“Mrs. Palagonia says she has air-conditioning in the bedroom, and the boys want to put it in the living room too. She didn’t tell me. She told Beth.”
My mother lifted her apron and wiped her face. “This is the seventh day with temperatures in the 90’s, and I think today is the worst. I wish to God it would break already.”
I felt sorry for my mother standing there in the hot kitchen, and I didn’t know what to do. I felt sorry for her, and for me and for—what? I felt scared and helpless, and I turned around and hurried away.
Beth and my father were both sitting near the fan in the living room. It did feel a lot cooler with the dining room door open and both fans blowing away at each other. My father was smoking and looking uncomfortable, and Beth was talking to him. “... Nearly a year and a half now, and he doesn’t miss it anymore.”
“Miss what?” I asked.
Beth turned and actually smiled at me. “Smoking,” she said. “I was telling Uncle Walter how my father stopped smoking.”
“Oh, Molly!” my father said happily. “Here you are. Tell us what it’s like outside.”
“Hot,” I said. “Sticky, miserable, hot.” I sat down. “It’s not bad here with both fans on. Mom says we should buy another fan for the dining room.”
“It never gets this hot in San Francisco,” Beth said. “Anyway, Molly, I think you should get on Uncle Walter’s case.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you should help him give up smoking. I clipped lots and lots of articles for my father, showing the correlation of cancer to smoking. He didn’t want to read them, and he kept telling me to stop it, but I didn’t.”
"I'm safe there,” said my dad. “Molly never reads the paper, so I won’t have to worry about that.”
“You really should, Molly. You shouldn’t let him keep smoking.”
“Aw, Beth, I only smoke half a pack a day, except when I’m sitting around or when I’m with other smokers.” He stubbed out his cigarette.
She kept talking to me, lecturing as if she was a grown-up and I was some dumb little kid. She certainly could irritate people. “I mean it, Molly. If you love somebody, you shouldn’t let him kill himself.” She made a face. “And lung cancer is a terrible disease. You can’t breathe.”
“My mom keeps telling him to stop. The smoke makes her nauseous,” I said.
Beth waved her hand impatiently. “I’m talking about him,’“ she said. “You have to help him stop.”
She smiled up at my dad. “Uncle Walter, do you know what finally convinced my father to stop?”
“You left him alone,” said my father, trying to make a joke of it.
“No. I told him, ‘Dad, I love you very much. And I want you to be around when I have kids. I want them to love you very much too.'"
The bell rang, and my dad leaped to his feet and rushed out of the room. Beth tossed her head, and her hair made a smooth, shiny wave across her cheek. “My dad used to run away from me too, Molly, but I didn’t leave him alone until he stopped. You should really start clipping articles from the newspapers like I did. Now, here, in today’s paper there’s a wonderful article that ...” She held out a part of the newspaper toward me.
“Do you want me to run away too?” I asked angrily. “Just get off my back, Beth. Just get off all of our backs.”
Beth’s eyebrows raised. “You’re just ignorant,” she said.
“And you think you know everything.”
“I know a lot more than you do,” she said. “I really can’t believe we’re related. You’re such a ... such a ... birdbrain.”
“And you’re a pain,” I said. “You make people feel bad. You made my dad feel bad, and you make my mom feel bad, and you try to make me feel bad.”
“You don’t know anything.” Beth moved closer to me. I could see her eyes—brown, like mine, and her nose—kind of long, like mine, and her skin, dark, like mine. She had that weird, mean smile on her face again. “What goes on in that bird brain of yours? What do you think about besides eating and decorating your room in sick pink?”
“Lots of things,” I said, moving back, and beginning to feel scared again.
“Like what?” She moved her face up closer. I could smell her breath, minty, like toothpaste. She was probably the kind of kid who brushed her teeth after every meal.
“I see my friends. I ride my bike. I swim. I ...”
“Do you ever read a book? Uncle Walter says you never read a newspaper. How about books? Do you ever read books?”
