The Perfect Comeback of Caroline Jacobs (12 page)

The guest room had once been Caroline's childhood bedroom, though nothing of her childhood remained. It was on the second floor, directly across the hall from the bedroom that had once belonged to Lucy. The door to her sister's bedroom was shut, as it always was.

Caroline and Polly removed their coats and tossed their belongings onto the bed. Polly picked up the teddy bear placed on the center of the bed. “Was this yours when you were a kid?”

“Nope. Purely decorative.”

“Nana went to a store and bought a decorative teddy bear?”

“I guess so.”

Polly scanned the room. “Is anything in here left over from when you were a kid?”

Caroline took a second to inventory the contents of the room. “I don't think so.”

“Isn't that weird?” Polly asked. “Losing your room like to a bunch of future guests?”

“Not weird,” Caroline said. “Sad, though.”

“Sound weird to me,” Polly said. “Growing up sucks.”

Caroline agreed but didn't say so. She used the bathroom, spending an extra minute or two in front of the sink, washing her hands and fiddling with her hair. After stalling for as long as possible, she succumbed to Polly's pleas and the two of them made their way down the stairs and into the living room.

Caroline's mother was sitting on the edge of the couch, leaning forward. Sitting in the love seat opposite was a thin, pale man in his thirties. His hands were folded in his lap, and he was sitting stock straight, which made him look like an altar boy during a Sunday morning service. A glass coffee table filled the space between the man and her mother. Atop the table were a box of tissues and two small, wooden boxes.

Caroline's mother rose. “Caroline, Polly—this is George Durrow. George, this is my daughter, Caroline, and my granddaughter, Polly.”

“It's nice to meet you,” Polly said, waving a hand and offering a smile.

George Durrow nodded in their direction and returned his gaze to the two wooden boxes in front of him.

“George is trying to decide upon a vessel. He's narrowed his choice down to two. I thought maybe you could help him. Offer another perspective.”

Polly took the seat on the couch beside George Durrow and lifted the wooden box closest to her off the table. It was about the size of a shoe box, made from a dark, red wood and was decorated with inlays of roses and a crucifix on the lid.

“Who did you lose?” Polly asked.

Durrow turned and stared at Polly for a moment, appearing to size up the girl sitting beside him. “Her name was Tutu.” He paused for another moment and then added, “She was a cockatoo.”

“I'm so sorry for your loss,” Polly said.

George Durrow's gaze returned to the box still sitting on the table. He lifted it and began turning it over in his hands. It was made from the same red wood as the one Polly had. “I like that one a lot,” Polly said.

“Yeah?” Durrow asked.

“Yeah. I always like the ones without any religious stuff on them. There's no way of knowing how our pets felt about God, so I always think it's better to play it safe and keep God and Jesus and all that other junk off the vessel.”

“You can call it a coffin,” Durrow said. “It's okay. I mean, that's what it is.”

“Coffin, then,” Polly said, smiling back. “I like that coffin a lot. Are you having a memorial service, too?”

“Just a private burial,” Durrow said, his gaze shifting down to his sneakers. “Just me and Tutu.” He swallowed hard. “People never think of birds the same way as dogs or cats. They'd think a service would be silly.”

“Which is ridiculous,” Polly said. “Since birds can live a lot longer than dogs or cats.”

“Exactly,” Durrow said, his smile returning. “My parents gave me Tutu when I was eight years old. That was almost thirty years ago. Tutu outlived my mother.”

“I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting a service for Tutu,” Polly said. “If it's what you want, you should just do it. Fuck the people who think it's silly.”

Caroline wanted to reprimand Polly for her use of language, but the ever widening smile on George Durrow's face stopped her in her tracks.

“I'll take this one,” he said, passing the wooden box to Penelope.

“Okay, George,” she said. “I like it, too. Will there be anything else?”

“Can we make appointment for next week?” he asked. “After the burial?”

