Contents 10 страница

“You okay? ” he asked, when I stopped the machine.

I nodded, but kept my back to him. I sidestepped to get out of close range and then handed him his mug. “Yeah. Fine. ” I led the way to our table, and after a minute he followed.

Even though silent sipping was normal for us, today it felt longer and quieter than ever before.

* * *

Claire stormed past me and up the stairs when I got home, and I had to think for a minute what it was about. I’d forgotten all about our breakfast episode.

But then I had another sickening thought: If Shayleen had heard about Josh and me, had Claire heard too?

Claire didn’t sit with us at dinner, leaving me to do the dishes, even though it wasn’t my turn. I padded for the kitchen without complaint, and was actually glad for the solitude.

She must hate me. What kind of a person sleeps with her sister’s ex-boyfriend? And only weeks after they’d broken up! I’d been so angry with her this morning, but it wasn’t even her I was really angry at. I was mad at myself. And I was way too embarrassed to talk to her about what I’d done.

Dishes were the least I could do.

* * *

The next morning, when she still wouldn’t look at me, I decided my only escape was the Arts Club.

Marcus and I spent the next few days practically taking over Armando’s business. We learned where to call to order the coffee and syrups; we paid the heat and light bills; and we divvied up the profits according to Armando’s directions. It didn’t work out to much more than we’d made before. In the early mornings before we opened, we repainted the walls, still in bright yellows and oranges, but covering all the dings and dents from years past. We sanded, by hand, every piece of furniture in that place and varnished them up to look antique-brand-new. We even hand-painted an ARTS CLUB CAFÉ sign that could be seen from the main road. The place had needed a facelift, and the whole process felt cathartic.

The more I distracted myself with physical work, the less I thought about Josh. It seemed to get a bit easier each day to put him out of my mind. Josh didn’t drop by the café, and as days passed I stopped wanting him to. He didn’t call the house, either. At least, not that Claire had mentioned. Then again, she probably wouldn’t have mentioned it. She still hadn’t spoken a word to me, and I felt sick every time I had to go home and face her.

Armando’s visits to the café became just that: “visits. ” He worked a few hours here and there to give us a break, but he never stayed long. Marcus and I each had our own sets of keys, and although Armando’s phone number was pasted beside the old black rotary-dial phone, we never used it.

“I’ve been thinking of adding a few items to the menu, ” Marcus said, scanning the chalkboard above us. He had also given me his phone number. I think it was an act of reassurance, to let me know he was still working toward opening up. I stuffed the number into my book bag, but knew I’d never actually call it.

“Any specific ideas? ” I prodded.

He pulled up a Saran-wrapped bundle of biscotti from under the counter. “This. ”

I stared at the package, which had a handwritten note about the macadamia nuts and chocolate variety. “Yum. ” It was almost dinnertime. My mouth watered. A lot.

“You know how cops are known for hanging out in doughnut shops? ” he said. “Uncle Armando says that in his small Italian town, they were known for scarfing back biscotti. ”

“Really? ” I asked.

“Yeah, he always laughs about it like it’s some kind of big joke. ‘Polizia, biscotti, ha, ha, ha, ’” Marcus mimicked Armando’s accent, which made me burst out laughing. “So that’s our first item for the menu, ” he said. “But we need more. Help me brainstorm and I’ll go to the store tomorrow. ”

Marcus’s enthusiasm was contagious. It reminded me of when we’d first had the idea for the photo-set. I sat down to help him make a very long list. Scanning the food items, my eyes settled on lemon squares, Claire’s favorite. At least they used to be. She almost never ate meals with the family anymore, and I’d assumed that was because she was mad at me. But maybe it was still about her eating. Maybe she still wasn’t eating.

“You okay? ” Marcus asked, breaking me from my daze.

I shook my head. “Claire. . . she hardly eats at home anymore. ” The words spilled out of me, like they’d been waiting to be released forever.

“You worry about her a lot, huh? ” he asked, and for a second I felt offended, like he was criticizing me, but when I looked over, I sensed something else: Envy.

“You don’t have any brothers or sisters, do you? ” I asked.

