  “Not much of a view,” said Beth, walking over to the window.

  “I don’t know. I kind of like it,” said Francie, looking out. “There’s always something going on out there. All kinds of people coming and going. I could watch them for hours.”

  “Yeah,” said Beth. “I like that, too, although it’s a lot prettier in Oldham.”

  “It’s pretty sometimes,” said Francie. “But there’s never anything new there. Here everything is different: the people you see on the street and all the buildings and the shops and everything. It’s exciting.”

  “Some people think it’s scary.”

  Francie shrugged. “I guess so. But I like it.”

  “You know, I think you’re really a city girl at heart.” Just like me, Beth added to herself.

  “Maybe,” said Francie, gazing out the window.

  Beth studied her sister’s profile out of the corner of her eye. There was already a suggestion of the woman’s face that would be sculptured from the smooth, adolescent features. The last time I saw that face, it was a child’s face, Beth thought. She had a sudden, panicky sense of time fleeting, of something lost.

  Francie turned away from the window with a small sigh. “It was nice of you to have me down here,” she said politely. She walked over to the bureau and picked up her comb and brush. She brought them back and stuffed them in the pocket of her backpack, which was lying on the bed.

  Beth watched her movements with a growing tightness in her chest. She was overcome with an acute, unreasonable sense that she was being abandoned. She thought back over various guests who had occupied this room. She had always enjoyed the company, but she had also watched them pack with a secret sense of relief that she would have her home to herself again. But the sight of this strange girl getting ready to go made her feel as if she would never open the door to this house again without feeling lonesome.

  The years will go by, she told herself. You’ll forget all about each other. And this thought, meant to be reassuring, made her want to cry out instead. In that instant she knew exactly what it was that she wanted to say. But her voice was trapped inside her. She sat down on the edge of the bed and nervously began to fold and unfold the corner of the quilt. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do, she thought. Maybe it wouldn’t work out.

  “I’m ready,” said Francie, “except for this.”

  “What?” Beth asked in a small voice.

  “This jacket,” Francie said, pointing to the parka on the bed next to the leather jacket from Gina. “I can’t fit it in the pack.”

  “You going to wear the leather one?”

  Francie looked at her incredulously. “Yeah. Of course. But I still think I should keep the other one. You know, for rainy days and stuff. Could you fit it in your bag maybe?”

  Beth looked at the jacket lying on the bedspread. It was faded and without body. But it was clean and had a kind of shabby dignity to it. Francie rested a proprietary hand on it, as if to prove that she would not deny it, despite its obvious shortcomings.

  Beth stared at it for a long moment. Then, without looking up, she heard herself say, “Why don’t you leave it here?”

  Francie shook her head and repeated patiently, “I might need it.”

  Beth recognized the opportunity to retreat. Francie had not understood. She licked her lips, aware of the dryness in her mouth. Then she said, “I know. What I mean is, leave it here and you come back.”

  Francie looked at her and shook her head uncomprehendingly.

  “Come back with me when I come back.”

  The younger girl frowned as if she were having trouble hearing her sister.

  “I’d like you to come back,” said Beth. “You could live here with me. This can be your room.”

  Francie’s face slackened as if she had been punched, and Beth suddenly felt panic-stricken by what she had said. It was too late to take it back, but she couldn’t think what had possessed her to say it.

  Maybe Francie would refuse. She looked at her sister. Behind the lenses of her glasses Francie’s eyes were fearful.

  Beth’s panic subsided like a squall that blows out to sea and was replaced by a sudden protective impulse toward the girl. “You’d have to give up your friends and start a new school. And I don’t know if you’d like it here, but well, I’d like to have you here. If you want to…”

  Francie bit her lip.

  “I guess you’d really miss Oldham, and your friends. And not seeing Andrew—”

  “I’m not gonna see Andrew anymore. I wrote him a letter.”

  “You did? Oh.”

  The room was silent for a moment. Then Francie said, “That’s really nice of you, but, um, I can live with Aunt May. I don’t mind.”

