Aurora had once left here and called us a week later to tell us she was with a guy named Nandi in New Delhi. We had no idea who she was talking about or how she got there. Janine had been pretty pissed. She had screamed at Aurora on the phone saying she’d put out an APB in the area on her. Which wasn’t true, of course, but there had been a lot of drama for a couple of days.
“Mack’s inside.” Janine set her book on the arm of her chair and took a glass from the tray. “Aurora’s gone on a walkabout. Said she’d see me later, but—” She shrugged. “I told her she needed to be home by Monday.”
“Monday? Something special happening on Monday? Maybe a special guest coming?”
“I promised I wouldn’t say anything.”
“You promised Chris?” I asked.
“If I told you, I wouldn’t be keeping my promise, now would I?”
“Fair enough. I just want you to know how happy we are that you’re ready to have us meet her. We know this is outside your comfort zone.” I poured tea into her glass. From the look on her face, I knew it would be a good idea if I changed the subject. Otherwise, it was pretty likely I’d be sitting on the porch alone. “What are you reading?”
She glanced at the paperback open on the arm of her chair. “The usual.”
I glanced at the cover as I lowered myself into my chair. Janine’s book covers all looked the same to me: outer space, planets, sometimes a star exploding or a stormtrooper running across an unfamiliar planet. Janine is a fan of science fiction, something I didn’t care for. McKenzie and I both read Oprah picks, New York Times women’s fiction, book club kind of stuff. (We were all about women’s angst.) Aurora, to my knowledge, doesn’t read at all.
I suspected Janine liked getting lost in the worlds inside the books she read. There was usually lots of action and shooting, too, which did sound like her. She read mysteries once in a while, too, but she had always been a voracious reader of science fiction back when we were middle schoolers.
I sat down in my chair and moved my cell phone from the tray to the arm. I’d called Matt, but he hadn’t answered. He was probably still out mowing the lawn. He mowed on Saturdays after he went to the gym and stopped at the grocery store.
I stretched out my bare feet. The deck felt warm beneath them. Smooth, not gritty anymore. I’d swept the deck this morning. There was at least a bucket of sand on it, even though we tried to shower outside before we came up. Or at least rinse off our feet in the tub at the bottom of the stairs that I kept filled with water for just that purpose.
I gazed out over the rail at the beach and at the ocean that stretched out in front of us and seemed to go on forever. It was another perfect day. I glanced at the porch, satisfied with my tidying. The palm tree I’d brought home from the market looked perfect in the corner of the deck against the house. When I put the chairs back, I switched their order. Now mine was next to Janine’s, in the middle, with McKenzie’s to my right and Aurora’s to Janine’s left.
Janine drank her tea unsweetened, which was why I didn’t sweeten it when I brewed it, the way I did at home. I added two heaping spoons of sugar to my glass, then stirred it with the long iced tea spoon.
Fritz got up from his sentry position at the top of the steps, walked in front of me, and pressed his head against Janine’s hand. She stroked his head for a minute, spoke quietly to him, then pointed to her feet. The dog dropped to his belly at once and closed his eyes.
“You think you could teach me a few of the techniques you use on Fritz?” I asked, stroking my big belly with my free hand. I kept stirring my iced tea. I liked the sound of the spoon against the glass. “Might come in handy with the kid.”
She looked over the rim of her glass, skeptical. “I don’t think I’m the one to give child-rearing advice.”
“So maybe you’ll be her life coach.”
“Her?” Janine asked. “I thought you didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl.”
“Or him,” I added quickly. “We don’t know.” From conception in the petri dish, I had suspected our baby was a girl, but I kept that to myself. Just my little secret between baby McKenzie and me. Or Olivia or . . . whatever we decided on.
We were both quiet for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth of the sun, the smell of the water. Even the squawk of the seagulls seemed serene today. I sneaked a glance at Janine. She seemed fine. Well, as fine as Janine ever seemed. I was worried about her. Having to sit and listen to Aurora tell Mia and Maura about Buddy. Then having to listen to Aurora tell McKenzie that she’d told them. Janine was tough. I knew that. How else would she have survived all these years? How else would she have survived nearly two years of Buddy hell? Still, I worried.
