Summer Sisters

by Judy Blume

  Vix prayed she’d never find out about their adventure with Tim Castellano.

  “You worry too much about things that are never going to happen!”

  “I’m glad you have some special god watching over you while the rest of us …”

  “Are you getting your period, Ab? Is that it?”

  She must have thrown something at him then, a book or her purse, because they heard a thud, then Lamb calling, “Jesus!”

  “I’m not sure how much more I can take of this family,” Abby shouted, before she burst into tears.

  Daniel severed a head of lettuce with a chopping knife. Gus glanced over at Vix. She looked away, ashamed of having had any part in this. By then she’d grown so used to hitching it hadn’t seemed like a big thing. How else to get to all the beaches, to town to browse, to the construction site where they’d hang out, waiting for Von and Bru to take a break?

  “Come on, honey,” Lamb said, “let’s talk about it in the car. We’re already half an hour late.”

  “Don’t patronize me!” Abby said in a hoarse voice. “I hate it when you patronize me.”

  “I only meant …” Lamb began.

  “I know exactly what you meant.”

  They heard Abby blowing her nose, then nothing. A few minutes later the two of them came through the kitchen. Abby avoided their eyes, grabbed a poncho off a peg, and pulled the hood up over her head. Vix wanted to rush to her side and hug her, tell her she was a won derful mother, the best, that she appreciated her even if no one else did, that she was right to worry about them, that she was sorry she’d caused this trouble and she’d never do it again.

  “We’ll be home by ten-thirty,” Lamb told them, “eleven at the latest. We’ll talk about this tomorrow, okay?”

  Tomorrow her world would come apart. Goodbye scholarship. Goodbye magic summers. Tomorrow it would all be over.

  As soon as they were gone Gus let out a long, low whistle. “Trouble in River City.”

  Daniel said, “Six months. I give them another six months and she’ll be out of here.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Caitlin said.

  “Listen you little bitch …” Daniel grabbed her and spun her around. “You’re the reason she’s miserable!”

  “Like hell I am!”

  “Get your slimy paws off my sister,” Sharkey snapped, coming up behind Daniel.

  Daniel reeled. “Stay out of this, Sharkolater!” Gus stood close, ready to spring into action if necessary. For a moment he and Vix looked into one another’s eyes.

  Daniel

  HE HATES WHAT this family is doing to his mother. If they think he’s going to stand by while they destroy her, they’re wrong! Tomorrow he’ll go to her, pledge his loyalty, tell her whatever she decides to do, he’ll stick by her. She doesn’t have to worry. They’ll be okay. They don’t need Lamb or his money or his repulsive kids.

  Sharkey

  GOTTA GET THEM out of here before all hell breaks loose. Before Daniel really loses it and chops up something besides lettuce. Come on … come on, he tells the girls, ushering them out of the house and into his truck. He drives into Oak Bluffs. For the first time he can remember the yakkers keep their mouths shut. Nobody wants to think what this could mean. Not even his sister. He gets lucky, finds a place to park on Circuit Ave. and leads them up to the pizza place. He hopes he has enough cash on him. He’ll tell them they can each order a slice. That’s it. A slice and a soda.

  BEFORE THEY EVEN PUT in their order they heard raised voices and turned to see Bru sitting at a small table up front, arguing with a redheaded girl. She pushed her chair away from the table. “That’s it …” she shouted through her tears. “Fini, finis, finito. Get it? It’s over in any language!”

  “Calm down, would you?” Bru said. “The whole fucking place is listening.” Which was true.

  The redhead grabbed her mug of beer, lifted it, and tossed it in Bru’s face. “Grow up!” she cried before storming out of the restaurant.

  For the rest of her life, every lovers’ quarrel would remind Vix of this night, this night when anger crackled in the air. She vowed then and there no guy would ever make her feel that bad.

  PART TWO

  Rapture

  1982–1983

  15

  ALL HER LIFE she’d dreamed of being seventeen, like the Dancing Queen. And now she was, or would be very soon. On July Fourth she and Caitlin were singing along with Debbie Harry as they cruised up island in Caitlin’s rusted red pickup. By the time they hit Menemsha it was after five. They figured they’d do sunset there, then head for home. But as soon as they stepped onto the beach they spotted Bru and Von tossing around a Fris-bee.

