Authors: Sarah Pekkanen
“Don’t touch me,” Tina said, but her voice wasn’t as angry as before. She
had
said that to Gio, after telling him about the separation.
“You weren’t being nice,” she finally said. “Nice is holding out her chair at dinner, Giovanni. Not naked wrestling in the water.”
“Look, babe—” Gio began, but Tina cut him off.
“Don’t ever call me that again! You called
her
that!”
Gio exhaled and began again. “Tina,” he said. “Nothing happened. We didn’t wrestle, and I wasn’t naked. Sure, I paid some
extra attention to Savannah because you told me she’s going through a tough time. I like her; she’s a fun girl. But that’s it. I wouldn’t touch her.”
Tina studied him. Should she believe him? She knew how religious Gio was; adultery was a big sin, and she’d never suspected he’d cross that line. But damn it, he’d gone too far. Or had the alcohol addled her perception of the night? Her head felt thick, and her throat was dry; she was too confused to continue the conversation.
“Don’t be nice to her anymore,” Tina finally said. “Treat her like everyone else. No—leave her alone, okay? Don’t go near her.”
“Okay,” Gio said. “Whatever you want. Will you come to bed now?”
Tina shook her head. “I’m getting some juice.”
She left the room and walked through the house to the kitchen, passing Savannah’s form on the couch. Savannah must be cold in nothing but her skimpy—no, make that slutty—dress, but Tina didn’t bother to cover her up with the throw from the back of the couch. Let her get sick. Maybe her nose would become all red and runny and disgusting.
She made her way into the kitchen, filled a tall glass with lemonade, and drank it down quickly. There were some chocolate-chip cookies on a plate, and she gobbled one to help settle her stomach.
Then she started to wander back into the living room, but something—a faint noise, or maybe just instinct—made her turn in the opposite direction. She stepped through the darkness until she was at the edge of the room and looked out toward the pool.
She could barely make out two figures sitting close together on the lounge chairs. They weren’t touching, but they were leaning toward each other, talking intently.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she realized it was Allie and Dwight.
What the hell was going on in this house?
* * *
“I think I’ll get a cup of coffee,” Pauline said to her mother. “Would you like one?”
She’d arrived at the hospital a few hours earlier, after taking a cab from the airport to the house to pick up her car. She’d checked in at the reception desk and had been directed to a small waiting room. She found her mother there, sitting on a couch. The first thing Pauline noticed was that her mother wore a navy suit with a string of pearls and low heels, and her posture was perfectly straight. Change her surroundings, and she could be at a country club for a ladies’ lunch.
But as she drew closer, Pauline realized her mother’s face betrayed her turmoil; she was pale, and her rose-colored lipstick had rubbed off. Most of her lips’ natural color had been worn away, too, by age, leaving her looking unexpectedly vulnerable. Pauline had always borne a strong resemblance to her mother, and she realized with a start that she was looking into a mirror of herself in the future. She became aware that her own hand was moving up to touch her mouth, and she stilled it.
“No, thank you,” her mother said. “I better not have any more caffeine.”
“Be back in a minute,” Pauline said.
She stood up and glanced at her slim Chopard watch as she moved down the quiet hallway: a few minutes before seven a.m. Therese’s condition hadn’t worsened since Pauline arrived, and a nurse had said she’d inform them of any changes. A doctor would also come by around eight to check on Therese and answer any questions Pauline had. She could think of only one,
but she knew the doctor wouldn’t be able to answer it:
How much longer, exactly?
She didn’t want to be away from Jamaica for another night. Such an absence would only raise questions from Dwight and the others, but more important, she’d been feeling a strange undercurrent forming at the villa. It was the same sense she always picked up at parties: You felt it when the wine was flowing, when the food was good and abundant, when conversations were clicking and a buzz of energy was building in the room. And you knew when things were falling flat, even if all the right elements seemed to be in place. Sometimes it took just one spark to set things down either course—an outrageously funny comment to turn around a dull conversation or, conversely, a few yawns that became as contagious as the flu.
The source of magnetic energy in Jamaica, she suspected, was Savannah. And it wasn’t completely positive.
