“Now, Eve, dear,” Mom says. I know she doesn’t intend to sound harsh, but her steady voice is so jarringly incongruous with our streams of tears that all eyes fall on her. She clears her throat and tries again. “I think what everyone needs is a nice cup of cocoa.”
Eve pulls away and stares into Mom’s eyes. Then … as if the past few moments haven’t been weird enough … she laughs.
Mom looks at her, startled. Eve laughs some more … hearty, cathartic chuckles.
“We used to joke about that,” Eve says, her face still so close she must feel Mom’s breath on her cheeks.
“Wha … ?”
“Shannon and I used to laugh about how you’d always try to make everything better with a nice cup of cocoa. No date to the prom? ‘What you need is a cup of cocoa!’ The dog devoured your science project? ‘A cup of cocoa will do just the trick!’ An asteroid destroys the Northern Hemisphere? ‘Well, I’ll just whip up a nice cup of cocoa!’”
Eve’s eyes glisten and she laughs some more. She reaches out as if she wants to touch Mom’s cheek, but she pulls back at the last moment.
Because now, Mom is crying.
I bite my lip. Confronting Mom with almost two decades’ worth of pain and grief doesn’t nudge her into vulnerability, but embarrassing her turns her to jelly.
“I didn’t realize you made fun of me,” she says in a brittle voice.
“Oh, Mrs. Stetson … no! No, Mrs. Stetson, that’s not what I meant! We weren’t making fun. We loved you for making everything better with your cocoa. Don’t you see what a source of comfort that was for us?”
Mom waves a hand dismissively.
“Oh, Mrs. Stetson … ” Eve continues plaintively.
Mom’s hand is still waving. Whatever, whatever …
Damn her. Why is it so much easier for her to be cold than sad?
“You know what we called you?” Eve soldiers on.
Mom looks up at Eve, dampening her lashes as she blinks them against her tears.
“We called you Sue-nami. Sue, as in Susanne. You were such a force of nature. We were in awe.”
We study Mom’s face closely. This could go badly.
But Eve’s sweet face is coaxing a smile from Mom’s.
“Sue-nami? Like the storm?” Mom asks.
Eve nods, giggling through tears.
Then Mom starts giggling, too. Crying and laughing at the same time. Eve’s fingers interlace with Mom’s. Their knuckles turn white, they’re squeezing so hard.
“You two weren’t the only ones to come up with nicknames,” Mom says, her teary eyes sparkling. “Remember when you and Shannon sprinkled bathroom bleach into the washing machine because we were out of laundry detergent?”
Laughter sputters from Eve’s lips. “Shannon was Spic and I was Span!”
Mom laughs harder. “Your mom and I had to buy new cheerleading uniforms so our Red Devils wouldn’t be pink!”
“Sixty bucks a pop!” Mrs. Brice interjects gleefully, laughing along with them.
“Oh, oh!” Eve says excitedly. “And don’t forget how we almost set your kitchen on fire when we baked our first cake.”
“‘Bake’ being the definitive word,” Mom says in a playful-scolding voice. She looks over at me to deliver the punch line. “They broiled it!”
Eve is laughing so hard, she’s teetering on her squatting feet.
“At least they didn’t paint your kitchen!” Eve’s mom says. “That was my Mother’s Day surprise one year. Surprise! Your kitchen is pink!”
“To match our cheerleading uniforms,” Eve says. Tears stream down their cheeks.
Dusk is settling in, and a gauzy peach ray of sun streams through the plantation shutters, making everyone’s cheeks rosy.
“I never heard about the uniforms or the cake,” I say softly.
Mom gazes at me warmly. “There were so many stories,” she says. “Where do you begin?”
I don’t know … at the beginning? In the middle? What the hell does it matter where you begin, just as long as you do? Oh, well. Maybe she’s beginning now.
Mom and I are washing dishes when we hear the front door open.
“Anybody home?” Aunt Nicole calls from the foyer.
Mom glances over her shoulder. “Oh, by all means, let yourself in,” she calls back. “Why stand on ceremony?” Mom pokes me playfully in the side as I dry a porcelain teacup.