  Caitlin pushed her canvas tote at Vix, kicked off her Tevas, and flashed her a wicked smile as she raced down the beach, leaping into the air to snatch their Frisbee in mid-flight. Vix hung back, watching, as if she were in sixth grade again, studying Caitlin for the secret to success.

  Caitlin was dazzling at seventeen. Her hair cascaded down her back, her skin was moist and flawless, and the expression on her face dared anyone to mess with her. She’d reached her full height that year, leaving Vix three inches behind. She was all legs, like Barbie, but without the ridiculous chest. Caitlin saw this as a defect, some trick nature had played on her.

  The girls at school encouraged her to send a photo to Elle or Cosmo or even Seventeen. The boys drooled over her. Even the teachers found her irresistible, but irritating. She was so bright. Why didn’t she apply herself? She could be anything, do anything, with just a little effort. But half the time she didn’t turn her papers in when they were due, and she refused to study for tests. “School has nothing to do with life,” she’d say.

  She’d gone skiing with Phoebe over spring break, to the Italian Alps, and returned with big news for Vix. “Congratulations are in order,” she’d announced. “I’m no longer a virgin.”

  So, Caitlin had been first, just as she’d guaranteed. Well, Vix wasn’t surprised. She wasn’t even disappointed. “Who?” she asked. “Where?”

  “A ski instructor,” Caitlin said. “Italian. Very physical. You know the type.”

  Vix didn’t.

  “We met on the tram. He was all over me by the time we got to the top of the mountain. We could hardly ski down fast enough.”

  Vix felt her heart beating faster. “And?” she asked, not certain how much she wanted to know.

  “It just happened.”

  “It can’t just happen.”

  “Well, first we had to get out of our ski clothes if that’s what you mean.”

  That wasn’t what she meant. “Did it hurt? Did you feel the Power? Was it exciting?”

  Caitlin laughed. “Exciting? Yeah, I guess so … for about two minutes. That’s how long it took till he finished.”

  Vix laughed, too. “Did he use something?” she asked.

  “Of course. I’m not totally crazy!”

  “Do you love him?”

  “Love him? I hardly know him. I’ll probably never see him again. It was mostly … curiosity. But at least I got it out of the way.”

  Vix had no intention of doing it just to get it out of the way. Caitlin called her impossibly romantic, swearing that sex and love not only can be separated but should be. “What gets women into trouble is the way they confuse the two,” she said. “Men have always understood the difference. That’s one thing I’ve learned from Phoebe.”

  And so, as Vix watched Caitlin whooping it up with the guys on the beach, she assumed there would be no holding back this summer. When Caitlin called “Vix … catch!” and the Frisbee sailed overhead, Vix reached up and grabbed it, then zigzagged along the beach, trying to avoid Bru who was heading straight for her. She managed to get rid of the Frisbee just before she hit the ground. She heard Caitlin shriek, then she was flat on her belly, wrists pinned, with Bru straddling her.

  “Promise to be good and I’ll let you up,” he said.

  “I’m not making any promise
s,” she told him, spitting out sand.

  “Then you can’t get up.”

  “Okay.” She wished she’d left her T-shirt on over her bikini because eventually she was going to have to get up and when she did he was going to get an eyeful. She never should have bought this stupid suit with strings instead of straps.

  The second he let go she raced for her beach bag, rummaged through it, but couldn’t find her shirt. She pulled out a towel instead, quickly draping it over her shoulders, and just in time, too, because he was back, dropping to his knees beside her in the warm sand, offering a beer.

  She still hadn’t learned to like the taste of beer. She couldn’t understand why the Chicago Boys went on and on about it, debating the merits of ale versus lager, draft versus bottled, but she was thirsty, so she took it, held the can to her mouth and tried swigging. It made her cough and when she did, she dribbled beer down her chin and onto her chest—reminding her of that night two summers ago when the redhead had thrown beer in Bru’s face.

