Confessions of the Sullivan Sisters

by Natalie Standiford

  Sassy lifted her wet, rosy face and nodded.

  “Oh! Creepy,” I said.

  Jane and I curled up on the bed with the others. “Poor Sass,” Jane said.

  “It was awful.” Sassy sobbed harder.

  “How did it happen?” I asked.

  “We’re not sure,” Ginger said. “Your father’s at the hospital now, with Almighty. I’ll bet it was a heart attack. What if it had happened while he was driving? He might have hit someone.”

  Sassy cried even harder, then bolted up. “I can’t stand it! It’s too awful!” She jumped off the bed and ran out of the room. A second later we heard her bedroom door slam.

  “Why is she so upset?” Jane asked. “I mean, I know she just saw her first dead body, but she’s acting like she killed the guy herself.”

  “He was always kind of a stiff,” Ginger said.

  I sighed. They were heartless. We all were.

  The phone rang. Ginger reached over to get it. From the way she talked to the person on the other end I could tell it was Daddy-o.

  “He’s on his way home,” she said, hanging up. “The doctors said it was a stroke. The funeral is on Friday.”

  “Poor Wallace,” I said.

  Having St. John and Sully home felt like a holiday, and Jane and Takey and I had trouble suppressing our happiness at seeing them in our time of mourning. Only Sassy grieved consistently. She sat quietly with us, listening to St. John’s and Sully’s stories of adventures in the wider world, wearing black at all times—she’d even dug up black pajamas somewhere—and bursting into tears over nothing. She was sadder than anyone else in the family, but that wasn’t so strange, for Sassy.

  On Friday we all dressed up in our black clothes and piled into a limo that took us to the cathedral.

  I couldn’t see your face very well through your lace veil. It was hard to tell exactly what you were feeling. I think you loved Wallace, but who knows what secrets you keep locked up in your heart?

  I tried to stop Takey from pretending to shoot the mourners while we walked up the aisle, but he only listens to Miss Maura. Brooks was already seated with Carrie and his parents and Mamie. He nodded at me as I slid into our pew.

  I stared at Wallace’s body, all waxy-looking in his coffin, and it gave my heart a little pang, but I couldn’t cry. I wanted to cry. It would have felt right. People around me were sniffling and wiping their eyes. Sassy wept and trembled through the whole mass. Not hard-hearted Jane, of course. Ginger was crying, but who knows over what. Maybe she’d lost an earring.

  The sight of Daddy-o quietly weeping got to me. Daddy-o doesn’t fake tears. Wallace wasn’t his father, and if you think about it, Daddy-o has been to a lot of funerals for your husbands. Maybe he was remembering his real father. Or maybe he’s just tenderhearted. Sassy got her tender heart from him.

  Finally the ceremony ended and we filed out of the cathedral row by row. I felt tired. The faces in the pews blurred until, in the very last row, one face jumped out at me. Robbie. He looked at me so sweetly that I burst into tears at last.

  “Oh, Norrie!” Sassy draped her arms around my waist and clung to me as we walked. That was all that kept me from rushing into Robbie’s arms. The flow of people pushed us past him and out of the church.

  I hadn’t told him about the funeral; he must have seen the announcement in the newspaper. I longed to be with him, but I had to go to the luncheon. I don’t know why the sight of his face set me off like that, but in the limo, all the way to Gilded Elms, I hid my face in a handkerchief and cried. And then I worried: What if I was turning out like Ginger? What if I couldn’t be happy unless I was with Robbie, the way Ginger can’t be happy without Daddy-o?

  FOURTEEN

  THE NIGHT AFTER WALLACE’S FUNERAL, WE SETTLED AT THE kitchen table for a quiet supper with Miss Maura. Sassy said she didn’t feel well and went upstairs to her room. The rest of us fixed turkey sandwiches and ate them with glasses of milk, and gossiped about who had said what at the post-funeral luncheon.

  “Brooks Overbeck told me he’s already bought a white tie and tails getup for the Cotillon,” Sully said.

  “Good for him.”