Aunt Nic joins us in the kitchen. “Dinner dishes?” she surmises.
“High tea,” I correct her, curtsying. “We had guests.”
She pulls a chair from the kitchen table and settles in. “Who?”
I reach for a soapy teacup that Mom has just finished washing, but she pulls it away from my grasp. “Go sit with Aunt Nicole,” she tells me. “I’ll finish up.”
I sit next to Aunt Nic as Mom rubs a dishcloth against her china until it squeaks.
“Carole and Eve Brice came by,” Mom says, attempting an oh-by-the-way tone.
Aunt Nic blinks hard. “You’re kidding! Goodness, how many years has it been? How old is Eve now? She must be—what—in her mid-thirties?”
Silence.
Aunt Nic and I exchange puzzled glances, then look at Mom’s back at the kitchen sink. Squeak, squeak, squeak goes the china.
“Sue?” Aunt Nic says.
More silence. Squeak, squeak, squeak.
Aunt Nic’s eyes search mine for an explanation. I shrug.
“Mom, did you hear Aunt Nic?”
Squeak, squeak, squeak.
But then the squeaking stops. Mom freezes in her spot until her shoulders convulse. Her head drops and a sob rumbles through her throat.
“Sue … !”
Mom turns toward us, her blue eyes glistening with tears. The teacup in her hands drops to the ceramic tile, breaking into a thousand jagged pieces. Aunt Nic and I gasp and jump to our feet. Mom holds out a hand to stop us from coming closer.
“Stay where you are!” she says through her sobs. “You’ll get cut.”
We ignore her, rushing over and enveloping her in our arms.
“The glass!” Mom wails. “You’ll cut yourself on the glass!”
“We don’t care about the glass!” Aunt Nic says, pressing Mom’s face into her neck.
“It’ll cut you!” Mom insists, but we’re not listening. We’re just hugging her, Aunt Nic’s fingers tangled with mine as we stroke Mom’s hair.
“I have to clean it up,” Mom says, but her voice is small now, defeated. She crumples into us, our muscles flexing to absorb her weight. Her sobs emanate from deep in her gut.
“It’s okay,” Aunt Nic whispers in her ear. “It’s okay, Su-Su.”
We stand there for a long time. Our faces turn sideways and rest on each other’s shoulders. Our arms caress each other’s backs.
“I miss my baby,” Mom moans, then shakes as more sobs churn through her chest.
“I know,” Aunt Nic coos. “I know.”
“It’s my fault,” I say. “I shouldn’t have called Eve. I didn’t mean to upset you, Mom.”
Mom’s back suddenly stiffens and she pulls away from us. “Why did you call her?” she asks. I try to read her expression. Angry? Accusing? Betrayed?
I hold a hand against my mouth, grasping for words. “I don’t know,” I say, staring at the shattered glass on the floor. “I need to know her, Mom. You never talk about Shannon, other than superficial stuff. I want to know my sister. But I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She takes my cheeks in her hands, her palms cool against my skin. “I’m glad you called her.”
My face crumples. “But I made you cry.”
Mom shakes her head. “It’s okay to cry, sweet girl. My sweet baby girl,” she says, and our tear-stained eyes stay locked for a long moment.
Then Mom’s hand tugs self-consciously at the collar of her blouse. “I must look a fright,” she says. “Let me go wash my face.”
Broken glass crunches softly under her pumps as she starts to walk out of
the room.
Aunt Nic suddenly smiles. “I can’t believe it,” she says. Mom turns around to see what she’s talking about.
“This is the first time I’ve ever see you walk away from a mess,” she tells her sister.
Mom blushes. “Oh, the glass!”
She starts rushing back into the kitchen, but Aunt Nic is shooing her away. “We’re got it, we’ve got it,” she assures her. Mom hesitates, then smiles and walks out of the room.
Aunt Nicole and I squat on the floor and gingerly start tossing pieces of glass into the wastebasket.
“Should I tell her?” I ask.
She looks at me quizzically.
“Should I tell Mom about the journal? Doesn’t she deserve to know?”
