Frost (17 page)

Part Two

Chapter 27

I
SLEPT IN THE CLOSET UNTIL
surprisingly late the next morning. When I stood up, my limbs and spine hurt as if I’d spent the night digging a deep hole; my head ached so much I was ready to jump in the hole and be buried. I immediately took a couple of Tylenol. As the pills scraped their way down my dry throat, the events of the night before came back with more clarity, making my stomach hurt, too—the kind of ache that no medicine could help. I grabbed a clean towel and shuffled into the hallway. Celeste was just locking the door to the little room, dressed to go outside in a short, plaid wool cape, miniskirt, and the green beret. As if everything was perfectly normal.

“Hey,” I said.

She turned to face me. Dark hollows shadowed her eyes, her skin was dull, lips chapped—aside from her pulled-together outfit, she looked as bad as I felt. I’d thought I was going to have trouble controlling my anger, but much of it drained away.

“What happened?” I said. “We were really worried.”

“I took the Fung Wah Bus to Boston,” she said. “Bummer with my leg, but only fifteen dollars.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” I leaned my back against the wall. “Why didn’t you talk to us before leaving? You do realize we’re all going to disciplinary committee because of this?” Silence. “Cameron might get kicked out.” Saying those words made me want to vomit.

“You weren’t in the room. How was I going to talk to you?” she said, scratching inside the top of her cast.

“Was it because of me and David?”

“Because it turned out you’re a slut like the rest of them?”

“Excuse me?” I said, standing up straight again. “Not that it’s any of your business, but nothing much happened.”

“Of course it’s my business. He’s my brother.”

“Exactly,” I snapped. “He’s your
brother
, not your boyfriend or husband. You get pissed when he asks about
your
romantic life.”

She didn’t respond, just resumed scratching. How could she be so cavalier about this?

“Look,” I said, trying to retain some sort of composure. I couldn’t stand any more fighting. “David and I are going to be hanging out, like you’ve wanted all semester. So I need to know why you’re so upset. I mean, you out-and-out told me you wanted us to get together. Is it . . .” I didn’t quite know how to ask if she was jealous without implying she was in love with her own brother. “Are you concerned he won’t have as much time for you?”

Scratch, scratch, scratch. She didn’t look up as she spoke. “Of course not. I already told you I wanted David to have a girlfriend so he’d get off my back.”

“Okay, well . . .” I couldn’t force her to admit to it. And what good would it do, anyway? At this point, I wasn’t going to break up with David to make her feel better. “Dean Shepherd is really worried about you. She wants to know what’s going on. Why you came back early and everything. And why you moved out of the big room.”

That got Celeste’s attention. “I told her why,” she said.

“Because you don’t like all the windows? She didn’t buy it. Well, she didn’t buy that you’d have come back early from New York to do it.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Just that maybe you’d been uncomfortable that David and I were together.”

Celeste’s mouth dropped open. “What, like I wanted him for myself?”

“No! Not like that,” I said. “It was the only reason I could think of.”

“You didn’t tell her about . . . you know, the stuff I told you before, did you?”

“No.” I hugged the folded towel closer to my body. “But Celeste, if that’s why you switched rooms, if you’re really still having those strange thoughts—that someone’s . . . watching you, or trying to mess with you—maybe we should tell someone.”

She shook her head. “You promised you wouldn’t. You
can’t
. I told you how bad it would be for me. And I told you I felt better the next day. That was just a bad night, before I realized the cat had done it. I blew it all out of proportion. You promised, Leena.”

“I know. But things change.”

“You know what’s changed?” she said. “I
slept
last night. Comfortably. I told you I didn’t like those windows the very first day. And then with all the other weird stuff that happened . . . Can’t you see why I freaked out in there? Now I don’t have to worry.”

Her exhausted appearance didn’t match this version of events. “Are you sure?” I said. “Why is your comforter in the trash?”

A flicker of something—fear? panic?—passed across her face. “David didn’t take it yet?” she said. “It got wet and mildewy while we were gone. Rain through the windows. He has to wash it.”

“The windows were shut,” I said. I’d locked them all before we left.

“They leaked,” she said. “A welcome-back present from the house.”

Enough to get her bed that wet? “Was someone in our room while we were gone?” I asked.

“No,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “No one. Look, I switched rooms to give you some privacy and because I can’t sleep over there. What’s the big deal? You don’t mind, do you? Why would you mind? It’s better for both of us.”

“I guess,” I said. And, truthfully, having my own room was the one good thing that had come from this mess. “But the way you did it . . .”

“I shouldn’t have come back early,” she said. “I’m impulsive. You know that. And, okay, maybe I wasn’t expecting things with you and David to move that fast. I thought you— Whatever. It’s not important. I shouldn’t have left. And I’m sorry. But I’m fine. This new room arrangement is going to fix everything.”

“Okay,” I said. “Okay.”

I shut myself in the bathroom and stood under the shower and made a decision. Celeste had been very clear, again—if something was wrong, she didn’t want me interfering. She wanted her own room, her separate life. And that’s what I’d wanted right from the beginning, wasn’t it? The less I knew, the less I had to keep from David. She hadn’t shown any concern for the rest of us when she’d come back from New York like that, no matter what her reason. So, fine. Our own rooms. Our own lives.