  “So, what’s behind that mask, Double?” Bru asked, pulling the towel from her shoulders. They were no longer Double Trouble, the team. As of today they’d become individuals. She was Double and Caitlin was Trouble.

  “Mask?” Vix asked.

  “Yeah, that mask you’re always wearing.” “You’re the one with the mask,” she told him, whipping off his mirrored sunglasses. Right away she regretted it because now he looked directly into her eyes, making her squirm. She broke the spell by looking away first.

  “Now Trouble …” he said, leaning back on his elbows, watching Caitlin and Von frolicking like pup pies, “she wears it like a badge. But you don’t need to advertise, do you?”

  The side of her brain that could still think, still function, was impressed by his observations. He reached up and caught a strand of her hair as it blew across her face, then tucked it behind her ear, letting his fingers drift to her neck, across her shoulder, down her arm, making her breasts ache and her Power tingle. When he got to her hand, he turned it over. If he kissed it the way the Countess once had she’d faint. Faint dead away. She’d tell him it was the sun, that she always passed out from too much sun. But no problem, he traced a line across her palm instead. She could hardly breathe. So this is what it’s like, this is how it feels.

  He let go of her abruptly, cleared his throat, chugalugged some beer. “How old are you now?” he asked.

  “Seventeen.” Her voice came out a whisper. “Seventeen this month.”

  “Seventeen,” he repeated.

  “And my name is Victoria.” She couldn’t believe she’d said that. Never once had she called herself Victoria.

  “Victoria,” he said.

  “How old are you?” she asked.

  He found this funny. “How old do you think?”

  “I don’t know … maybe twenty …”

  “Twenty-one in September.”

  “You were or you’ll be?”

  He looked at her and shook his head. “You worried about me being legal?”

  No, that wasn’t what was worrying her. She reached into her bag again, determined to find her T-shirt. This time she came up with it.

  “Cold?” he asked, as she began to pull it over her head.

  “No.”

  “Then don’t …”

  So she didn’t.

  His hand was on her shoulder again. She tried to swallow, as if by swallowing she could make her thoughts go away. Her skin was burning. All she could hear was her heartbeat and Pat Benatar warning her—Heartbreaker … love taker …

  Finally he said, “You’re not scared of me, are you, Victoria?”

  “Scared?” she said, too loud, as if she were some parrot who could only mimic words. She shrugged, wishing she could say, No, I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of these feelings.

  “Don’t be scared.” And he gave her that slow smile, the one she’d first seen at mini golf the night she’d celebrated her thirteenth birthday.

  Later, during the famous Menemsha sunset, Bru leaned back against a rock with his legs outstretched. She fit into the space between and relaxed into him, her back against his chest, his arms around her, although by then she was wearing a sweatshirt and wasn’t really cold.

  There were no official fireworks up island but someone with a yacht delivered an impressive show, lighting up the sky for fifteen minutes. When the display ended Bru walked her back to Caitlin’s truck, stroked the side of her face with the back of his hand, then kissed her good night, a warm kiss, but quick, as if he didn’t want to get started. She felt dizzy, weak, the crotch of her bathing suit was damp. She didn’t want it to end yet. “You’re not scared of me, are you?” she teased in a husky voice, a voice she didn’t recognize as her own.

  “Yeah, I am …” And from the way he said it she was almost sure it was true.

  16

  ABBY BROUGHT HOME a pair of Jack Russell terriers and named them for her grandparents, Irene and Jake. Caitlin was indignant. “She thinks those little rodents can take Sweetie’s place? And naming them after her grandparents! Can you imagine naming your dogs after your grandparents? I mean, what is wrong with that woman?”

  Sweetie had grown old and tired last summer. She’d hardly been able to walk. Still, when she’d collapsed and with one final shudder died at Lamb’s feet, Caitlin was devastated. They all were. They’d had a service for her on the beach. “Lord, we give you our Sweetie,” Lamb said. “She asked for nothing, she gave everything.” Caitlin, tears streaming down her face, ran up and down the jetty, scattering Sweetie’s ashes. Later, Vix helped her build a memorial to Sweetie out of sand and shells, but when the first storm washed it away Caitlin begged Lamb for a proper stone. They planted it near the house, between the big pines.