Aunt Nic’s eyes lock with mine. “I don’t know what to tell you, honey. I’m sorry I’ve put you in such a tough spot.”
I pluck more glass from the floor.
Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like such a tough spot anymore.
Thirty-Six
“Can I help you?”
“Uh …”
I stare frantically at the plump brunette who has just opened the front door of her apartment to me, a baby in her arms. She’s dressed in shorts and an oversized T-shirt. Her eyebrows seem locked into a perpetual V, making her look angry.
Even when she arches her brows (which she’s doing now, prodding me to say something), the V stays in place.
God. Why didn’t I anticipate somebody besides Chris answering the door?
“Um … ” I say. “I’m looking for Chris Ferguson. Is he home?”
She narrows her eyes.
“He went to Chapel Heights High School, right?” I ask, pushing a lock of hair behind my ear.
“Yeah?”
“I’m a senior at Chapel Heights. Well, I will be in the fall. We’re doing an alumni survey. I was hoping he might be willing to answer a few questions.”
She tosses her head sideways.
“Chris!” she calls.
We stand there for a second, the baby reaching a pudgy hand in my direction.
“Chris!” the lady bellows again.
Jeez. The poor baby has to look at that scowl all the time.
I hear footsteps listlessly approaching the door.
Then I see him.
He gives me a blank stare. I pitch forward slightly, studying his face. He’s got a slight paunch, dirty-blond hair, and a receding hairline. His features are even, and pleasant enough—I guess he had the potential to be good-looking a few years back. But now he just looks average, like the person you have to pass in a front office to get to the office of the person you’re there to see. The kind of person nobody ever notices.
What the hell did Shannon see in him?
Now he’s doing the eyebrow arch thing, waiting for an explanation.
The brunette turns and disappears into the apartment with the baby.
I take a deep breath. “I’m Shannon Stetson’s sister.”
The slightest hint of surprise flickers in his eyes. He stands silently for a moment, then closes the door as he joins me on the stoop, nudging me slightly backward in the process.
“What do you want?” he asks in a lowered voice.
He’s towering over me. I didn’t realize how tall he was until I could feel his breath on my face. My knees buckle slightly.
“You dated Shannon before she died … right?”
He studies my face for a second, then nods almost imperceptibly.
“But you broke up?” I continue. “Right before she died?”
He holds a steady gaze. “Okay,” he says evenly.
Whatever that means.
“Why did you break up?”
He rubs his chin. “Why are you here?”
“I just … I don’t know. She kept a journal before she died. I’m reading it. She writes about you.”
His jaw tightens. I can tell that words are bouncing around in his head. “She was a nice girl.” That’s what he settles on. “I really don’t have anything else to say.”
I take a deep breath. “I’m meeting with Jamie later today.” I blurt out this lie so quickly, I don’t even remember forming it in my head.
Chris looks … what? Mad? Panicked? “What the hell?” he says, rubbing his chin again. “Why are you dredging up all this crap?”
I’ve really got his attention now. “Jamie told me that …”
“Jamie got pregnant on purpose.”
My jaw drops for a nanosecond. I shut my mouth and suck in my bottom lip.
“Right,” I say, trying to sound calm, almost bored even. “Shannon found out Jamie was pregnant, and then …”
“Jamie was always chasing after me,” Chris says, spitting out his words. “She was nothing but a pest.”
I bite the inside of my lip, willing my face to stay expressionless. I brush a windblown lock of hair out of my eyes.
“She faked being Shannon’s friend so she could get to me,” Chris continues, clenching his fists. “I told Shannon she was nothing but trouble.”
“And yet … you and Jamie ended up getting together.” It’s the most benign way I can think to phrase it. I don’t want to make him defensive.
“One time,” Chris says, his eyes bulging. “One time I let my guard down. And that’s all it took.” He jams his hands in his pockets, his face reddening. He shakes his head slowly.
“Right. Then you told Shannon that Jamie was pregnant.” I’m trying so hard to sound casual, you’d think we were discussing the weather.
Chris’ eyes flicker at me. “Jamie told her,” he mutters, the indignation still fresh in his voice. “Shannon would never speak to me again.”