“Sure I read books.”
“Name one.”
“I don’t have to if I don’t want to.”
“Because you can’t think of any. Because you can’t think period,”
I wanted to slam my fist into that mean, scary face of hers, but my mother’s words, Be nice to her, and my father’s words, You will behave yourself as long as she is in this house, froze me in my place.
“You’re stupid,” Beth said in the meanest voice I had ever heard. “You’ve had it easy all your life— just because you’re little and cute. People always thought you were little and cute, and they always babied you and spoiled you. You’ve always been lucky. I remember ...”
But I didn’t want to hear what she remembered. I jumped to my feet and went tearing out of the room. If I had stayed there another second, I would have tried to kill her.
Chapter 8
Aunt Helene was standing in the hallway, talking to my dad and mom when I escaped from the living room. They must have been talking about us because they stopped when I appeared, stood looking at me silently for a short second, and then Aunt Helene jerked back into speech.
“Oh, Molly, dear, there you are. How ... how is everything going?”
“Oh, just great!” I lied, and looked at the boxes she was carrying in her arms. She had a bunch of them wrapped in different kinds of gift paper. It felt like Christmas. Christmas in August.
“Did you run into much traffic?” my father inquired politely.
“No, not bad at all,” she answered and then handed my mother one of the boxes. “Karen, it’s really wonderful of you to go to so much trouble for Beth and me.”
“No trouble at all,” said my mother, shaking her head over the box, a big square one wrapped in gold paper. I had a feeling it would turn out to be a box of candy. At least, I hoped it would. “And you didn’t have to bring anything. You shouldn’t have.”
“Oh, just a few little things we picked up in Europe for Molly and the boys.”
“You shouldn’t have bothered,” my mother insisted, and Aunt Helene said something about not bothering, and my father murmured something about trouble, and all the words began merging as I stood there, wondering which of the boxes were for me and what was inside them.
Beth appeared. I didn’t turn, but I could see her mother look over my head and watch how her face grew happy. Imagine anybody feeling happy over Beth!
“Hi, darling,” said her mom.
“Did Daddy call?” I heard Beth’s voice behind me.
“Yes, he did, and he felt bad about missing you, so he decided he’d call again tomorrow morning.”
Beth brushed past me and stood next to her mother. They were nearly the same height, but she laid her head down on her mother’s shoulder for a quick second, and her mother, still holding the boxes, leaned over sideways and kissed the top of her head. “Are you having a good time, darling?” Aunt Helene asked. “I’m sure you are.”
“Did you remember to bring Jeff’s present?” Beth asked.
“Well, why don’t we all go into the living room,” my mom said. “There’s no reason for you to keep standing.”
We all moved together into the living room, and Aunt Helene laid all the boxes down on the coffee table. Then she turned and smiled at me. “Now, I have a few things for you, Molly. I hope they fit, But ...” She looked at me doubtfully. “You’re built differently from Beth. She’s taller.”
“And I’ve got more of a fig
ure,” said Beth.
“Well, you’re older, darling. A couple of years makes a big difference at this age.”
I kept my eyes off Beth. I knew she had a bust and hips, and in my mind, I could see her undressed with a woman’s body. Nothing much had happened to mine yet, and I wasn’t sure I wanted anything to happen. But I didn’t need to think about that today. I kept my mind on the gift boxes. There were six of them, all of different sizes. I hoped at least two of the big ones would be for me.
“You really shouldn’t have,” my mother was murmuring, still holding her own gold-wrapped box.
Aunt Helene selected a large, flat box, covered in dark green paper with a gold cord tie. It looked dull and it looked expensive. My mother was directing a tense, familiar look in my direction. I knew what she wanted me to do. “Thank you, Aunt Helene,” I recited and heard my mother let out a breath.
I opened the box, unfolded the mysterious layers of tissue paper, and held up a plaid, pleated skirt with a big safety pin on the side.