Pauline hadn’t been able to turn on her iPhone in the main part of the hospital, but as the elevator doors opened into the lobby, she switched it on. No new calls. She thought of texting Dwight to say good morning, but she didn’t want to wake him.
She blinked against the bright morning light flooding in through the hospital’s big windows as she walked to the kiosk by the front doors. The lobby was almost empty at this time of day, with just two women working behind the front desk and a guy flipping through a well-worn
Reader’s Digest
in the waiting area.
“A large latte, please,” Pauline said to the middle-aged woman behind the kiosk’s counter.
“Anything else?” the woman asked. Her blond hair was pulled back into a ballerina’s bun, and her hands were slim and elegant—not what you’d expect from a barista who spent all day around steam and heat. Maybe it was a new job for the woman; she could be a recent divorcée who’d had to go back to
work to make ends meet. How sobering to think that one bad choice could change the entire course of your life. Pauline said a silent prayer of gratitude for Dwight.
“Sorry,” Pauline said to explain the pause. “Just thinking . . . A cup of herbal tea with honey, too.”
“The honey’s by the napkins,” the barista said as she accepted the twenty Pauline held out and made change. Pauline tucked a five-dollar bill in the tip jar, then doctored the drinks and carried them back to the little waiting room. Her mother didn’t seem to have moved.
“I brought tea, just in case you changed your mind,” Pauline said, setting it on the table in front of her mother and sitting back down.
“Thank you,” her mother said, but she didn’t touch it. She cleared her throat. “We should go in to see Therese in a bit. Maybe after the doctor comes.”
“Of course,” Pauline said, even as her heart sped up. She’d been following her mother’s cues, and although she’d wondered why they hadn’t gone into Therese’s room yet, she didn’t want to ask why. She didn’t want it to come across as an accusation. And then there was the fact that being so close to death frightened Pauline. Her father had been healthy up until the day the brain aneurysm instantly killed him. His casket had been closed at the funeral, so Pauline’s final memory of him was a vision of him standing on his front steps, waving good-bye as she climbed into her car after joining her parents for a Sunday dinner.
Would they be there at the moment Therese passed away? she wondered. Probably, she decided. She wondered if she had any Valium in her purse.
She took a sip of coffee and tried to think of something to say. Her resemblance to her mother was more than skin-deep; neither of them felt comfortable with emotional talks or gushy
physical displays. But that didn’t mean they didn’t love each other; love was what had made Pauline run for the plane as soon as she’d heard the news.
“I thought maybe you’d like to come stay with us for a bit . . . afterward,” Pauline said. “Or maybe you and I could take a little trip. Just somewhere for a few days together.”
“I’d like that,” her mother said. “Yes, getting away would be good.”
They sat quietly again, the silence broken only when Pauline finished her coffee and set the empty paper cup on the table.
“Have you thought about arrangements?” she finally asked. Bringing it up felt almost unseemly in this small, sterile room just steps away from where Therese lay, still breathing. But Pauline felt compelled to ask; she needed to give her mind something to focus on. Because in the silences, she was beginning to picture her sister. Had she changed much in the months since Pauline had seen her? Was her hair still blond? Would her blue eyes be open when they went into her room?
“I thought just a very small service,” her mother said. “Family and Therese’s caretakers only.”
Pauline nodded. She knew there would be no death notice in the paper, no sympathy cards from acquaintances. There would be only a gray gravestone and a wreath of flowers. What would Therese like? she wondered. Not roses. Something soft and pretty, with no thorns. Daisies, maybe.
She’d have to tell Dwight about Therese’s death, but she wouldn’t tell him that it had happened during his birthday trip, and that she’d been in the room. She could say it was sudden; maybe she’d pretend Therese had died on the day they were scheduled to leave. She didn’t like lying to him again but couldn’t see any other way to avoid putting a big damper on the vacation.
A man in a white coat lightly rapped on the open door of the waiting room. “I’m Dr. Klavin.”
Pauline and her mother both stood up.
“Is she . . .” her mother began.
“I just checked on Therese,” the doctor said. He was short and balding, with big brown eyes, and Pauline was struck by the thought that he looked more like a plumber than a doctor. “No real change.”