  “No,” said Beth, “I’m not being nice. I’d like you to come here.”

  “You don’t have to say that,” said Francie. “Really. I understand you’re busy and all.”

  “I’m not that busy,” said Beth. “I just like to appear busy. It makes me seem important.”

  “Well, besides, you’re getting married. You don’t need somebody else around.”

  “Mike is all in favor of it. Believe me.”

  “Was it his idea?” Francie asked.

  Beth hesitated. Then she pressed her lips together and shook her head. “No,” she said. “This is what I want.”

  Francie smiled briefly, although there was a look of concentration in her eyes, as if she were at work on a complex equation.

  “I think we’d do pretty well together,” said Beth.

  “I like it here,” said Francie.

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. Are you sure?”

  Beth picked the parka up gently off the bedspread and arranged it on a hanger. “I think we can just leave this in your closet.”

  “Okay,” said Francie. “That’d be good.” They smiled at each other and then quickly looked away. Francie began to fiddle with the buckles on her pack, as Beth placed the hanger on the closet bar and firmly closed the door.

  Chapter 22

  THE EMPTY CHURCH ECHOED THE SOUND of Andrew’s footsteps as he walked down the center aisle and then, crossing in front of the first pew, stepped up on the altar. He looked around to his left and saw the door that the pastor had mentioned when he called. Andrew opened it and walked through. To his left was another door. He opened that and saw the stairs leading up to the pulpit. He stared up them, remembering how when he was little, before the—before his father died, his mother used to bring him to church. And he would marvel at the way the pastor suddenly appeared in the pulpit. He had thought that the pastor must somehow fly up there or maybe just materialize there, while people had their heads bowed over the hymnals. He had tried to watch closely, but he always seemed to miss it. He always looked away at the crucial second, and then, when he looked back, there was the pastor, high above them—triumphant after his magical, invisible flight.

  Now, looking up the pulpit stairs, Andrew felt something cold and empty inside his stomach. It had been no magic, no miracle. There was no such thing. He had just been too young to know it. He could barely remember the feeling.

  “Andrew.”

  Andrew wheeled around and closed the door. Pastor Traugott was standing in the chilly hallway, calling to him.

  “I’ll be just a moment longer, son.” The pastor indicated a small pew outside his office door.
Andrew nodded and seated himself on the wooden bench. Pastor Traugott went back into his office.

  The hallway was bare except for some paintings of scenes from the Bible. Andrew scuffed his feet on the concrete floor and huddled up against the chill. The old pastor had called first thing in the morning to offer his condolences and ask if he could come by to discuss arrangements. Andrew didn’t want him at the house, so he had offered to come to the church. He didn’t care anything about arrangements, but he decided that he had better go for appearances’ sake, and also, he thought that the old man would probably know where Francie was. He had been calling there all night, after the police and Noah had left, wanting to tell her the good news. But no one had answered. Then, at 3:00 a.m., he could stand it no longer. He thought there might be something wrong with the phone. So he had gotten dressed and walked over to the Pearson house. The house was dark, and the car was not in the driveway. He had peered in all the windows, but finally he had had to go home. There was no sign of her. He had not been able to sleep for wondering where she was. He was bursting to tell her the news—that they were free now. Free to be together always. It was what they had dreamed of, and he had made it come true.

  Andrew felt suffused with a giddy warmth when he thought about the policemen last night. They had believed him completely. Even felt sorry for him. He could hardly believe that it all had worked out so well.

  The office door opened, and the pastor walked out in the hall. He was dressed in his black tunic and white collar. Over that he wore an old gray cardigan sweater. “Come in, my boy,” he said, putting a hand gently on Andrew’s arm.

  Andrew shrank from his touch but followed him into the office and slid into a chair. The old pastor sat in a chair beside him. The office was warmer than the hall by virtue of a quartz space heater that stood in one corner. All the furniture in the room was worn and mismatched, as if it had been salvaged from garage sales. The pastor offered Andrew a hard candy from a bowl on his desk. Andrew shook his head.

  “I’m sorry about Mother,” said James.