  Sully and St. John exchanged a glance. In all the fuss around the funeral I hadn’t forgotten about Brooks and the Cotillon, but it didn’t feel right to talk about something so frivolous while wearing mourning clothes.

  “I’m going upstairs for a smoke,” Jane announced. “And I don’t care who knows about it,” she added to Miss Maura’s raised finger, poised for scolding.

  “I’ll go with you.” I got up from the table, my sandwich half-eaten. “To make sure you don’t burn my room down.”

  Jane and I went upstairs to the Tower. Jane cracked a window and lit one of her cloves. I collapsed on my bed.

  “So what made you cry?” Jane asked. “I mean, at the end of the funeral. Why were you really crying?”

  “What kind of question is that? It was a funeral. Everybody was crying. Except you, of course.”

  “I know you think I’m mean. You weren’t crying over Wallace. I’m sad about him. I really am. And I’m sad for Sassy that she found him dead. It seems to have broken something inside her.”

  “I wish she’d talk about it,” I said.

  The door pushed open—no one ever bothers to knock in this family—and Sully and St. John came in.

  “The place looks like crap without my posters,” Sully said. “Looks like a girl’s room.”

  “It’s my room now.” I wasn’t in the mood.

  “It is and will always be my room, officially,” St. John said. “I’m only lending it to you squibs.”

  St. John stretched his long self across the foot of the bed while Sully settled in the armchair by the window. They both looked at Jane.

  “What?” she said. “I’m smoking. Deal with it.”

  “We need to have a talk with Norrie,” St. John said.

  “So talk.”

  “Get out of here, you feel me, shorty?” Sully said.

  Jane stubbed out her cigarette. “Shut up, Sully. You and your dumb college slang.”

  “Oooh, Jane said ‘shut up,’” Sully said.

  Jane sashayed to the door. “Kiss my skinny white heinie.”

  “Oooh, Jane said ‘heinie,’” Sully crooned. “Everybody in this house talks so twentieth century.”

  “Including you,” St. John said. “When you’re not trying to sound like a drug dealer on The Wire.”

  Which is how Sully talks when you’re not around, Almighty, so forgive the swears. I cut some of them but for others there’s just no substitute word that gives the same meaning.

  Jane left, grumbling and slamming the door behind her. I sat up and propped myself against the pillows.

  “We heard about this older dude you’re with, N,” Sully said. “Not cool.”

  “Sully, I thought you were going to let me do the talking,” St. John said.

  “Knock yourself out,” Sully said.

  “Daddy-o told us, Norrie. He’s trying to pretend he’s not worried, but you know he is. How old is this guy, twenty-five?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “That’s four years older than me,” St. John said. “He’s too old for you.”

  “You don’t know what guys are like, Norrie,” Sully said. “I hate to break it to you, but we’re shitheads.”

  I looked to St. John for confirmation. Sully might be a shit-head, but St. John?

  He nodded solemnly. “Not always, but we can be. Some guys are. And usually the guys who go after the young girls are not the best kind.”

  “But you don’t know Robbie,” I said. “He’s not like that. He doesn’t go after young girls. All his ex-girlfriends are his age. This is just…an accident.”

  Sully sprang up. “Oh no. You’re pregnant?”

  “No,” I said. “Not that kind of accident. I mean, it just happened. I know the timing’s not perfect, but I can’t help that. I met the love of my life now. I’d rather h
ave met him later, in my twenties, but I didn’t. It’s fate. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “Fate? Oh no, don’t give me that,” St. John said. “Whenever girls talk about fate it means trouble.”

  “Yeah, fate boys are always the real assholes,” Sully said. “That’s how girls justify their assholosity—‘I can’t help it if he’s a creep, it’s fate!’ Don’t go falling in love, Norrie. It’s all a big lie.”

  “Like you know,” I said. “When have you ever been in love?”