He shook his head, looking even sadder. I knew he wanted to understand. To help.

“It can be good, ” I said. “But it also can definitely be hard. ”

He nodded. “I can see that. ”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I had never, in my whole life, been so happy to get my period. As I practically skipped toward the café, I tried to thank God with at least the same fervency I’d pleaded to Him to not let me be pregnant. In a way, it felt like that chapter in my life was over. I could let my mistake with Josh go, or maybe even pretend it hadn’t happened.

When I turned the corner, Marcus was coming from down the block in the other direction. I waited so we could walk the rest of the way to the café together.

“C’mon, ” I said, not wanting to give him time to notice my giddiness so I’d have to explain it.

“Someone’s in a hurry. Had an extra serving of Wheaties this morning, did we? ”

“Yeah, well, forgot to comb our hair, this morning, did we? ” I gestured at Marcus’s windblown dark hair.

We both laughed as we got to the door of the café.

I still worried about Marcus, and spent much of my time at the Arts Club trying to gently get him to talk about his problems at home. I couldn’t help imagining him not showing up again—or worse, showing up with something more serious than a bruise.

After another promise that Marcus would take me to his place soon, I headed home for the day. There weren’t any cars in the driveway, and I looked up at the cloudless expanse of sky. It was too nice to be inside. Instead I headed around the side of the house to the backyard, pulling my camera from my bag as I walked.

To my surprise, Claire was stretched out on a towel, wearing only a bikini. I stopped in place.

Our backyard was private, not only because of the tall shrubbery separating us from our neighbors, but also because Mom had lined most of the back windows with plants, to give them as much sun as possible, so it wasn’t easy to just peek outside. It must have been the privacy that enticed Claire to shed her clothes, because I hadn’t seen this much of her since swimming lessons in middle school. And even then, she’d worn a one-piece.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to see this much of her now.

I’d always known Claire to be skinny, but this was something different. Even from twenty feet away, I could see a network of veins under her skin. Her whole body had a bluish-gray hue. She lay flat on her back and her hip bones jutted out like salt and pepper shakers on an otherwise empty table. Her eyes were closed, so I stood there gawking at what appeared more like a science experiment than my hot teenage sister.

I don’t know what made me do it, but I pulled my camera to my eye. My hand rotated the lens into focus, and for a second I thought I had seen it wrong. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. With all the greenery as her backdrop and her hair swept over one shoulder, it actually made a really beautiful shot.

When I clicked the shutter, even though it was quiet, Claire’s eyes shot open. She must have felt me there. She sat up and glared at me. I pulled my camera behind my back, then darted my eyes over to the shrubs.

“What are you looking at? ” she said, defensively.

“Uh, nothing. I d-didn’t expect anyone to be out here. ”

Claire threw a towel over herself, holding it tightly around her chest with one hand. With the other, she gathered her clothes and book. “I just wanted a little privacy. I guess that’s not allowed around here. ”

“I’ll go. I’m, uh, I’m sorry, Claire. ”

She started to cry and she folded over her knees so I couldn’t see her face.

“I don’t know what to say. ” I inched toward her. “There’s obviously something wrong, but I don’t know how to help you, Claire. ”

When she looked up, her eyes were red—not just the whites, but even the pupils had a reddish glow. “You want to help, Loann? ” It came out more like a growl than her normal Disneyland voice. “Just leave me alone. ” She dropped her head onto her knees again and covered it with her scrawny arms.

I watched Claire’s back pulse for a minute, then stepped out of the yard feeling shaken. I turned and ran for the bridge.

I was tempted to call Marcus, but I didn’t want to mess things up there, too. As my feet dangled over the edge, I questioned myself over and over again. Why did I just run away from her? Don’t I care about my sister at all?

I balled my fists. I did. I loved my sister. It was just hard to remember that when we were fighting. But she needed help.

I walked almost all the way across town to the nursing home where Mom works. I hadn’t been there since last summer, when they had an employee picnic. The administration lady didn’t recognize me, and told me to wait in the lobby while they paged my mom. I paced back and forth across the lobby floor about a million times.

