What My Sister Remembered (7 page)

My mother’s face crinkled up as if she were going to cry again, even though the smell of the onions had gone. I thought, she’s hurting because she’s remembering how Beth decided to go away with the Lattimores. It’s making her feel bad again.

Beth stopped chattering. She looked over at the kitchen window, and her face collapsed into its usual tight, mean look. “I remember all sorts of bad things too,” she said.

“Oh, sure,” said my father. “Everybody remembers bad things.” He shook his head. “It’s easy to remember bad things, but it’s nice the way you remember all sorts of good things too—like the game Mrs. Palagonia’s brother used to play with you and her little knickknacks.”

“I remember all sorts of bad things,” Beth repeated, still looking at the kitchen window.

“Where do you want to put the fans?” I asked. “Mrs. Palagonia returned the little one, and she’s lending us the big one from her living room.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” My mom came alive. “Alex isn’t bringing his because it isn’t working right. Okay, so we’ll put the little one up here on the refrigerator, and the big one—what do you think, Walter? How about in the dining room?”

“Makes sense,” said my dad.

“Can I use the phone?” Beth asked. “I want to call my mother.”

“Oh, that’s right,” said my mom. “She called. While you were upstairs. She said she’ll be at the hotel for another hour or so, and you should call her back. I nearly forgot.”

“Thanks a lot!” Beth’s voice had a nasty sound to it.

My mom said apologetically, “I’m sorry, Beth, but I was so busy, it just slipped my mind.”

“It’s no big deal,” I said, watching Beth’s back as she moved down the hall toward the phone. I turned to my mom. “You don’t have to apologize, Mom. She’s just being a creep.”

“Molly!” my father warned.

“Mrs. Palagonia fell all over her,” I told them. “She acted like Beth was some kind of long-lost relative, and she kept kissing her and kissing her.”

“Well, I guess it’s been a long time,” said my dad.

“And she gave her that stupid little dog to keep. She never gave me anything to keep, and she sees me all the time. Beth has all the luck. She
...
she
...
”

Both of my parents were standing still, very quiet. I stopped talking, and the only voice we could hear was Beth’s, from down the hall. “... All grown up and so good-looking. And, Mom, she gave me a little china dog, Mom, a beautiful little
...
”

“I’m sorry,” I said, looking up into my mother’s worried face. I put my arms around her, and she bent over and whispered into my hair.

“It will be all right, Molly. Just a few more hours, and it will be all right.”

“Okay,” said my dad. “Let’s get a move on. Come on, Molly. We’ll set up the fan in the dining room, and Mom says we’re all out of butter, so maybe you can run downstairs and pick some up.”

“By myself,” I pleaded. “Can I go by myself? Please?”

“Okay,” my dad said. I guess Beth will be on the phone for a while, if she’s anything like you. I bet you’ll be back before she’s through.”

“She’s not anything like me,” I told him.

* * * *

Beth was off the phone when I came back with the butter. The kitchen was still hot and steamy, even with the fan going, and my mother’s face, as she sliced the cheese, was wet with perspiration. She smiled when she saw me. “What’s it like outside?” she asked.

“Miserable,” I said. “Where’s Beth?”

“In the living room with your father.” She put the butter into the refrigerator, then turned to me. “Molly,” she said, “be nice to her.”

“I am nice to her,” I said. “I try to be nice to her, but she’s weird. Most of the time she’s mean, but sometimes she’s nice, and sometimes she acts like a baby. She was just crazy about the elevator. How can anybody be crazy about our dorky elevator?” I laughed, but my mother did not join in.

“Just be nice to her,” she repeated. “In a few hours, it will all be over. She’ll be gone, and
...
and everything will be back to normal again.” She patted my cheek. “Maybe I’ll take tomorrow off. I’m exhausted. Maybe you and I can have a day together. Maybe we can go to an air-conditioned movie and eat out.”

“We can go to a movie,” I said, “and maybe we can eat lunch out, but not dinner.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’ll have some of the lasagna left over, won’t we? We can eat it cold for dinner. Daddy likes it cold just the way I do.”

“Whatever you like, sweetheart.” Mom bent over the table again and resumed working on the cheese. “Only be nice to Beth.”

I stood there, watching her. She looked tired and old and
...
something else. Something that frightened me and made me feel I had to do something to make that scared feeling stop.

“Mom,” I cried. “Do you need any help, Mom?”

She looked startled. I guess I don’t usually pitch in. She straightened up and smiled at me. “What a darling girl you are, Molly! But it’s all right.” She waved me off. “Go sit down and cool off near the fan in the living room. It really makes a difference with the two fans blowing toward each other. Maybe we should get another fan.”

“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 figure,” 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.”