Sisterhood Everlasting (18 page)

“You still haven’t forgiven me for that! You said you did, but you never did and you obviously never will.”

Lena pressed her mouth together. She wiped the tears off her cheeks with her fingers. She and Effie were shouting and both of them were crying, Lena realized, and it was probably a good thing the place was mostly empty. Ella Fitzgerald sang on about Frosty the Snowman and Lena trembled in her chair.

“That’s not true,” Lena said, more quietly.

“Anyway, I wasn’t mad at Tibby,” Effie spat out. “I wasn’t mad at Brian. I was mad at you.”

Lena felt her chin wobbling, her shoulders shaking.

“I was mad at you for choosing her over me. I was mad at you for choosing your friends over me
every time
. I am your
sister
! That never meant anything to you, did it?”

Lena watched helplessly as Effie stood. “Yes, it did,” Lena said.

“No, it didn’t!”

“Effie.”

“I came here because I wanted to help you, Lena, but I can’t. I don’t matter enough to you to be able to help.”

Lena was crying hard. She put her face in her hands. “That’s not true,” she tried to say.

Effie rooted around her bag and pressed five twenties onto the
table. Her eyes were still streaming as she hitched her bag over her shoulder and walked out.

Lena watched her sister’s back, and after Effie was gone she stared at the door of the restaurant with the diminishing hope that Effie might come back through it.

Bridget walked slowly back to Bolinas and into the Sea Star Inn. She was starving, and it was the first place she came to. She ordered eggs and sausages and buttered toast and more toast.

She didn’t realize until she saw the tinsel strewn around the place and heard the well-wishers on the radio that it was Christmas.

“Do you know if there are any rooms available tonight?” she asked the waitress, who also appeared to be the innkeeper. The place was ramshackle enough that Bee hoped it was in her price range.

She got a tiny room and use of a bathroom in the hall for forty dollars a night. That evening she got into the creaky bed as the sun was setting. When she woke up in the middle of the night she could hear rain beating against the window.

By the second day of sleeping in a bed and eating cooked food, she’d run out of money. The waitress/innkeeper, Sheila, saw Bridget in the lobby with her pack on her shoulders.

“You going already? I’m sorry to see it.”

“I’d like to stay,” Bridget said. “But I ran out of money.”

She saw the look on the woman’s face. “I mean,” Bridget said quickly, “I can pay my bill.” She took out her wallet. “I’ve got enough here. I just don’t have any more to spend.”

Sheila nodded. She wore a bandana tied over her hair just the way Bridget’s grandmother Greta sometimes did. “I’ve got some odd jobs around here,” she said. “I could spot you a few days’ room and board if you’re prepared to work.”

For some reason, the way it came out of Sheila’s mouth, the word “work” sparkled like a new pair of cleats, a banana milk shake.

“I’d love to work,” Bridget said.

“All right, then.” Sheila nodded. “Go put your stuff in your room and we’ll get started in the kitchen.”

That night Bridget used the ancient pay phone in the lobby to call
Eric. She called him at work, knowing he wouldn’t be there. She left him a message wishing him a merry Christmas and telling him she loved him. She thought she might say something else, but she couldn’t. Her heart was pounding as she hung up the phone.

The next morning she used it again to call Nurse Tabitha.

“Did you talk to your boyfriend?” Tabitha asked.

“Not yet. No.”

“Are you going to?”

“I don’t know.” Bridget poked her finger in the swinging hatch of the change slot. “How long do I have?”

“How long do you have?”

“To make the decision. To, you know, end it.”

“Bridget, you are probably about nine weeks pregnant. That’s early. According to California law, you can terminate the pregnancy at up to twenty-four weeks. But once you’ve thought it through and made up your mind, I do not recommend waiting. Based on my experience, if you go past fourteen weeks, it’s a whole lot worse for you.”

“Worse for your body?” Bridget asked.

“Worse for your heart.”

Back in the quiet crypt of her room, Lena carefully packed Effie’s things in a cardboard box. Although they were spread around the place, each of Effie’s possessions stood out. The bottles of magenta and turquoise nail polish, the chartreuse tights, two Christmas stockings, the high-heeled gold boots, the lacy pink thong still in its package, the three different kinds of hair product in neon green plastic, a tub of makeup. It was as though Lena’s drab apartment was incapable of digesting objects so colorful, fragrant, and festive.

Lena gazed wretchedly at the cheerful array in the box. Effie had come armed to celebrate Christmas with manicures, pedicures, facials, and makeovers. She was going to remake Lena’s underwear drawer. She was going to give Lena a new hairstyle. She’d threatened to download new songs onto Lena’s iPod. She had come because she wanted to make Lena feel better. These were the things Effie knew how to do.

“You just have to let people love you in the way they can,” Tibby had said to Lena once.

Lena carefully taped the seams of the box and left it by the door to take to the post office. Effie had come bearing intimacy and joy and Lena could tolerate none of it. Effie was far above anything Lena deserved.

It’s not that you don’t matter; it’s that you do
, Lena told her sister silently.

Now Lena’s drab silence was fully regained, her misery preserved. She perched on the edge of her bed, sitting on her hands. This was just what she had wished for, wasn’t it? Effie was gone, without even spending a night. Lena’s fingers and toes were unpainted. A holiday was uncelebrated. Her hair was as plain as before. Lena was all alone, dismal and withdrawn once again. She’d done what it had taken to scare Effie away, maybe for good.

Lena tipped over and lay with her cheek pressed into the itchy top blanket. She wondered again about her inclination to wish for things that made her so deeply unhappy.

Lena woke with a jolt in the middle of the night. She stared at the ceiling for a time, her eyes as wide and clear as if it were the middle of the day. She got up and walked the four steps to her desk and sat down in the chair.