I swallow hard. “So then, Jamie had the baby and …”
A vein in his neck throbs. “She told you she had my kid?”
“Um …”
Chris eyes me suspiciously. “What did Jamie tell you?”
I feel my face flush. “Nothing … nothing. I haven’t talked to her yet. We’re meeting later today, remember?”
He shakes a finger at me. “Well, don’t believe anything she says. That psycho is a liar.”
I glance at him anxiously. “So she didn’t have the baby.”
He eyes me suspiciously. “Are you playing some kind of game with me?”
Damn. I fold my elbows across my chest, shift my weight, and stare at my sneakers. “No, I just …”
“Look. I don’t know what you know and what you don’t know, or why the hell you’re showing up on my doorstep, but I’ve said all I’m going to say.” He turns to open the front door.
“Wait …” My eyes fill with tears. “Did you love her?” I ask, and he stops in his tracks.
“Did I love Jamie?”
My jaw drops again. “No. Shannon. Did you love Shannon?”
My sister, you moron.
He shrugs. “Shannon? Yeah.”
Oh God. He might as well be commenting on his favorite football team.
I clamp my teeth together. “Because she loved you, you know.”
His eyes fall.
“She loved you,” I repeat, my voice trembling.
He scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah.” He looks puzzled. “We were kids, you know?”
This imbecile. This stupid clod that Shannon wanted to marry, to spend the rest of her life with, was screwing her best friend behind her back and dismissing Shannon as casually as if she’d been a girl behind a counter serving him ice cream.
“Did you even go to her funeral?” I suck in my bottom lip to steady it.
Anger flashes across his face, but then his expression softens. “It tore me up when she died,” he mutters. “Especially since I never got a chance to explain …” He sighs. “I guess there was nothing to explain. I was a jerk. But I was sorry. I wish she’d let me tell her I was sorry.”
A tear rolls down my cheek and I take a deep breath. “Do you think she hit that tree on purpose?”
His shoulders stiffen. “On purpose? Y
ou mean, because of … ?”
He can’t even comprehend it—being heartbroken enough, betrayed enough, to want to die.
“No,” he says emphatically, but it’s obvious he was considering the possibility for the first time. Bastard. Did he even lose a single night’s sleep over Shannon’s death?
I hug my arms tighter across my chest, shivering in the humid ninety-degree heat. What do I want from him? A lifetime of teeth-gnashing?
I don’t know. But I can’t bear him reducing Shannon to a fling, an afterthought.
“I wish I’d been here to protect my sister from guys like you.”
Chris plants a hand on his hip and wags his finger at me again. “Like I said, I don’t know why you showed up on my doorstep, but the past is the past. That’s it.”
He turns around, flings his front door open with a flourish, and slams it shut behind him.
That’s it.
The rubber soles of my sneakers pad down the concrete apartment steps. Thud, thud, thud. I reach the landing and run toward Gibs’ car in the parking lot.
He gets out of the driver’s seat as I approach him. I fall into his arms, crying.
“Bastard. Bastard,” I mutter.
“What did he say?” Gibs asks, pulling my shoulders back so he can study my face.
I shake my head, squeezing tears out of my eyes. “She was nothing to him. A fling! It never even crossed his mind that she might have wrecked her car on purpose.”
“He said that?”
I nod. “Among other things. Remember Jamie, the ‘best friend’?”
Gibs’ eyes prod me on.
“He got her pregnant. Chris got her pregnant! That’s what Shannon was so upset about.”
Gibs exhales slowly.
“It was just another summer vacation to him,” I say bitterly. “Shannon was nothing but some cute girl to hook up with. As long as he got what he wanted from her, he was happy enough. Then, when he got bored … on to the next girl.”
Gibs interlaces his fingers with mine. “I think that’s all that most guys are capable of at this age.”
I shake my head. “Why couldn’t she have met someone like you?”
His dark blue eyes look so kind. Usually he looks down when I compliment him, but this time, his eyes stay locked with mine. “Thank you,” he says softly.
Then I Met My Sister Page 17