In my hospital room Annie had climbed onto a chair next to my bed and was kneeling on it, holding Robert up to my face. “Want to know what was inside Robert’s head?”
“Robert?”
“The doll.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, what was inside?”
“Feathers.”
I stared at the doll, tracing the cracks across its head with my finger, and thought how perfect that was. We were twins, both of us featherbrained and cracked.
Chapter 21
The riniging of the phone woke me up. I’d almost picked it up when I stopped myself, hand in the air. My eyes went to the clock to note the time. Five after one.
“Loretta,” I called. I wanted a witness, someone to assure me that the phone was ringing. “Loretta!”
“What do you need, sweetheart?”
“Do you hear the—” was already out of my mouth before I realized it was Kate standing in the doorway, not Loretta. She was a really good mimic and she’d hit Loretta perfectly, the soft hint of a Jersey accent.
“Do I hear what?” she said in her normal voice now, coming toward me.
The phone had stopped ringing. If it ever had been ringing, a voice in my head said. “Nothing.”
Kate always seemed calm, but now her movements were slower and her eyes a little glassy. Like she was unnaturally calm.
“Are you okay?”
“Oh yeah. Sorry I couldn’t come visit yesterday; my mother and the girls got home from L.A. and brought a yogi with them? You have no idea how much time it takes to realign the chakras of a twenty-three-thousand-square-foot house.”
“So the self-actualization went well?”
“Yeah. Especially if you like being told to breathe yourself out and feel the universe.” Mrs. Valenti had been a lawyer before she stopped working to manage her husband’s self-help empire. She’d redirected all her energy and acumen into a quest for self-knowledge that basically translated into wholeheartedly embracing a new religion every three to six months. I wasn’t sure if she did it in earnest or because it was one of the things that kept the ratings on Living Valenti so high. If Kate was like a lightning rod, a passive instrument that created an electric atmosphere, her mother was lightning, fast moving, glamorous, and libel to hurt you if you got in her path. She said whatever was on her mind without softening it, which made her terrifying to me, but the flip side, as I’d learned last summer, was that she was very accepting.
Kate’s gray eyes wandered around my hospital room and settled on my hands. A frown line appeared between her eyebrows.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“N-nothing, I’m just tired?” Her eyes moved to the table next to my bed, where Annie had left the doll. “What’s that?”
“According to Annie, her name is Robert. She’s a present from my secret admirer.”
“Any idea who sent it?”
“None.”
“He certainly has a strange taste in gifts. A broken doll?”
“She wasn’t broken when she got here; that’s my fault. Her head fell off when I opened the box and that’s when she got maimed.”
She picked it up and turned it over. “Fancy.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s one of those expensive dolls they had at the fund-raiser for the children’s hospital? Remember the one that Langley’s grandmother chaired? They auctioned them off. Elsa’s stepmother went nuts for them?”
“Too bad I broke it or I could have sold it on eBay.”
“I don’t know. Someone once told me that flaws are what give people real beauty.” Her words sent a chill through me. She ran her finger over the doll’s face. “So how are you today? You look better.”
“I can move my hands. But I’m going crazy.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought I got a phone call from someone threatening to kill me—”
Her fingers went to her mouth. “Jane, my God, that’s awful.”
“Seriously. But apparently I made it up.”
“Why would you do that?” She set the doll aside. “And wouldn’t you know if you’d gotten a phone call?”
“Did you hear the phone ringing when you came in?”
“No, I only heard you asking for Loretta. Why?”
I shook my head. “I guess the medicine I’m on makes me imagine things. And Dr. Tan says that sometimes when you can’t remember stuff, the brain makes up stories to fill in the gaps.”
“Stories about someone killing you?”
“I keep thinking if I could just remember everything that happened, I would be fine. The delusions would go away and I’d get better.”
“Maybe,” she said. Her fingers went to the cut on her otherwise perfect pink lip. “But maybe your mind is protecting you from something? Maybe it’s better not to know?”
“What happened to your lip?”
“My lip?” She looked startled and moved her hand away, staring at it like she hadn’t seen it before. “Oh, nothing. My sister stood up too fast and knocked her head into me.” She smiled. “Why are you worrying about me? All you should be thinking about is getting better so we can spend the summer on the beach working on our tans.” As though she wasn’t already naturally the perfect golden hue. “Remember last summer when we saw that dolphin right in front of my house?”
“That was amazing. That whole week was amazing.”
She ran her finger down the doll’s arm. “Yeah, it really was.”
Langley had been in Scotland all summer and Kate and I had spent a lot of time together, which was great. I learned about the wicked sense of fun that bubbled beneath her carefree surface and got a glimpse of her chaotic family life too. The entire household revolved around her father and his work, but he was only there on the weekends. So when he was in residence, it was like showtime! and everyone had their roles. When he wasn’t there, everyone could be themselves. My first observation was to marvel at the fact that no one slipped up or acted out of character when the reverend was home. Unlike David’s father, who made his displeasure known physically, the Valentis didn’t beat their children. But if you displeased Reverend Valenti, he would freeze you out of his affections. You became invisible. It sounded painless, but the strain Kate was under to make sure that didn’t happen suggested that it was a punishment far worse than I could imagine.