“Loann! ” She came rushing toward me, her arm outstretched and face contorted. “What’s wrong? ”

“I—I just wanted to talk to you, ” I said, needing to calm her down. I mean, it wasn’t like someone had died.

She looked between my probably red eyes and my fidgety fingers. Her worry didn’t seem to lessen.

“It’s Claire, ” I said. “There’s something. . . she hasn’t been eating. She looks awful, Mom. ”

I could feel the administration clerk’s eyes on me. Mom blinked a couple of times. “Oh, ” she said finally, nodding. “Okay, well, I’ll talk to her, honey. ” She put a hand on my shoulder. “Of course I’ll talk to her. ”

I let out a breath.

Mom glanced toward the administration desk and turned her body slightly to shield our conversation. “Is that. . . why you came all the way down here? ”

I swallowed. Nodded. She wouldn’t understand the severity of it until she saw it herself, but I hoped she at least had some idea by the way I could barely talk.

“I’ll be home for dinner, ” Mom said. “Do you want to wait and I’ll give you a ride? ”

I hesitated for a second, but then agreed. Maybe if Mom and I walked into the house together, we could be a strong front. We could talk to Claire about how much she’s changed and what she’s doing to herself.

Claire was making her way from the kitchen with a big casserole dish of steaming food when we walked in. She already had the rest of the dinner on the table: chicken, potatoes, rolls, and corn. She sat in her usual chair with her hair tied back, fitted cardigan zipped halfway up, makeup drawn with precision.

“Hi, Loey. ” She smiled.

Claire isn’t mad at me anymore? I concentrated on my cutlery. She probably will be again soon. “Hi, ” I forced out.

Mom sat too and we silently helped ourselves to food. The tension at the table was palpable.

“Thank you for making dinner, ” Mom said. Her eyes were on Claire’s plate, which was filled with food tonight.

Claire took a bite of her potato. “Sure, ” she said with a smile, like she did this all the time. “I didn’t know if Dad would be home. ” She motioned to the place setting she’d put out for him, but he hadn’t been home at dinnertime for at least a week.

Mom was fixated on eating her corn, not bothering to respond. I could see she was trying to figure out how to broach the subject of Claire’s eating, now that she was apparently eating properly.

“So, Mom. I wanted to talk to you about something, ” Claire said.

We both stopped eating.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware, ” Claire said, looking at Mom, and not at me, “but Loann has been going after Josh. ” She paused and I felt my face, my whole body, rush with heat. “My ex-boyfriend, Josh, ” she added.

I tried to swallow my bite of corn, but it wouldn’t go down. Shaking my head, I tried to get some words from my brain to my mouth, but neither of them was working right. “It—it wasn’t like that, ” I said.

“Look, Mom, ” Claire went on. “I’m not mad, but we both know Loann has been jealous of me for a long time. ”

I couldn’t believe she was talking about me like I wasn’t even here. From what she’d just told Mom, I wasn’t sure how much Claire knew—did she just think I liked Josh, or did she know I’d actually slept with him? But when she took a glance in my direction and looked down my body, I could tell. She knew everything.

“She obviously just wants to see my faults, ” Claire went on. “You know, to make herself feel better. ”

“No! ” I shouted at Claire, then Mom. “No! This is not about me! ”

Claire spoke over me. “I just think maybe you should have a talk with her about Josh. I wouldn’t want to see her get hurt. ” She finally met my eyes then, with a tilted head and smile that was anything but sympathetic.

I sat there with my mouth open, but nothing was coming out. Mom stared down at her food, avoiding both of us, and I was glad for every second that passed when she didn’t ask me about Josh.

“So anyway”—Claire snapped her head from me and switched gears instantly—“I thought maybe I’d go into fashion design. I could see myself doing something like that. Creating new styles. ” She barely took a breath. “To be responsible for something like that—wow, it’d be a lot of pressure, Mom, but I think I could do it. What do you think? Is it a good choice for me? I’m going to talk to the state college tomorrow about their fashion design program. What do you think Dad will say? Will he like the idea? ”

I studied my food. Each kernel of corn, each roasted potato, trying to keep straight what was real and what was only illusion. She just changed the subject like it was nothing, but it felt like a warning: Keep your mouth shut, Loann, and I’ll keep mine shut.