“This is a real Scottish tartan,” Aunt Helene explained. “I thought you’d like this one particularly—it’s such a beautiful red color, and it’s called Royal Stewart, the same one the British royal family uses.”
“It’s beautiful,” I recited. “Thank you very much, Aunt Helene.”
“Beth picked it out,” Aunt Helene said. “She picked the same one out for herself, only in a larger size.”
I hesitated and felt my mother’s expectant look directed at me again. “Thank you, Beth,” I muttered quickly.
“I got a size 12 for her,” Aunt Helene was explaining to my mom. “I think it may be too large.”
“Better that way,” said my mother. “She’ll grow into it. It’s stunning, and I’m sure she’ll love wearing it.”
Right now, in all the heat, I felt sweaty just holding it, so I dropped it back into the box and covered it quickly with tissue paper.
Aunt Helene now held out another box toward me, a small narrow one. “Beth picked this out for you too, Molly.”
“Thank you, Beth,” I recited as I unwrapped it. There was a watch inside. It had a black leather strap, and on its face was a picture of a girl with long hair wearing an old-fashioned dress.
“It’s lovely,” I said. “Thank you very much.”
“Alice in Wonderland was always one of Beth’s favorite books,” said Aunt Helene.
I smiled politely and wondered who the girl on the watch was.
“Whose picture is that on the watch?” my dad asked, leaning over my shoulder.
“Oh—well—it’s Alice, Alice in Wonderland,” Aunt Helene said quickly. “Of course, it doesn’t really look anything like the Tenniel illustrations.”
“I wouldn’t know if it did.” My father laughed uncomfortably.
“Go ahead and put it on, Molly,” my mother urged.
I put it on, smiled, and said I liked it. But I thought it was dorky. I really preferred my digital watch, even though I usually forgot to wear it.
“And then, one for good measure—just a little something,” Aunt Helene said quickly as my mother began to protest.
This box was in between the big one and the small one in size. I quickly unwrapped it and pulled out a pair of bright blue socks with lots of foreign words in bright colors.
“We bought them in Paris,” said Aunt Helene, “All the words mean I love you in French. See—here it says Je t’aime, and here it says Je t’adore, and here it says Mon petit chou—that means my little cabbage."
“Did Beth pick them out?” I asked. The socks were cute, and I knew I’d wear them.
“Well, she and I did all our shopping together, so ...”
“No,” Beth said, “I didn’t pick them out. I think they’re stupid.”
“Well, I like them,” I said. “I think they’re real cute.”
“You would.” Beth yawned and walked over to the window. She looked out and said, “That house used to be white. Now it’s tan.”
My dad laughed out loud. “Beth has some memory,” he told Aunt Helene. “She’s been reminding us of all sorts of things we’d forgotten. I think it’s wonderful to have a memory like hers. She must be a great student.”
“Yes, she is,” Aunt Helene said, “Of course, it takes more than memory to be a good student. Beth works hard, and she reads a lot.”
“I wish I could say the same for Molly,” my dad said. “She never sits still for a minute.”
“I do so, Dad,” I protested.
“And I never see her reading.”
“Well, Molly does just fine in school.” Now it was my mom speaking. “And she has lots of friends. Everybody likes Molly.”
“I guess that’s true,” my dad said.
Beth pointed out the window and said, “You know something else? There used to be a tree in that yard. It wasn’t much of a tree, but I remember it had green leaves in the spring.”
I picked up my boxes and muttered something about putting everything away in my room. I carried the gifts back and saw that my mother had straightened out my room. The trundle bed was back under my bed, which was covered again with my pretty pink spread. Everything was turning back to normal. I laid the boxes down on the bed. Tonight I would be sleeping in my own bed, and Beth would be gone. I couldn’t wait.
“Molly!”
She was standing behind me.
“What?”
She came into the room and sat down on the bed. She shoved away the boxes. “I didn’t really pick out that dumb skirt,” she said. “My mom liked it. It was her idea for both of us to have the same one. And I didn’t pick out the watch, even though I do like Alice in Wonderland.”