“I’m fine. Stop looking at me like that,” Janine said.
I glanced at her like I didn’t know what she was talking about. “I’m not looking at you like anything. I mean . . . I’m looking at you, but not . . . what are you talking about?”
“I can see it on your face.” She brought her finger to her temple and spun it in circles. “You’re worrying about how I am after telling Mia and Maura about Buddy. After Aurora telling McKenzie that we told them.”
“I know you’re fine,” I said a little defensively. Was I that easy to read? Guess I was.
“I am,” Janine said.
“I know.”
“Good.”
“Good,” I repeated. Then I looked at her. “Are we really fighting about whether or not you’re okay?”
“We’re not fighting, Lillian. I’m just telling you that you don’t have to worry about me.”
I was quiet for a minute. I sipped my tea. “Would you tell me?” I asked. I added another spoon of sugar. “If you weren’t okay?” My lasts words were almost whispered.
It took her what seemed like a long time to answer me. “I hope so.”
I felt a tenderness for Janine then, one I don’t know that I could describe if I wanted to. I took another drink of tea, and the baby gave me a poke. “Oh!” I brought my hand to my belly. Then I smiled.
She did it again. It was a little foot or a little hand, just below my rib cage. “She liked the sugar. Probably the caffeine, too,” I said. Matt didn’t want me drinking caffeine. I’d given up coffee for our son or daughter, but my tea was where I drew the line. “She’s getting so strong,” I mused. I looked at Janine. “You want to feel? She’s really kicking. Right here.” I showed her.
Janine looked at me, then at my belly. A little bit like she thought I had an alien inside. “Nah. I’m okay.”
I try not to let my feelings be hurt. Janine isn’t into babies. I know that. She has less maternal instinct than Aurora, if that’s possible. Which put her in the negatives. And some people are funny about feeling a woman’s pregnant belly. It isn’t a big deal. It doesn’t mean she wouldn’t love my baby when it’s born.
She must have seen the look on my face because she said, “Lilly—”
“It’s okay,” I said. There were a lot of okays between us. Too many. Was it because of the baby? Because of McKenzie? “I understand.”
She sighed. “How’s that possible when . . . when I don’t?” She took her time before choosing her words. “I’m happy for you, Lilly. I really am. I just . . .” She stopped and started again. Not making eye contact with me anymore. Looking out over the rail, at the beach. “I don’t know what to do sometimes. What to say. You know I love you.” Now she was looking at me.
And it was okay.
21
McKenzie
It was Sunday afternoon, market day. We were all in Janine’s Jeep Cherokee; I was riding shotgun. Cancer has its privileges.
We rode north on Route 1, with the air conditioner off and the windows down. Even though we were just going to the market, it felt like a road trip in our days of yore. Clapton was on the radio; we always listened to one of the beach’s oldie stations. The warmth of the sun and the breeze the car created felt good. It made me feel alive.
I rested my elbow on the windo
wsill, leaning out a little. “So how’s your mom?” I asked Janine. Kathy had called that morning. I’d only heard a snippet of the conversation, but it had sounded like they were arguing. After hanging up, Janine had busied herself cleaning up under the house; because it was built on pilings, the area always seemed to be a catchall for junk. She pretty much avoided us until Lilly had announced that we were all going to the market.
Janine kept her gaze on the road. Hands on the wheel at ten and two. “She’s fine.”
Looking into the side-view mirror, I tugged my ball cap down snugly on my head. “She call just to say hi or what?”
“Just to check in, I guess. She said to tell everyone she said hi.”
I glanced into the backseat at Aurora, who was sitting behind Janine. She wasn’t wearing her sunglasses, so I could see by the look on her face that she wasn’t buying it, either.