  “Norrie, listen to me,” Sully said. “There’s this guy in my frat, he’s a senior. Every year when the new freshmen arrive he goes through the directory and finds the cutest girls. He picks them off, one by one. He invites them to a party, gets them drunk, has his way with them, and then checks them off his list. He even keeps a big chart with their pictures on the wall of his room. After he gets one, he draws a red X through her face. Then he goes around telling everybody that he’s seen her naked and she’s fat.”

  “So? All that proves is that your frat is full of creeps,” I said.

  “That’s only one example,” Sully said. “I could give you dozens of others, even worse.”

  “How do you know this guy Robbie’s not seeing three other girls at the same time?” St. John asked.

  “Well…I guess I don’t know, for sure.”

  “He could be up to all kinds of things and you’d never know about it,” Sully said.

  “You haven’t even met him,” I said. “Why don’t you at least meet him before you decide he’s the devil incarnate?”

  Sully laughed. “Ha! He’ll never want to meet us. Your older brothers? He’d be scared shitless.”

  I didn’t like to admit it to myself, but they had put some doubts in my mind. What did I know about Robbie, really? I only saw him once or twice a week. What was he doing with the rest of his time? Did he dangle me on a string while seeing other girls on the side? How would I ever know?

  “What about Brooks?” I said. “He’s a guy too. How do you know he’s not just as bad as those guys in your frat?”

  “He could be,” Sully said. “But he would never be a jerk to you, because you’re too connected. He knows that whatever happens between you will get back to Almighty and Mamie, and he wouldn’t risk that.”

  “So the only reason I can trust him is because he’s afraid of pissing off the family?” This was a troubling way of looking at love. I didn’t like thinking about Brooks as a coward any more than I liked thinking of Robbie as a predator.

  “What about you?” I asked. “Are you an asshole too? St. John?”

  “Nah, not me,” St. John said. “Sully is, though.”

  “I am not,” Sully said. “I’m a nice guy. I can’t help it if girls throw themselves at me. What am I supposed to do, resist?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do,” St. John said.

  “Dude, I’m only human,” Sully said.

  “You know what? I don’t trust either of you,” I said. But they’re my brothers, and they were only trying to protect me. If I couldn’t trust them, who could I trust?

  FIFTEEN

  A FEW DAYS AFTER WALLACE’S FUNERAL, I GOT A SYMPATHY note in the mail from Robbie. It said:

  Dear Norrie,

  I’m sorry about your grandfather’s death. You looked so sad at the funeral. I hope you don’t mind that I crashed it, but I wanted to be there in case you needed me. I saw that you have a lot of support from your family, though, especially your sisters. I don’t want to disturb your family at a time like this, but if you want to call me, I’m here. Waiting. Dial away. Or text or whatever.

  Hope to see you in class on Tuesday, though I wouldn’t blame you if you cut it. There are times when speed reading doesn’t seem very important. Most of the time, actually. But I met you because of speed reading, so I consider it a core requirement of any academic program. It sure would be nice to see your ever-changing face.

  Robbie

  “He didn’t sign it ‘Love,’” Jane pointed out, not helpfully.

  “He didn’t have to,” Sassy said. “Just the fact that he sent the note shows his love.”

  “You should show it to Almighty and Ginger,” Jane said. “They’d be so pleased to see a young man who actually communicates by U.S. mail instead of texting. The etiquette of bygone days and all that. I don’t see any notes from Brooks lying around.”

  “His father sent one,” I said. “From the whole Overbeck clan.”

  “Still,” Jane said.

  “Yeah, still,” Sassy said.

  I went to Speed Reading on Tuesday night. How could I not? I was dying to see Robbie. I wanted to see how I’d feel about him now that he was probably a predatory jerk, according to Sully and St. John.

  I got to class a little late and slid into the back row, right next to him. He inspected my face for traces of sadness. I’m sure he found some there. He laid one hand over mine and turned his attention to the teacher, who was discussing skimming techniques.

  I hate skimming, I wrote on his notebook.

  Me too, he wrote back. If it’s worth reading, I want to read every single word.