Dad walked in the door just then, which only added to the surreal feeling. He caught up on Claire’s fashion design plans quickly, since she was, apparently, the only one with the ability to talk.

“Well, it sounds like a great major. You’ve got to decide soon if you want to get in for January, honey. But what about performing-arts school? ”

She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I’m really glad you’d let me try, ” she said, “but I just don’t think it’s the right direction for me. I’m just going to finish the summer ballet production. . . ” She glanced at Mom. “. . . and then I’m taking a break for a while. ”

Mom took another bite but still wouldn’t make eye contact with me. Did she really think I had been lying about Claire’s eating problems? Did she think I would make that all up because I was jealous? I’d heard of siblings who fought maliciously, I’d seen them in movies, but it had always seemed so far removed from our close relationship, I could barely process this.

“What night is that production, again? ” Dad asked.

Mom stopped chewing. She took her napkin off her lap and placed it beside her food carefully. “I’ve told you a hundred times, ” she said in slow, measured words. “It’s this Thursday, the eighteenth. ” Her anger and confusion from earlier needed an outlet. She’d found one.

I took a small bite of potato, but it sat on my tongue, unchewed.

“Oh, the eighteenth, ” he said lightly, but I knew where this was going. Something work-related had most definitely come up on Thursday the eighteenth.

But then Claire interrupted.

“You really don’t have to come. I mean, it’s just another boring recital, and to be honest, it’s not much different from the last one. ”

As if Mom hadn’t heard Claire, she said, “I have a busy life too, ” aimed right at Dad.

He held up both hands like he was under arrest. “I didn’t say. . . ”

“Hey! It’s okay. Please don’t fight about this, ” Claire said louder. “I mean it, you guys, ” she went on. “I appreciate you wanting to be there, but I’d almost rather you not be. I’m kind of embarrassed that Mrs. Avery chose such a similar program to the last one. You’d be bored to death, I swear. ”

Suddenly it all made sense to me. Claire didn’t want them to go because Claire didn’t want them to see the way she looked.

Mom and Dad stared at each other, and I could tell Mom was still brimming for an argument, but Claire wiped her mouth, stood, and cleared her half-full plate. “It’s settled, then, ” she said. “Nobody needs to take time off work for me. ”

There was silence around the table as Claire headed for the kitchen, and then came back through for the stairs. I waited for her to close her bedroom door before I said, “I think you should go. Both of you. She says she doesn’t want you there, but she really does. She needs you to see her, ” I said.

If they didn’t agree, I’d have to come right out and tell them everything about what I saw today. I’d have to force them to go upstairs right now and confront her. I had to. But then I wondered if Claire would only work harder to hide it. They needed to see this for themselves.

Mom nodded. “I’ll be there. ”

And surprisingly, Dad did too. “Thursday night. I’ll go mark it in my phone. ”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

When I found Claire back camped out on the couch later in the week, I said, “Oh, hi, ” in surprise. “Aren’t you supposed to be working? ” I had no idea why I asked this. I just didn’t know how to talk to her after the dinner episode. Now that she’d come right out and spoken about me and Josh. Now that she’d hidden what she was doing to herself from our parents and I had secretly strategized to get them to her ballet recital.

She shifted her legs underneath her and reached for the TV remote. “They changed my schedule. ”

Even though I didn’t completely believe her, I was relieved at her normal, non-threatening response. “I’m getting a snack, ” I said on my way to the kitchen. “Want anything? ”

Claire shook her head, engrossed in some judge show on TV. Just before I reached the kitchen door, she called out, “Unless you want to mix me a protein shake. ”

Her words had an underlying meaning. We’re not okay yet. You need to earn it, Loey.

And I wanted to earn it. I couldn’t stand feeling so guilty or worried or confused. I nodded. “Sure. ”

In the kitchen, I propped the blender into place and opened the fridge to grab the skim milk. Mom’s coffee cream sat right beside the milk carton, and I stared at the two containers. It didn’t take long to decide. Claire didn’t have a single fat cell. Somebody had to stop her from wasting away.