The traffic light at the intersection ahead turned red, and Janine slowed. Beside us, to my right, we passed a Sailfish on a trailer. Four college-aged girls were in the extended-cab pickup pulling it. They had the windows down, the music up; I didn’t recognize the song or the artist, which made me feel old. The young women were in bikinis and hats. The driver was wearing a straw cowboy hat. As we pulled up beside them, the girl in the cowboy hat cranked the music up louder. The four girls were singing together. They looked like they were having so much fun. I could tell by the way they were looking at each other and singing together.
They could have been us twenty-some years ago. I hoped the girls in the truck understood how fleeting moments like the ones they were experiencing right then are. I hoped they were getting every drop of pleasure they could that day from the brightness of the sun and the laughter of the friend sitting next to them.
I had to look away. I stared through the windshield at the Harley in front of us. The traffic light turned green, and we moved ahead of the girls with the boat.
“Todd’s new baby doing well?” I asked Janine.
“I guess.” She must have realized how that sounded because she added, “You know, she’s good. Not sleeping through the night yet, of course. Mom says Christie’s exhausted, with the three of them. Kids are on summer break, so no school.”
I glanced at Aurora. Before turning to face forward again, I caught a glimpse of Lilly. She had a pair of candy-apple-red reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. She was texting furiously.
I realized she hadn’t said anything since we left the beach house. Come to think of it, she’d been quiet all day. Something had to be up. But I could only handle one possible situation at a time. I turned back to Janine. “So what were you arguing about, if she just called to say hi?”
Janine looked at me, making a sound of exasperation.
The traffic was moving slowly. I could see the girls with the sailboat in my side-view mirror. They’d almost caught up with us again.
“Is there such a thing as privacy with you guys, ever?” Janine asked.
I shook my head and deadpanned, “Nope.”
Only Aurora laughed.
Janine sat stiff, her fingers gripping the steering wheel too hard. “Who said we were arguing?”
“We could hear you.” Aurora, from the backseat. “Come on, you might as well tell us. You know Cancer Girl won’t let it go.”
Cancer Girl. It had been a not-all-that-funny joke on the Fourth of July, but now I was beginning to appreciate it. While it could be used in a derogatory manner, there was also a certain power in it. Let’s face it: I did feel like Cancer Girl a lot of the time. Against my wishes, cancer had totally taken over my life. Rarely a minute went by that my life wasn’t revolving around this sucky situation. Why couldn’t we make fun of it a little?
Janine took her time answering me. “It wasn’t a big deal. You know, the usual Kathy bullshit.”
“She thinks you should come down and see the baby?” I probed.
Janine glanced in the rearview mirror, signaled, and changed lanes so that she was in front of the Sailfish girls. “No. I mean, yeah, she does think I should come, but she was calling because . . .” She exhaled and went on. “Because she’s coming up for a friend’s birthday party or something in Philadelphia at the end of the month.”
“And she wants to stop by?” I asked. Kathy never stayed at the house. She hadn’t stayed there, to my knowledge, since Buddy had died. She rented it out for years, then Janine took over its management and let it sit empty when one of us wasn’t using it.
“She wants to see you,” Janine groaned.
To say good-bye came to mind. I shrugged. “And that’s a problem because?”
“Because I don’t want her here, Mack.” Janine changed lanes again. “You know how she is. How she’ll be. It’ll be all about her. How devastated she is that you’ve got cancer. How upset she’s been. How she wishes she had it instead of you.”
“Maybe your moms should get together,” Aurora injected.
I cut my eyes at Aurora, then looked back at Janine. “I don’t mind. Seeing her. I really don’t.”
“But I do.” Another red light.
“Janine.” I sighed, thinking before speaking. I didn’t get these kinds of opportunities with Janine. To say things like this. When she was trapped in a moving car and couldn’t get away from me. “I understand why you haven’t been close. I really do, but . . . it’s been a long time. I feel like you need to drop this grudge.”
“Grudge? Grudge?” she said to me. “Is that what you call it? A grudge? Like I’m still angry I didn’t get the Barbie camper for my fifth birthday? Or a grudge because she gave my brother more money for college than she gave me and I ended up dropping out because I couldn’t pay?” She was becoming angrier by the second. “That’s a grudge, Mack. Knowing my father was fucking me and pretending he wasn’t, that’s not a goddamned grudge.”