It finally helped me understand what I’d seen the first day we met in the bathroom, and it made me realize that she was an even better actress than anyone knew. I felt lucky to have the chance to learn all that but even luckier when her parents took her younger sisters away for the second-to-last week of summer and offered to let us stay in the beach house by ourselves.
I was especially glad because my mother and Joe had just gotten engaged despite my objections and it was the week we were moving into the Chatoo (also despite my objections). Or, as Joe liked to say, “Don’t think of it as relocating, think of it as gaining a stepfather, a pool, a garden with a fountain, and a game room to entertain all your friends.”
“What, no petting zoo?” I’d asked.
“Do you want one?” Joe said, meaning it. He started reaching for the blueprints. “Could be a space at the back of the garden.”
My mother clenched her jaw. “Jane, please.”
The less I had to be around for that, the better. No one seemed to care that I wasn’t helping, wasn’t being part of the family.
So for an entire week, Kate and I did nothing but lounge around the pool and lounge around the beach and watch TV. I saw a more relaxed Kate than I’d ever seen, and I felt more relaxed than I’d been since moving to New Jersey. Two nights before everyone was coming back, we took her dad’s pride and joy, a ’67 Cadillac Eldorado convertible, for a cruise through town, then went and parked it on a turnout with a great view of the ocean. It was a Wednesday, which meant it was deserted, just us and the huge sky and the full moon.
The radio was tuned to an eighties station and “You Shook Me All Night Long�
�� came on. Kate grabbed the straw fedora we’d bought to share, climbed over the windshield, and stood on top of the hood. Feet apart, arms open, head back, she started to dance.
I got out my camera to take a picture.
“No, put down your security blanket and come dance with me.” She held out her hand, letting go of the fedora, and the wind picked it up and whipped it off her head toward the beach.
Her mouth made a comical O and she laughed and said, “Finder’s keepers,” and took off after it. I jumped out of the car and sprinted to catch up. The hat wafted down the beach, rolling and flipping and bopping toward the water, and we followed, giggling the whole time. It kept going, just out of reach, and without realizing it, we’d waded into the surf. I had my fingers nearly on the hat when a freak wave pushed it toward Kate. We reached for it at the same time. Our shoulders collided, unbalancing us both, and we fell down, each hitting the sandy bottom in the waist-deep water with a splash. For a moment, shocked by the impact and the water, we just stared at each other.
Then we started to laugh. It was the kind of laughter that hurts your stomach and makes you gasp and forces you to cling together to keep from falling over. My head was resting on the shoulder of Kate’s soaked T-shirt and hers was on the strap of my wet tank when we finally stopped laughing and were just gulping air.
“Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that,” she said.
“Me either.” It was certainly sometime before my mother abandoned me for Joe.
It was quiet for a minute.
“Do you ever feel like your head is going to explode? Like there’s just so much inside pushing to get out?” Kate’s face suddenly looked stormy in a thrilling, beautiful way.
I didn’t. But I didn’t want her to feel alone. “Totally,” I answered, clutching my arms around my knees. It was chilly.
“I knew you did.” She nodded. “What do you do when you feel that way?”
“Wait for it to pass,” I guessed. “What do you do?”
She was watching me carefully. In the moonlight, hair hanging in wet tendrils down her shoulders with the sea glimmering behind her, she looked like a water nymph, something mythical and endangered. She reminded me of something, but I couldn’t think of what. “I want to show you something. Come on.” She got to her feet, tugging me up with her, and kept holding my hand as we squelched our way up the beach back to the car in our soggy jeans.
“What is it?”
“You must learn patience, young Jedi,” she said with a mischievous half smile.
I stopped walking. That was the kind of thing Bonnie would have said. And that was who Kate had reminded me of, I realized.
For a moment I was seized with a feeling of missing Bonnie so profoundly it ached. Then Kate turned around and looked at me with concern. “Is something wrong, Jane?”
I shook Bonnie out of my head. “Nothing.”
She smiled and tugged my hand. “Good.”
We got to the car and she motioned me into the passenger side.
“Open the glove compartment.”
I did. A dozen containers of lipstick in horrible shades, five bottles of perfume, a pack of gum, a long pearl necklace, three Livingston High School IDs including the assistant principal’s, a cell phone I recognized as Dom’s, a box of nursing pads, and a pint of whiskey spilled out. “What is all this stuff?”
“I stole it.”
“You steal stuff from”—I picked up one of the lipsticks and looked at the price tag—“CVS?”
“All over. I stole a fur coat once.”
“How?”
“I just wore it out of the store. But it was weird; that wasn’t as satisfying. Oh, and I stole a car. That was fun. But I put it back because how would I explain it?”
“Do your parents know about this?”
“Are you kidding? They’d go ballistic.”
“But what if you get caught? Kate, you can’t keep doing this.”
She smiled at me. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. That’s what’s so great.” She took my hand.