Her apartment featured one large window, which faced the air shaft. For about an hour during the day and an hour at night, the sun and then the moon, respectively, found their way into her room. Now the moonlight brushed in through the dirty chicken-wire panes and illuminated the letter that stood there unopened day after day, night after night.

She glanced at the brown box by the door, waiting to be taken to the post office. She thought of Effie. She looked at her hands and watched them as they picked up the thick envelope and eased it open. She considered her actions with a distant sense of disbelief, but what else was there to do? What was there to wait for? Who else was there to be?

You thought you had the choice to stay still or move forward, but
you didn’t. As long as your heart kept pumping and your blood kept flowing and your lungs kept filling, you didn’t. The pang she felt for Tibby carried something like envy. You couldn’t stand still for anything short of death, and God knew she had tried.

Moving forward was hard enough, but to do it without Tibby felt intolerable. How could she keep going when Tibby couldn’t? It wasn’t the same world without Tibby. She didn’t know how to live in it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. But did she have a choice?

And then came the harder thoughts. Tibby had thought she had a choice and she’d chosen no. She had rejected her life. And them. And Lena. Somewhere inside Lena was the infant who couldn’t believe that Tibby would leave her on purpose.

Why? Why had she done it? Why hadn’t she told them what was happening? Why had she let it get so far? Had she wanted to hurt them as much as possible?

No. Lena couldn’t accept that. Even if it was true, she couldn’t make that idea fit. And as a consequence the world split in two and there she perched, one foot on either side of the divide, incapable of moving one way or the other. She could not accept what had happened. But what was the alternative?

Her tendency was to hide from information, because every scrap of information she’d learned so far had been ruthless.

She looked at the box by the door. She pictured Effie alone in her fancy going-out clothes on the late train on Christmas. What would become of them? She couldn’t stand still anymore.

Her hands were sweating as she opened the envelope and pulled out its contents. There was a letter, typed, covering the front and back of two pages. There were two more, smaller envelopes, sealed. One said
Lena
on it, and the other, bewilderingly, was labeled for Kostos.

Lenny
,

Hard as it is to think of your life going along without me, I’ve forced myself to do it, but I’m too attached to you not to put myself in the picture even after I can’t be there in body
.

What you leave behind is the people you loved. You leave yourself in them. I couldn’t be happier than to be in you, Len. I’d like to picture myself and see your beautiful face. If you can put up with me, that’s where I’d like to live. In you and Bee and Carmen. But for the most part, that’s where I’ve always lived
.

I can’t stand not being there to goad, challenge, and annoy you, Len, so please forgive me for doing it anyway. There’s something I need you to do. You’ll see I included a pair of letters for you and Kostos. I don’t want to be needlessly mysterious, but I also want to avoid the famous Lena obstructionism. So please, please be willing to deliver the one for Kostos to him: from your hand to his hand, in person, face-to-face. It’s a lot to ask, I know. But I also know you’ll do it, because that’s the kind of person you are
.

I put a date on them, and I want you to wait until then to open them. I know I’m a huge pain in the ass, and because I’m gone you feel like you have to do what I say, but I have thought this through a little
.

You’ll either hate me for it or you’ll love me, but please know I did it because I love you. Whether it goes brilliantly or badly, I hope you’ll forgive my intrusions
.

There’s another thing too. Would you stop by and see Alice once in a while? Not often, just every few months or so. I don’t want you to talk about anything serious or sad. And of course I’d like you to hang out with Nicky and Katherine and my dad too, but it’s Alice who might need it most
.

Now instead of having one sealed letter to haunt her, Lena had two. Two sealed envelopes marked with a date in March. Instead of just herself and Tibby to hide from, she now also had Kostos.

But as much as she dreaded it, she had a project to do for Tibby. Two projects, including seeing Alice. Projects were things, like her flowing blood and her pumping heart, that would keep her going forward whether she wanted to or not.

                     No pen, no ink,

no table,

                        no room,

            no time,

                             no quiet,

                                         no inclination.

                  —James Joyce

There was something about a wedding. No matter how much
you put into it, you could always put in more. There was always someone else you could call, some other question you could ask, something else you could buy. You could put every worry, every desire, every whim, every
moment
of your waking day into a wedding, and it was big enough to absorb them all.

And weddings were cheerful. Wedding planning was cheerful. The colors were bright and the people you talked to laughed and smiled easily. They cheerfully and laughingly took your money.

A wedding was an opportunity for control. You could present yourself and your life and your husband-to-be exactly as you chose, and there would be a million pictures to document it. For as long as you lived you could imagine that your wedding was what you really were and not just what you labored and paid to have it look like.

Control meant there were also things you could leave out of a wedding.

“Mom, do you know when Big Carmen’s going to be in Puerto Rico?” Carmen asked casually, when she called her mother from the set.

“First of March to mid-April.”

“Do you know the exact date in April? Are we talking the twelfth? The sixteenth?”

“I don’t know—more like the sixteenth. You could call her. Why?”

“I’m just trying to nail down the date for the wedding.”

“It won’t be before the sixteenth, will it?”

“Well …”

“Carmen.”

“What?”

“You are not attempting to have this wedding without Abuela, are you?” Her mother could be annoyingly perceptive on occasion.

“Well, if she’s going to be in Puerto Rico, then I’m not going to expect her to—”

“Carmen, I don’t care if your grandmother is in Timbuktu, there is no way she is missing your wedding. If she has to crawl to the church, she will be there.”

Carmen decided this wasn’t the best time to mention that it wasn’t going to be in a church. “Well,
Mom.
” She sounded like she was five. “What if it’s a really small wedding?”

Her mother sighed. “Even if your wedding is so small you don’t have a
groom
, Abuela will expect to be there. Honestly, Carmen, banish the thought. She has been talking about your wedding since the day you were born.”