I spent most of the day with David, a large part of it lying on his bed as he tried to distract me from worrying about Abby and Viv and the disciplinary committee. We listened to almost everything on his iPod—from James Brown to Eminem; he described in detail the gourmet meal he wanted to cook for me one day soon; he tried to explain the math he was doing (all I really understood was that it was called topology and had something to do with a donut and a coffee cup being the same thing); he told me stories about better times with their father. All of this interspersed with sweetly intense bouts of kissing. He was obviously trying to distract himself, too, from worrying about Celeste, because by midafternoon he’d asked me “how I’d thought she seemed” one too many times.

I propped myself up on my elbow. “New rule,” I said.

“Rule?” David said. “Are your rules as strict as your moratorium was?”

I punched his shoulder. “Listen. Seriously. Now that you and I are, you know,
together
, I really think it’s best if you . . . if we don’t talk about your sister as much. I don’t want to always feel like I’m your source of information. Okay? I want to keep things a little more separate.” For an instant, I had the horrible thought that maybe the only reason he even wanted to be close to me was to find out stuff about his sister, but then he said, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He ran a hand through my loose hair, fingers getting caught in a tangle. “Could get messy.”

“So, good rule?” I said, relieved.

“Good rule.”

The six of us met with the disciplinary committee on Tuesday. Later that night, in some sort of masochistic haze, I decided to listen to Viv and Cam’s show on WBAR, but there was a guest host. I supposed they wanted to spend their last night together alone.

Cam had to leave school on Wednesday.

The rest of us, as promised, had gotten probation.

Walking across campus Wednesday afternoon, I saw Cameron’s car—filled with belongings—in the parking area next to his dorm. He and Viv stood outside of it. Even from the other side of the Great Lawn, I could tell by the stoop of her shoulders and Cameron’s hand stroking her back that Viv was crying.

I dropped my gaze to the ground and hurried along, the path becoming a muddy, gray blur.

Once I got home I headed straight for the closet. I wanted to know that it would be okay, that
I’d
be okay, even without Viv, like I’d told myself in here the other night. I stroked Cubby’s feathers. I just needed to know that I could get past how much it hurt.

In here you can
, her voice said.

On Thursday, Dean Shepherd told me she wanted me to step down from peer counseling.

“You understand,” she said. “We can’t have the mixed message of someone in a leadership position like that getting into trouble.” There was a hint of sympathy in her voice, but it didn’t do anything to make me feel better.

I couldn’t hide my desperation as I spoke. “What if I just step down as cohead? But keep counseling? Could I do that?”

“Maybe next semester. I doubt it, though,” she said.

Had I thought she’d sounded sympathetic a moment ago? Because now, I didn’t see how there was any chance she felt anything but derision and disappointment. The horrible feeling it gave me was even worse than knowing I wasn’t a part of my program anymore. I hated myself more than she ever could.

Later that day, David and I took a walk through the arboretum at the edge of campus. A few trees were still lit up with flame-colored foliage; mostly, I saw the brown leaves under our feet. I told David how I’d messed up not only my friendships with Viv, Abby, and Dean Shepherd, but also my one meaningful extracurricular. I told him I had nothing left.

“What about me?” he said, sounding hurt.

I wrapped my arm around his waist and squeezed.

Thank God. I had David. And I had my house.

I was incredibly relieved that my room was tucked in the back, and on a separate floor from Viv’s and Abby’s, so I didn’t have constant reminders that Frost House was now a divided territory. I couldn’t have handled listening to their muffled voices and laughter, or the sounds of their sock feet on the wooden floor going back and forth between each other’s rooms. As for Celeste, in the days since we came back from New York, I’d barely seen her. My space was truly my own and I wasn’t going to let the opportunity go to waste.

The Saturday after we got back, I made a rare call to my dad to ask if I could buy some supplies at Home Depot on his credit card. He said yes—probably partly out of shock at hearing from me, and partly because he always likes to support home improvement.

As I walked across the store’s parking lot, I found myself scanning the cars for his orange Subaru, even though this Home Depot was about an hour from his condo. Going to any sort of hardware store without him never felt quite right.

I began in the paint department. After a long period of deliberation, I chose a very light sky color, called “Blue Heaven.” I got brushes, rollers, trays, Spackle, and drop cloths. I considered buying a ladder, but they were too expensive, so I decided I’d just borrow one from maintenance.

Next, I found all the supplies I’d need for wall-mounted shelves.

In the garden department, I chose tulip and daffodil bulbs to plant in the backyard that would bloom next spring, and a couple of houseplants to hang in my room, along with the necessary wall brackets.

Then I got an egg-crate–foam-mattress pad and a brass, sliding bolt lock.

The closet needed an upgrade, too.

Chapter 28

“A
LL
I’
M SAYING IS THAT
I don’t want you in my room anytime soon.”

“Nice,” David said from the other end of the phone. “This is how you treat me?”

I scooped some more Spackle onto my knife. “I just want it to be a surprise. Give me a couple of weeks. Then you can be over here whenever you want. I promise.”