“Of course. I'm going to need a few minutes to finish up the paperwork and give you a final total, so we can put something on the calendar after I'm finished. Okay?”

“Sure,” Durrow said. “No rush. Would you like me to come back later to settle things? When your family isn't here?”

“No, it won't take but a few minutes.”

“Do you have a plot picked out?” Polly asked.

“Yes, we did that first,” Durrow said, smiling again.

“Can I see it?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said. “Is it all right with you, Penny?”

“Of course. I'll have everything ready when you get back.”

Polly and Durrow rose. “We can go through the back door,” Polly said. “Right, Nana?”

“Of course,” she said. “Just lead the way for Mr. Durrow.”

Polly and Durrow left the room as Penelope flipped through several sheets of paper on her lap. “That poor man,” she said. “Birds are the worst. No one understands how attached a person can get to a bird. Did you hear what George said? He and Tutu had been together since he was a kid.”

“Yeah, it's a shame,” Caroline said, trying to sound sincere but knowing she did not. “I still can't believe how seriously Polly takes this stuff. I know you told me that she was good at it, but I'd never seen her in action before.”

“It's not hard, Caroline,” her mother said. “You just have to be willing to accept death as a part of life.”

“That must be it. I can't accept death.”

“It's not funny,” her mother said.

“I never said it was.”

“I'm serious,” her mother said. “I can't remember the last time I heard you say her name.”

“I'm not the one preserving her bedroom like some museum exhibit.”

“What's wrong with wanting to keep the memory of my daughter alive? It's not as if I'm pressed for space. Maybe if you set foot in there sometime, you would understand what it feels like to be able to stand in your sister's presence again.”

“That's not my sister,” Caroline said, pointing in the direction of Lucy's bedroom. “It's just a collection of old toys and furniture and clothing. It's no different than those headstones in the backyard. It's like a big, furnished gravestone up there.”

“There's nothing wrong with spending a little time visiting the dead. You should try it sometime.”

“She has a gravestone,” Caroline said. “If I want to visit her, that's where I'll go. Not into a bedroom filled with Barbie dolls and Baby-Sitters Club books.”

Caroline stared a moment at her mother. How they had found themselves down this road again, and so quickly?

Her mother rose from the desk. “Lucy,” she said.

“What?” Caroline snapped.

“Lucy,” her mother repeated. “Your sister's name was Lucy. In case you forgot.”

Caroline turned and left the room.

thirteen

“This is why you came home? To get even with a high school friend for something she said to you twenty years ago?” Penelope asked.

“I know,” Polly said, her mouth half full of turkey sandwich. “Can you believe it? It's like the most badass thing that Mom's ever done.”

They were sitting at a small kitchen table, eating sandwiches off paper plates and drinking lemonade from tall glasses. Caroline had finally explained the purpose of their trip to her mother. She had tried to leave out the details of the cafeteria incident, glossing over the event with a few simple sentences, but Polly would have none of it, quickly filling in the gaps that Caroline was trying to avoid. Polly loved the story, sharing each detail as if it was a tiny treasure.

“I don't know why you're smiling,” Caroline said to Polly. “There's nothing funny about this at all.”

“I don't think it's funny,” Polly said. “I think it's freakin' amazing. I thought it was crazy last night, but now I'm all in.”

“I'm not trying to be funny,” Caroline said. “And I'm not trying to be amazing. It's just something I need to do. It's been hanging over my head for too long.”

“So you're going to knock on Emily's door and tell her that she was mean to you in high school,” Penelope said. “Then, what—demand an apology?”

“I think she should punch the bitch in the nose!” Polly said, bits of turkey and cheese flying from her mouth.

“Polly!” Caroline and Penelope snapped in unison.

Polly directed her attention to the potato chips on her plate, a reaction that Caroline knew was more in response to her grandmother's disapproval than her own.

“I don't know what I'm going to say when I get to Emily's house,” Caroline said. “Not exactly, at least. But I'll figure it out when I get there.”