With sudden clarity, I grabbed the cream and poured most of the container into the blender. I put the container back into the fridge, rotating it behind the skim milk, and dumped a scoop of protein powder into the running machine. After pouring it into a cup and washing the blender, I carried her drink and my chip bag back to the living room.

I set her cup on the coffee table and pulled at the top of the chip bag.

“Should you be eating those, Loey? ” Claire glanced at my thighs and then reached for her shake.

I opened my mouth to say something, but then closed it again. It hurt, of course, even if I had wanted her to be as concerned about my eating as she had been about Jasmine having a sandwich. Then again, I deserved this after what I’d done with Josh. And I didn’t have the strength to throw anything back at her. It didn’t feel like there was any strong part left in me, and I wondered if Josh had taken that from me too.

Claire flipped channels incessantly and I wondered what had her so edgy.

She stopped flipping and grimaced at her drink. “What did you use, Loann? ”

“What do you mean? ” I felt my face flush and tried to take even breaths to hide my sudden heart palpitations.

She stood and marched for the kitchen. I thought about following, but I was also pretty petrified to be in the same room with her. How did she know?

Seconds later, she strode back through the kitchen door with the coffee cream container in her hand. “It’s almost gone, Loann. Did you use this in my protein shake? ”

I swallowed hard and gave my head a minuscule shake.

How would Claire have even known how much had been in there? But somehow she did. I probably couldn’t skirt around this one. “Um, I don’t think so, ” I said.

“You did! ” She glared at me, her eyebrows pulling together until they were almost one. It made her look a little crazy. At first I thought she had caught on to my scheming. But then her voice softened slightly. “You can’t make mistakes like that when you’re making my food. Okay, Loey? ”

I nodded, my throat dry. “Okay. ” I was so uncomfortable, I headed for the door. “Um, I forgot some stuff at the café. ”

I rushed outside and back to the Arts Club, glad to see Marcus still there. Since a line had formed for coffee, I slid behind the counter and helped Marcus before he had a chance to ask. I felt like I could breathe for the first time in the two hours since I’d left.

“You missed me that much? ” he asked when he passed me two coffees for customers. “You had to come back? ”

A blush warmed my face. He’d made a few comments here and there that I wasn’t sure were flirtatious hints, or jokes. “Couldn’t stay away, ” I replied, meeting his eyes for just a second. But I didn’t want to get flustered and mess up orders, so I turned back to the next customers and tried to concentrate.

Marcus didn’t talk to me about anything other than coffee until our line of customers slowed down.

“So is this going to be a regular thing now? You taking the hum-drum out of all my evenings? ”

Was he flirting? He took a step closer and raised his eyebrows.

“I—uh—didn’t even know you worked nights, ” I said, kind of stalling, kind of prying to see what he really meant by all this.

“Whenever I can. ” He shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll be in tomorrow night for sure, ” he said in a brighter voice. “You should come. We could make it like a regular date. ”

He gave me a little friendly nudge with his elbow to my arm. Like it had been a joke.

“Actually, my sister has this ballet thing tomorrow night, ” I said, letting out a big breath. “It’s—pretty important that I go. ”

“Yeah? ”

I swallowed, feeling a bit of betrayal at the thought of telling anybody about this. But how could I expect Marcus to open up to me if I didn’t open up to him? “Claire, she has some pretty big problems, ” I said.

I told him how I’d found her suntanning in our backyard. “My mom wouldn’t really listen because Claire’s been telling her stuff about me being jealous. ” I shifted and decided to gloss over the bit about Josh. “Anyway, I’m not sure my mom believed me, so I convinced her to go see for herself at the ballet production, even though Claire doesn’t want any of us to go. ”

Marcus nodded. “Wow. Is she going to be mad? ”

“I’d been trying not to focus on that part, ” I said, cringing.

“Well, I’ll miss you, ” he said, giving my hair a little ruffle.