“All right,” he said in a tone of resignation. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Studying, I guess.”

“Want to come over and do it here?”

“If you let me get some work done,” I said, scraping the whitish paste over another small hole in the wall. “I’ve got to seriously start working if I want to have any chance at Columbia. I’ve never been this behind before.”

“Speaking of Columbia,” he said, “Paul, the guy who owns the restaurant I might work in, wants to meet with me over Thanksgiving. So I was thinking you could come down and we could spend a couple of days in the city together.”

When I’d mentioned to David that Columbia was on my list of long shots, he’d started talking as if it was a given that we’d want to be in the same city. Every time he talked that way, I wanted to die of happiness. We’d only been a couple for a week, but I already felt like he was a central fixture in my life. I couldn’t believe I’d even hesitated. Our togetherness seemed so obvious, and inevitable. Sort of like the way I’d felt when I’d moved into Frost House.

I spotted some holes midway up the wall that needed to be filled. “That’d be great,” I said, stepping up on the chair. “But I always go to Abby’s parents’ place for Thanksgiving.”

“Do you think you’ll do that this year?” he asked carefully.

I hadn’t even considered the possibility that I wouldn’t. “Probably,” I said. I’d gone the last three years. Her parents owned a bed-and-breakfast farm in Maine. I loved visiting them. Abby had to have forgiven me by then. Right? I wasn’t sure how many more weeks I could take with her and Viv not talking to me. Or even how many more days. . . .

“Well, if you come to New York,” he said, “you can check out where I might end up living. This guy Paul knows is going to be subletting his place and it would actually be affordable if I get a roommate.”

“A roommate?” I scooped a bit more Spackle from the bucket.

“Yeah. With New York prices, I’ll be lucky to have only
one
roommate.”

“Huh. I wonder if . . .” My heart thudded harder and faster as I strained to reach the next hole.

“If what?”

“If I’d have to live in a dorm at Columbia. I mean, maybe I’m being crazy, but what if we shared a place?”

“Lived together?”

Crap. Why had I said that? Same city is one thing, but this would probably completely freak him out. “Yeah, forget it. I was just thinking that financially, it might . . . but I’m being—”

“No, Leena. It’s a great idea. I’d love to have you as a roommate. Obviously.”

“Really? You would?” I said. “Because living with you is probably the one thing that would make me psyched to leave Frost House.”

All of a sudden, the earth tipped. I saw myself falling before it happened, then it did happen. The chair toppled backward. My cell and Spackle knife flew out of my hands. I pitched toward the floor, hit with a thud, landing partially on top of the overturned chair. Pain flared through me.

“Shit,” I said. “Oww!”

I rolled onto my side. After a second, I inched over and grabbed my phone.

“Are you there? Leena? Leena?” David was saying.

“Oww. I fell. It hurts.”

“Are you okay? Jesus, you scared me.”

“I think so,” I said, though I was shaking pretty hard from the shock. I pulled myself up and walked wobbily over to the bed.

“What happened? Are you okay? Should I come over?”

“No. I’m okay. I don’t know what happened.” I rubbed my hip. “The chair tipped. I guess I shifted my weight funny.”

I didn’t tell him that, actually, it felt like I’d been pushed.

I stared at the chair, searching for some evidence of what had happened. It looked perfectly normal. Still, I didn’t trust it enough to climb back up on it. After I’d physically calmed down, I decided to work on the closet instead, cutting down the foam and installing the lock. Once I had the foam down to the right size, I covered it in an extra tapestry and nestled it into the space. It fit perfectly. I’d even cut out one corner to accommodate a metal scrollwork grate in the floor. I wasn’t quite sure but assumed the grate had some purpose. Maybe it let air up from the basement, which would explain the way it had stayed cool on hot days. I took a couple of throw pillows off my bed and tossed them in.

Installing the lock required a bit more patience—measuring, drilling holes. When I’d finished, I stood inside the dark closet and slid the small bolt back and forth, back and forth, happy with how smoothly it worked. I left it in the locked position, turned on the small camping lantern I’d bought, and curled up on the mattress, enormously pleased with my new setup. Still a bit achy, though, from my fall, I reached for Cubby, opened her up, and found a pain reliever.

“David wants us to live together,” I said.

That’s not going to happen.

Cubby’s words came to me easily now whenever I was in the closet. Like I’d realized before, the closet—its smell, its familiarity—was what let me into my subconscious. I didn’t even need Cubby here, although I usually still brought her in; she made me feel less alone.

“I have to leave here,” I said. “And living with David would be the best thing I could imagine.”

I’d never mean to hurt you
.

“Hurt me?”

All I want is to protect you. If you can’t do it yourself.

You
are
myself
, I thought. I shivered and reached up to unlock the door.

Don’t go
, she said.

I was pretty sleepy. I let my arm fall back down.

There’s nothing wrong with admitting you’re weak
, she said.

I
had
given into David, when I said I wouldn’t.

In here
, she said,
it doesn’t matter
.
Nothing matters.

My head felt strange, heavy. If nothing mattered, then it wouldn’t be a problem for me to just lie down, take a little nap. . . .