“I see,” her mother said.
“How much longer, do you think?” Pauline blurted. She almost gasped from the shock of releasing the question that had been lurking in her mind.
“I don’t think it will be more than a day or so,” the doctor said. He didn’t seem to think the question was unusual. Maybe, Pauline realized with a hot rush of shame, it was because he thought she was dreading the event and wanted to steel herself.
She ducked her head, not wanting to meet anyone’s eyes.
“I’ll be back in a few hours,” the doctor said.
Pauline forced herself to nod before he walked away.
“We’ll go see her now,” her mother said. She took a deep breath.
Pauline swallowed. “Do you mind if I just use the ladies’ room first?”
“Of course,” her mother said. “I’ll wait here for you.”
Pauline hurried down the hallway and found a small bathroom. She set her purse on the counter by the sink and fumbled into the zippered inside compartment, but she’d taken her last Valium on the plane the previous night, so she could get some sleep.
“Damn,” she whispered.
She turned on the taps and washed her hands, because she couldn’t think of what else to do. She ran them under the air from the hand dryer, welcoming the heat. Then she twisted the door handle and walked back out, toward Therese, the woman who both was and wasn’t her sister.
* * *
They’d needed this lazy day, Savannah reflected. Without Pauline flitting about, organizing activities and checking on everyone, the mood at the villa had become much more relaxed—or maybe it just seemed that way to Savannah. The strong sun was tempered by a delicious breeze, and everyone had wandered down to the beach after a late breakfast. They’d carried books and magazines, and Allie had dug out that badminton set. A few people had played a game or two, and the guys had tossed around a Nerf football in the shallows, but mostly everyone had just lain on the sand, lulled by the crash of the waves that had gained in strength since the previous day.
No one felt like a big lunch—they’d been gorging themselves for the past two days—so they’d requested sandwiches from the new chef who’d arrived that morning. He was just as talented as the old chef, as evidenced by the spread he’d laid out: turkey, avocado, and bacon; grilled eggplant and roasted red peppers with baked goat cheese; and melted cheddar and tomato on thickly sliced bread. Served alongside the sandwiches were strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries mixed together and spiked with mint, and golden homemade potato chips. Everyone had eaten on the beach, still in bathing suits.
“Might as well get in our time in the sun while we can,” Allie had said as she refilled her glass of iced tea. “The rain’s going to come soon.”
“Don’t be a pessimist, Al,” Savannah had said. She’d almost reached for another of the addictive chips but stopped herself; she’d probably gained a pound already on the trip. “It’s not going to rain, is it, Tina?”
Tina had just shrugged. Savannah hadn’t been able to see her eyes behind her sunglasses, but Tina wasn’t smiling. That had settled it: Tina was mad. Savannah’s question had been a
kind of test. Tina had seemed to be avoiding her this morning; she’d stretched out her towel far away from Savannah’s, and when Savannah had wandered over to ask if Tina had the
People
magazine, Tina had handed it to her without a word.
Why didn’t people just tell you when they were angry, rather than sulking? Savannah wondered. It was as obvious as if Tina had grabbed a stick and dug giant words into the sand. And judging by how Gio was acting today—he’d been avoiding Savannah, too—he’d been chastised by his wife and was falling in line. That was surprising; Savannah would have thought Gio was the kind of guy who’d stand up for himself. But Tina clearly called the shots when it came to big things in their relationship.
Savannah was a little hungover, so she’d napped on the dock for an hour, dangling her fingertips in the salty water while the late-afternoon sun painted freckles on her shoulders. The gentle tapping of raindrops had woken her, and she’d realized everyone else had gone inside. She’d sat up and wrapped her towel around her shoulders, suddenly cold, looking around the deserted beach.
She’d gone to her room to take a long, warm shower, then she’d slipped into cutoff jean shorts and a gauzy white shirt.
Now she wandered into the living room, thinking the others might be gathered for cocktails. But the room was empty. She checked the game room, but no one was there, either. Maybe the other couples were having sex, she thought. She’d noticed Tina and Gio’s bedroom door was closed as she passed by. And Dwight was probably checking in with his wife.