“You should knock on the door instead of ringing the bell,” Polly said. “It's totally more aggressive.”

“Caroline, really … you were just kids,” her mother said. “You don't actually think you can blame a woman for something she did when she was fifteen? Do you?”

“Why can't she?” Polly asked.

“Kids do stupid things,” Penelope said. “That's the way of the world.”

“I'm a kid,” Polly said. “Are you saying that everything I do today won't mean anything when I get old? Because if that's true, I should just do whatever I want, since no one's going to hold it against me.”

“That's not what I meant,” Penelope said. “I just think that twenty-five years is too long to hold a grudge. Emily is an entirely different person today.”

“That's bullshit,” Caroline fired back. Polly stared at her mother, her mouth hanging open. There was disbelief in her eyes. Maybe a little pride, too.

“I'm sorry,” Caroline said, feeling like the teenager at the table again.

“No, go on,” her mother said. “I'd like to hear this.”

“Yeah, go on,” Polly said.

But Caroline didn't want to explain. She wanted to keep moving forward before inertia overtook her and brought this pilgrimage to a halt. The more she explained, the less certain she felt. For once in her life, she wanted to act from her gut instead of her head. “This is just something I have to do,” she said, rising from her chair. “That's all. So can you tell me where she lives so we can get this done?”

“We?” her mother asked. “Who exactly is going over to the Emily's house?”

“Me and Polly,” Caroline said.

“You're bringing Polly?”

“I just drove a thousand miles without a change of underwear,” Polly said. “I'm going.”

“I promised she could come.”

This wasn't entirely true. They hadn't discussed the actual logistics, but Caroline wasn't about to admit that she needed her daughter. That somehow Polly radiated the strength she lacked.

“You promised her?”
her mother said. “That's your reason?”

“It's important to keep your promises, Nana,” Polly said.

“Polly, you're my only grandchild and I love you very much, but shut up.”

Caroline stood her ground. “Mom, I just need you to let me do this without

giving me a hard time. Maybe it's a mistake, but it's one you need to let me make.”

 

 

Caroline was still searching for that perfect comeback when she and Polly were in the car, on the final leg of their journey. Just a few more miles between her and insanity.

She was surprised at how calm she felt. Even unprepared, Caroline knew that she would have the upper hand. Emily had no idea that history was about to chase her down. As difficult as it would be to confront her former friend, it would be an even greater shock to Emily. At least that's what Caroline told herself.

“Why did you swear at Nana?” Polly asked.

“What?”

“I've never heard you swear in your life, and now you're cursing at your own mother.”

“I didn't swear,” Caroline said.

“Yes, you did. She said that you shouldn't blame Emily because she's a different person today, and you said that was bullshit.”

“Fine,” Carline admitted. “I swore. I was angry.”

“But I've never heard you swear. Ever.”

“I know,” Caroline said. “I'm sorry. I'm swearing a lot this week.”

“But do you really think it's bullshit?”

“Yes,” Caroline said. “I do. I think it's bullshit.”

“How come?”

Caroline thought for a moment, uncertain about how honest she wanted to be with her daughter.

“There's no great dividing line between being a kid and an adult. We're not all caterpillars turning into butterflies. You are what you are. When you grow up, you may be more careful than when you were a kid. You don't say what you think as much as you once did. You learn to play nice. But you're still the same person who did good things or rotten things when you were young. Whether you feel good about them or bad … whether you regret them. Well, that's a different thing. But it's not like they disappear forever.”

“So you don't think Emily has changed at all?”

“Not really. I mean, she might know now that what she did was wrong, but I think she probably knew that day, too. She knew how terrible it was to leave me standing there. And then to keep ignoring me every day after that? That was the worst. Whether she knew it then or knows it now, she's responsible for what happened.”

“So you would still think that Emily is a bitch even if she adopted a hundred kids from Ethiopia or found the cure for chlamydia?”