I was quiet then. We’d been through this hundreds of times, maybe thousands. Yet here we were again.
Kathy had sworn, at the time of Buddy’s death, to police and her daughter, and anyone who would listen, that she hadn’t known what was going on. She’d claimed to have been afraid of Buddy, afraid for her life. Which was a reasonable statement, since from time to time, she had had a black eye from running into a door or a fractured wrist from tripping on the stairs.
All these years, Kathy had held to her story that she hadn’t known Buddy had been sexually abusing their teenage daughter. There was no confession and begging for forgiveness. Kathy insisted on her innocence.
I honestly didn’t know the truth because Janine didn’t have hard evidence against her mother. She didn’t have evidence at all. She’d just maintained that she knew her mother knew. I felt, back then, that I had to side with Janine on this one. I still did. And I understood why, because of the circumstances, that Janine never had much of a relationship with her mother. But the woman just wanted to stop by to say hello. To me, her daughter’s best friend, who was dying.
“If you’re uncomfortable having her at the house, I could meet her for lunch somewhere,” I said.
“And make me look like an even bigger jerk?” Janine asked.
I looked to Aurora, but she was staring out the window. I twisted farther to see Lilly. “You’re awfully quiet. You want to weigh in?”
Lilly lowered her cell and glanced up over the rims of her glasses. “I’m sorry?”
“Who are you texting?” Janine asked.
“Matt.” Lilly looked serious despite the silly red glasses.
Janine signaled to make the turn into the market parking lot. “Enough, Lilly. Time to come clean.”
“You told them?” Lilly tapped the back of my seat. It was more than a tap. A slap. “McKenzie! How could you?”
Janine looked at me. I looked at her. She pulled into a parking space. “Told us what?”
Lilly sat back in her seat, staring at me. “I can’t believe you would say something. We specifically agreed I was going to think on it.”
I threw up my hands.
She was talking about our conversation on the Fourth of July about her telling Matt and/or Janine and Aurora about being an escort. “I didn’t.” I undid my seat belt as soon as Janine stopped the vehicle and poked my head into the backseat. “What you and I talked about wasn’t what Janine was talking about.” I didn’t mean to sound cryptic, but there was no way I was going to be the one to tell them anything.
“What wasn’t I talking about?” Janine cut off the engine, looking into the backseat.
All three of us were looking at Lilly. She burst into tears.
Janine and Aurora looked at me. “What?” I said.
Lilly yanked off her reading glasses, dropped them into her enormous handbag, and pulled out her sunglasses. “I think I need some air.” She opened the car door.
“Lilly.” I opened my door.
We all got out. Lilly took off. She cut across the parking lot, walking fairly fast for a woman seven months pregnant. I followed her. I heard the beep as Janine locked her door with the automatic opener.
“Lilly,” I called. “I didn’t say anything to them. I swear I didn’t.”
“I feel like an idiot,” she threw over her shoulder. “Matt’s acting weird. I feel like an idiot,” she repeated.
“So slow down and you won’t feel like an idiot, running through a parking lot seven months pregnant in those shoes.” Aurora caught up to her first.
Then Janine. Then me.
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Janine said. “Lilly, what’s wrong?”
We walked past a candle shop in the little strip mall where the market was. It smelled good, but a little nauseating, too. I pressed my hand to my stomach, trying to keep up with Lilly’s pace. I started to pant, but I didn’t slow down.
“Lilly, let’s sit down. McKenzie’s going to fall over.”
Janine got on Lilly’s other side and grabbed her arm. “Come on, it’s hot out. Let’s get some frozen yogurt.” We had stopped in front of a sweets shop.
When my girls had been little, I had bribed them into going to the market with me by promising an ice-cream cone afterward. They hadn’t known the difference then between ice cream and frozen yogurt, which had delighted me.
As Close as Sisters Page 16