* * *

The next night, my family got dressed up: me with my camera—at Mom’s request, Dad with his smartphone, and Mom with her uppity “I’m a ballerina’s mother” attitude.

Claire had been picked up by one of the other dancers a couple of hours ago, still with no idea we were coming. She’d looked so cheery, I felt even guiltier about my deception. But my parents needed to know.

Mrs. Avery’s ballet troupe was more about performance than the other local school, so we’d been going to at least four productions a year for as long as I could remember. As usual, Mrs. Avery was racing around the lobby, saying hellos and finishing up last-minute details for the show when we arrived. She hurried right over when she saw Mom.

“Beth! I’m so glad you could make it. Claire didn’t think you’d be able to. ”

Another pang of guilt stabbed at me.

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss a single show. ” Mom gave Dad a pointed look, since we all knew he’d missed several over the years. “They really do grow up so fast, don’t they? ”

Mrs. Avery nodded. “I’ve kept the auditorium cool. I really hope Claire’s skin rash won’t be a problem. ”

I looked up. Mom’s face contorted. “Her. . . what? ” Mom asked.

Mrs. Avery glanced away and I sensed she had somewhere else she needed to be. “I’ve felt awful for her. Such a beautiful girl, and with so many skin problems at such a young age. She’s been a real trooper, practicing all summer in her sweats, even though we knew she must be dying from the heat. ”

Mom held a curled hand in front of her mouth. Mrs. Avery went on.

“I’m sorry, Beth, but I really have to catch our music man over there. ” She nodded at Dad and me, then hurried away.

When Mrs. Avery was out of earshot, Mom avoided my eyes and whispered, “Have you heard anything about a rash? ” to Dad.

We moved into the auditorium slowly, like none of us really wanted to.

The production started and I fiddled with my camera on my lap, glad to have something to hold on to. I wondered how my parents would take this—seeing what Claire had been doing to herself when she couldn’t hide it under layers of clothing. I doubted Mrs. Avery would allow sweats in one of her shows.

I tapped nervous fingers on my camera as three large scenes went by with no sign of Claire. I wondered if she had dropped out without telling Mom. But no. Mrs. Avery seemed to think Claire would be dancing. When I glanced over, Mom’s eyes were doing that hard-blinking thing, which meant she had questions too.

Mom gasped, which brought me back to the moment. All the other dancers wore slim, tank-style bodysuits. But Claire appeared onstage in thick tights that reached to her ballet slippers and a long-sleeve fitted top under her tank. Even through the material, Claire’s bony knees and knobby joints made her look like one of those wooden puppets, the kind that wouldn’t have a hope of balance without a puppet master manipulating the strings from above. I figured God must have her strings, because otherwise I didn’t have a clue how she could stand.

Dad and Mom whispered beside me, though I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I felt stares from other parents in the auditorium, and realized Claire’s cover-up hadn’t fooled anyone. I felt partly thankful, but partly embarrassed for her, almost like I was the one up there. Keeping my eyes trained ahead, I watched Claire drawl her way across the stage and back. Even though she kept up with her group, there was an unmistakable feeling that she was on the verge of falling behind the other dancers.

While everyone was taken with the prima ballerina’s big scene on the other side of the stage—the scene that would have been Claire’s, in any other show—I snuck my camera to my eye. I didn’t attach the flash, and during the next round of applause I clicked the shutter, a shot of Claire and her entourage holding a staged pose. Feeling sick to my stomach, I packed my camera away, not wanting any more memories of what we were seeing.

Claire was soon back in the limelight, scurrying behind the other ballerinas. I thought I could actually hear her huffing and puffing from my seat in the twenty-third row.

By the end of the performance, I had given Claire my all: every prayer, every bit of energy I could transmit through the atmosphere. I was spent.

When the lights came up, Mom didn’t jump into her usual eager socializing mode. She sat in her seat with us, offering a nod and a timid wave to the other ladies who caught her eye. No one came over to talk to Mom, or to offer their praises like they usually did after one of Claire’s performances. I kept my head down and pretended to adjust my camera to look busy. After the auditorium had pretty much cleared, my family silently rose and filed out.