  The moment I was in his presence I knew Sully and St. John were wrong. Maybe I was naive. Maybe I was kidding myself. But I decided if I was going to get hurt, then I was going to get hurt. How else would I figure out how to tell the difference between a good guy and a jerk? My instincts shouted that Robbie was a good guy, and if my instincts were that wrong, I had a lot to learn.

  After class, Robbie took my hand and we walked across campus to a café. “I have to tell you something,” I said over mint tea.

  “What, girl of mine?”

  “There’s this thing coming up, in a few weeks, called the Bachelors Cotillon. Have you ever heard of it?”

  Robbie shook his head. “Is it a debutante ball?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m supposed to go. With my dad, and my brother, and this guy named Brooks. My grandmother will be very upset if I don’t go. And ever since Wallace died, she’s been even touchier than usual. I just thought you should know.”

  “When is it?”

  “December twenty-first.”

  “The shortest day of the year.”

  “And the longest night.”

  “I hope you have a good time.”

  “I won’t. Don’t worry, I won’t.”

  “No, I want you to.”

  “You don’t understand,” I said. “This boy Brooks…he’s, like, picked out for me.”

  “Does he like you?”

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell. He’s very dutiful. He knows he’s supposed to like me so he acts like he likes me. Maybe he really does.”

  “Do you like him?”

  “He’s nice,” I said. “But I don’t like him the way I like you.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “But I’m a dutiful person too,” I said. “I guess that’s why I’m going to the ball in the first place.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with keeping your family happy, as long as you’re happy too.”

  “That’s the thing,” I said. “I feel so funny lately. Restless and impatient and crazy and pissed off. I want to run away. Just leave and go go go go go—with you. Anywhere with you, anywhere there are no cotillons and no bossy grandmothers and no school uniforms or nuns or hockey games or lacrosse players or good girls or bad girls. Just us.”

  His mouth flatlined, his face neutral. “Yeah. That’s crazy. You can’t do that.”

  “You wouldn’t run away with me?”

  “I don’t want to run away. I like it here. Besides, I’ve got a thesis to write.”

  See how responsible he is?

  But my heart cracked, a hairline fracture. I was disappointed. More than disappointed. I’d expected him to say he’d go anywhere, do anything, as long as he could be with me. But instead, he’s practical. He likes it here. He wants to get his degree.

  He’s grown up.<
br />
  Two can play that game, I thought. I’ll be grown up too. “All right. I’ll do what I have to do and you can do what you have to do. Right now I have to go home, do some homework, and go to bed. Well, good night.”

  I hurried out of the café. I was tempted to look back to see if he was following me or at least watching me. But I didn’t, because I knew it would ruin the effect of my dramatic exit. Still, I listened for footsteps as I walked to the car. At last, at the car, I turned around. No one was following me.

  SIXTEEN

  SULLY WENT BACK TO DARTMOUTH AND ST. JOHN WENT BACK to New York, and things started to settle down again. You didn’t invite anyone to tea that week. We assumed you were sad and missed Wallace. Sassy was still shaken up by his death. She went to school and hockey practice, and once a week she went downtown to tutor the student she was working with, but the rest of the time she stayed shut up in her room. She didn’t come up to the Tower for sessions with me and Jane, even when I invited her.

  A week went by and I didn’t hear from Robbie. So when it was time to go for the final fitting of my Cotillon dress, I went along quietly. It was Ginger’s idea to invite Claire and her mother along with us. She thought that might perk me up, I guess.

  I was checking my phone for messages from Robbie the whole time we were in the Seville Shop. You had no idea. In the dressing room, before I tried on my dress—no messages. After I put on the dress and zipped it halfway up—no messages.

  I stepped out of the fitting room and stood on the platform before the three-sided mirror. Diane zipped me the rest of the way up. I furtively checked my phone again—no messages.

  I stood very still while Diane pinned and unpinned the silk at my waist. I’ve never stood so still in my life. My core had turned to stone. I felt like a ballerina in a little girl’s jewelry box, the kind that spins around while a music box plays the Sugar Plum Fairy theme from The Nutcracker. I couldn’t move if I’d wanted to, not unless somebody wound up the music box and made me spin.