“I like the socks,” I told her, “even though you didn’t pick them out either.”
We both smiled, carefully. I watched as she put up her arm to smooth her hair. The little charms in her bracelet tinkled. She tossed her head, and her beautiful hair rippled across her face. I could get my hair cut too, I thought. Maybe it would look like Beth’s.
“I like your haircut,” I said shyly. It was the first nice thing I had said to Beth since she arrived.
“My haircut?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Well, you could get your hair cut the same way.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Sure. You have the same kind of hair I do. It would look just the same.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I think your hair is prettier.”
She tossed it again and smiled a big smile this time. She didn’t look scary anymore. She looked just like other people. I sat down next to her. “Beth,” I said.
“What?”
“Beth, how come you came back?”
“Because my shrink thought I should. He and my mother both thought I should.”
“What’s a shrink?”
“A psychiatrist. You know what a psychiatrist is, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. It’s a doctor who takes care of crazy people.”
“You don’t have to be crazy to go to a psychiatrist. You just have to have problems you need help solving.”
“What kind of problems do you have?”
“Lots of them.”
“Like what?”
She hesitated. Then she made a face. “Like you,” she said. “You’re a problem.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. I’m trying to work out my feelings about you. That’s why we invited you out to California two years ago, and that’s why I’m here now. Because my shrink feels it would be a good idea if I saw you again.”
“Your shrink told you to see me and be mean to me?”
“I’m not mean to you.”
“Oh, yes, you are—most of the time you are— and you’re always mean to my mother.”
“She’s not your mother. She’s your aunt. Don’t you remember when you used to call her Aunt Karen? Don’t you remember? You couldn’t even say her name right, so you called her Aunt Kaka, and I remember—”
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“Stop it!” I put my fingers in my ears but I could still hear her voice.
“Stop what?”
“Stop remembering.”
She moved closer to me. “No, I won’t stop. I’ll keep on. And you know something? I bet you remember lots of things you say you don’t remember, like right after the accident. I remember the two of them sitting there dead. And I remember my head hitting the windshield, and the screaming. I remember the screaming. It was you who was screaming. Nobody else. They were dead, and I was hurt, but you were doing all the screaming, even though you weren’t hurt at all. I remember—"
I grabbed her, and the two of us rolled around and around on top of my bed, on top of the boxes. I got a hand in her hair, and she landed a sharp slap on my cheek. Neither of us yelled or screamed, and through it all we could hear the grown-ups talking and laughing from the living room.
It felt wonderful getting my hands on her. We thumped and slapped and bit each other silently and rolled off the bed onto the floor. She was bigger and heavier than I was, but I could move more easily and quicker. I rolled her over and jumped on her back and ...
And then the bell rang.
Chapter 9
“It’s Jeff,” Beth yelled, wiggling out from underneath me and leaping to her feet. She was panting, her hair was messed, and there was a bite mark on her chin. She went flying out of the room so fast, I didn’t have a chance to point it out to her.
I took my time. It didn’t matter to me which one of my brothers it was. I didn’t care much for Lisa, and if Ginger turned out to be like some of Jeff’s other weirdo friends, I didn’t expect to like her much either.
Finally, I pulled myself up off the floor and looked in the mirror. My hair was all tangled up, and there was a big, red splotch on one of my cheeks. My shoulder ached as I picked up my hairbrush and started brushing my hair. Next week, for sure, I’d get it cut. Short.
I could hear the sounds of voices and laughter, and I stopped to listen. Alex. It was Alex, not Jeff. Aunt Helene was saying something, and Alex was saying something, and my father’s voice wove itself in and out. I brushed my hair and tied it back into a ponytail. Then I smiled at myself in the mirror. It had felt so good knocking Beth around. My fists clenched. Maybe I’d have another chance before she left.
What My Sister Remembered Page 6