  Sweetie

  Faithful Companion

  1970–1981

  After that, Caitlin was consumed by death. Did Vix believe in past lives? Because Phoebe did. Phoebe had her own channeler, the same channeler who was helping Shirley MacLaine find her previous selves.

  But Vix was more interested in this life than any other.

  Caitlin asked how many times a week Vix thought about death, because she thought about it every day, sometimes more than once a day, like Woody Allen. He was obsessed by it. Most creative geniuses were.

  “Are you planning on being a creative genius?” Vix asked.

  “Absolutely,” Caitlin said. “What else is there?” Then she laughed and gave Vix a jab in the ribs. “You take everything so seriously.”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to tell with you.”

  “I’m going to be a woman of mystery, don’t you think?”

  “Either that or a schizo.”

  Caitlin’s face froze. Now it was Vix’s turn to laugh. “Who takes everything seriously?” But just to prove that she, too, could speak of the unspeakable, Vix said, “I saw a dead person once.”

  “Really … who?”

  “Darlene.”

  “Who’s Darlene?”

  “My mother’s …” She hesitated before spilling the beans, before admitting Darlene was her grandmother, knowing Tawny wouldn’t like it. Instead, she said, “She was an old family friend.”

  “How’d she look?”

  “I was really young. I don’t remember that much.” She was sorry she’d brought up the subject in the first place.

  “Was she in a coffin?”

  “No, she was at the hospital.”

  “Were you there when she actually … died?”

  “I wasn’t in her room if that’s what you mean.” She’d been in the hallway with Lewis and Lanie, trying to engage them in a game of Go Fish because Tawny had told her to keep them out of the way and quiet. But she couldn’t get Lewis to stop crying, not even by letting him go first. When she went to tell her mother, she found the curtains drawn around the bed and doctors and nurses all over Darlene. Her mother had grabbed her arm and led her back outside.

  The following week Caitlin woke her in
the middle of the night. “Vix … are you afraid to die?”

  “I don’t like to think about dying.”

  “But we’re all going to, aren’t we? I mean, nobody lives forever. In order to get to our next life, or what-ever’s on the other side, we have to actually … die.”

  “I suppose …”

  “I wish I were a dog.”

  “They die, too.”

  “But they don’t lie awake at night thinking about it.”

  “Maybe it’s like Our Town,” Vix said, trying to calm her. “Maybe we get to stand around after … and watch.”

  “But then we’d be invisible.”

  Vix liked the idea of being invisible, of watching and listening without anyone knowing. But she didn’t say so. “Could we finish this conversation some other time because I’m really, really tired.”

  Caitlin didn’t say anything else and Vix fell back asleep. She’d no idea how much time had passed when she felt Caitlin’s hand on her arm. “Vix …” Caitlin was kneeling beside her bed. “I’ve made a decision. I’m not going to hang around waiting for it to happen. I’m cutting out before it all falls apart … before I’m old and ugly and nobody wants me.”

  Vix feigned sleep, uneasy with the direction of Caitlin’s thoughts. Woody Allen was one thing, this was another.

  “Promise you’ll go with me,” Caitlin said. “I’d be too scared to go by myself.”

  When she didn’t respond Caitlin shook her. “Vix … promise you’ll go with me?”

  When she still didn’t say anything Caitlin said, “Vix … I’m scared. Can I get in with you?”

  She moved over and Caitlin slid in beside her. Only then, with Vix’s arms around her, could Caitlin get back to sleep.

  Caitlin’s fear unnerved Vix. She was almost relieved when last summer’s focus on death turned into this summer’s obsession with sex. Caitlin was drunk with her Power. It wasn’t enough to have Von lusting after her, she flaunted it at home, too, coming on to Gus and even Daniel. The house was abuzz with sexual vibes. Caitlin was alive and well and anxious to prove it.