“What?”
“Ever since we started hanging out this summer, I haven’t felt that way. The exploding way.” She traced the tendons up the inside of my arm, caressing them so lightly it felt like gossamer wings. “I haven’t stolen anything at all since June.”
I looked at her. She was glowing. “Really?” I didn’t know what she was saying, why she was holding my arm like that. But I felt it was important. I was important. I was helping her somehow.
“Really.” Her fingers brushed my hair like I was a doll. “I knew, since the first time we met, that you were special. Special for me. You make me feel like I’m okay. Better than okay.”
Her words stirred something inside of me, something that had been knotted up since my mother and Joe announced their engagement. Made me feel like I mattered to someone.
She touched my cheek. “I want to kiss you.”
“You do?” The only person I’d ever kissed, besides my parents, was Liam Marsh. I’d never really thought about kissing a girl.
Kate nodded. “I do.” Her hair was starting to dry in loose wisps framing her face, making her look vulnerable. Making her look like Bonnie. Maybe this girl I could save. “A lot.”
“Um. Okay,” I said, my heart pounding.
I leaned toward her. She leaned toward me. We crashed together, our noses bumping, our teeth smacking, lips crushed. It was a horrible, awkward kiss. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed.
I leaned back. “Maybe this isn’t such a good—”
She dragged my mouth back and held my head in place while her mouth brushed mine softly, like the lightest whisper. Her lips were chapped but smooth and tasted like seawater and cherry Blistex. We stayed that way, mouths barely touching, moving only a hair’s breadth, for a long time. She came a little closer, increasing the pressure, and her lips opened against mine.
Her tongue slid into my mouth, sending shock waves through me. This wasn’t like any kiss I’d ever had with Liam. I felt a surge of heat flutter from my lips to my toes, sending sparks down my spine. I wanted this, I wanted more. At least, my body felt like it did.
“Oh, Jane,” she sighed against my mouth, and I felt her fingers moving down my arms again and my body ignited.
What are you doing? my mind demanded. What would everyone at school say?
I pulled away. I was breathing heavily. “We have to stop.”
Her eyes were misty and sweet when she opened them, but when the mist cleared, I saw her normal aloofness. “Why do we have to stop?” she asked. “You can’t tell me you didn’t like it.”
“I did,” I admitted. “Like it.”
“So what’s the problem? We’re just two friends experimenting. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
She made it sound so simple. Just two friends experimenting. And she wanted me.
So why was I so completely terrified?
“It’s—I don’t want to do anything to ruin our friendship.”
“How could this ruin our friendship, silly?” She took a piece of my hair and began to wrap it around her finger. “But if you don’t want to, we can stop?”
Did I? I wasn’t even sure.
“Do you want to stop?” I asked.
She shook her head slowly. “No.”
“Then neither do I.”
“Are you su—”
I put my hands on her shoulders and pulled her to me. Our kiss that time was fierce, hard, and breathless. I poured everything I’d been feeling, all my anger and rage and grief and fear, emotions whose origins I couldn’t even recognize, into the kiss. I wished my mother could see me.
“Did you like that?” I asked, pulling away. I felt reckless. Bold. “Tell me you liked it.”
Kate looked stunned. “It was—it was remarkable.”
“Let’s do it again. But all we can do is kiss. Okay?” Who was this girl, speaking with my mouth, doing these things?
I’d never felt so free, so feral, in my life. Was this what kissing was supposed to be like? This feeling of giddy wildness? Of not caring what else happened? These kisses didn’t mean anything, they were just for now, barely even existed. We kissed like people kiss in movies, long and hot with tongues twisting together one second and then light little feathery touches at the corner of each other’s mouths the next. Neither of us noticed our wet clothes or the cool breeze. She kissed my eyelids and made me sigh. I kissed her on her neck and gave her goose bumps.
“I like that,” she said, giggling.
“Me too.”
We moved into the backseat. Our hands clasped together, we kissed and laughed and told jokes and kissed some more. The kisses got longer until they were almost trancelike and I didn’t know where her body began and mine ended. We made out for hours under the full moon with the sound of the waves and the sea grass shifting tenderly in the breeze. Kissing subsided into holding, and we lay twined together on the long leather seat of the Cadillac watching occasional puffs of cloud float slowly across the velvety night sky.
She said, “I love you, Jane.”
It was what I wanted to hear. What I needed to hear. I realized that later. But when I said, “I love you too,” I knew it meant different things to each of us. I loved her as a friend. I loved her needing me. Loving me, even. That was what I loved.
The next day we lay on a batik blanket on the beach in front of her house. Her head was on my shoulder and she was tracing droplets of water down the side of a Diet Coke can.
“What happens now?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean when school starts. Will we see each other?”
My heart started to pound. “Of course, we’ll see each other. We have most of our classes together. We see each other every day.”
“That’s not what I mean.” She raised herself on one elbow. She was by far the prettiest person on the beach—maybe the prettiest person that I’d ever met. “Like this. Will we see each other like this.”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure—”
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