What My Sister Remembered (4 page)

“They still are. Alex is sweet too, but Lisa is a real crab, and—."

“And Uncle Walter was nice even though he was so big and had such a deep voice, and even
she
...
even
she
was okay. I remember
she
bought me a doll once ... I liked her a lot then.”

“So why aren’t you nicer to her now?” I demanded. “You were the one who made her feel bad when you went away with the Lattimores. Why are you so mean to her? Why are you so nasty? Don’t you know you make her feel bad? Don’t you know she loves you a lot, and if you had decided to stay, she would have done anything for you?”

Beth didn’t answer. She was asleep.

Chapter 4

“She’s asleep,” I told them. The grown-ups were still sitting around the table, my parents drinking Cokes and Aunt Helene sipping a glass of ice water.

“Sleeping!” Aunt Helene stood up. “She’s really exhausted. We probably should have come another day, but you’re so close to the airport, and we
...
we were looking forward to seeing you.”

“Why don’t you let her nap for a while?” my father suggested.

“No, I’d better wake her. Once she falls asleep, she’ll sleep through the whole night. Where’s the bedroom?”

My mother led her down the hall, and I followed along behind them.

“Well, isn’t this a pretty room.” Aunt Helene stood in the doorway, looking in.

“I picked out the spread and the curtains and the wallpaper.”

“A real girl’s room.” Aunt Helene smiled at me. “Such pretty shades of pink!” She moved over to the bed. Beth was lying on her side, facing the wall, the way I slept. It felt funny seeing her on my bed, sleeping the way I always slept. Aunt Helene put a hand on her hair and began smoothing it.

“Beth dear, Bethy
...
” she murmured.

Beth didn’t wake up.

“She’s a very heavy sleeper,” Aunt Helene said. “She could sleep through an earthquake.”

“Molly’s the same way,” said my mom.

“Beth, dear
...
Beth
...
”

Beth curled herself up into a tight knot.

“Wake up, dear! We have to go now. Beth!”

Suddenly, Beth rolled over onto her back, opened her eyes, and blinked up at the ceiling.

“We have to go now, dear,” her mother said softly. “You can take a little nap in the car if you’re still tired.”

“No!” Beth said.

“We’ll get to the hotel as fast as we can, darling, and you can go right to bed if you like, or maybe we can order something up from room service.”

Beth looked up at the three of us standing by the bed, and tears began rolling down her face.

“Beth!” Her mother sat down and tried to put her arms around her. “It’s all right, darling, it’s all right. You’re just a little tired and
...
”

Beth shook her off. “I want to stay here,”  she sobbed, the tears streaming down her face. “I don’t want to go.”

She sounded like a little girl. She didn’t sound anything like Beth.

“But, darling, you know we have plans. If you don’t like them, we can do other things.”

“I want to stay here,” Beth cried.

“Maybe,” my mother said nervously, “you can both stay over. We do have a couch that opens up in the living room.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” Aunt Helene said, “but I really need to get to the hotel. My husband will be calling us this evening, and I have some other arrangements I need to make. Please, Beth!”

“I want to stay here,” Beth cried. “You go and let me stay.”

“Well
...
” my mother said slowly, “well ... of course
...
”

“Please, Mom!” Beth sat up and snuggled against her mother’s shoulder. “Please! You always wanted me to come back.”

“Dear, I just don’t know if your aunt and uncle
...
”

“Oh, sure.” My mother laughed in a strange, nervous way. “Beth is always welcome here. Of course, we’d love to have her, and maybe Walter can drop her off tomorrow.”

“Can I see Jeff?” Beth turned toward my mother while her mother practically picked her up onto her lap and curled her arms around her.

“Well, I don’t know,” my mother said. “I can try to call him, but I don’t know what he’s doing today.”

“And Alex too? Can I see him
...
and Lisa?” Beth sounded so eager and excited that my mother turned away, embarrassed. “I’ll call them. I don’t know
...
”

“Mom.” Beth looked up into her mother’s face. “Mom, I want to stay. Please!”

Her mother kissed her and murmured, “Of course, sweetheart. As long as it’s all right with your aunt.”

“Oh, sure,” said my mother, straightening up some papers on my desk.

“But Beth
...
” Aunt Helene hesitated. “Are you sure? You know, we could come back another day, or maybe Molly could meet us in the city. Maybe she could even come back with us today, and tomorrow the three of us could have a day in town. We could have lunch at the Russian Tea Room, and—”

“I want to stay here, Mom. I really want to stay here.”

“Well
...
” Aunt Helene looked over toward my mother’s back as she continued straightening the papers on my desk. “I guess I could come back and get you tomorrow.”

“That’s right,” Beth said. “Tomorrow! And maybe if Jeff—and Alex and Lisa too—if they can’t come today, they can come tomorrow. You could see them. You’d meet Lisa—we’d both meet Lisa.”

My mother turned, a look of disgust on her face. She didn’t think meeting Lisa was such a big deal.

“Now, Karen, are you absolutely sure?”

“Of course,” said my mother. I could see that she wasn’t happy to have Beth stay overnight, and I knew why. It would bring back all those old sad memories of the accident, and how Beth had turned away from us all and chose to go and live with the Lattimores.

A year and a half ago, Aunt Helene had called before Christmas and invited me to spend the holidays with them out in California. Mom didn’t want me to go. She put down the receiver in disgust and muttered something about fancy ladies making a nuisance of themselves. Alex was still home then, and all of us were eating dinner in the kitchen while Mom talked on the phone.

“What was that all about?” Alex asked.

“It’s her, the great lady. She’s on my neck again.”

“What does she want?” My dad helped himself to another hamburger.

“She wants Molly to go out to California by herself and spend the holidays with them.”

“I want to go,” I yelled. “Lots of kids my age go on planes by themselves. And they have a big, beautiful house with lots of toys, and Mrs. Lattimore says Beth has her own bathroom, and she has a great big dollhouse.”

“You have a dollhouse too,” said my mother angrily.

“But Mrs. Lattimore says Beth’s dollhouse has lights that go on and off, and a little refrigerator that gets cold, and you can actually keep food in it. Mrs. Lattimore says she has a dollhouse family made out of china, and there’s a little Jacuzzi
...
”

They were all quiet, watching me. Finally, Alex asked, “Why do they want Molly now, after all these years?”

“Something about a therapist thinking it’s a good idea,” said my mom, still angry. “Naturally, she tried to act like they’re dying to have Molly out, but they’ve never shown much interest before.”

“Mrs. Lattimore calls me sometimes,” I reminded her, “and she sends me birthday presents, and every Christmas they send all of us beautiful presents.”

“We send them beautiful presents too,” said my dad. “A lot more beautiful and expensive than we should, but your mother has a bee in her bonnet about keeping up with the Lattimores.”

“For God’s sake, Walter,” my mother yelled, “they sent us all cashmere sweaters last year. What am I supposed to do? Send them a calendar?”

“Yes,” my dad said. “They’re in another league from us financially. You don’t have to be ashamed of what you are.”

“Can I go?” I asked. “I want to go.”

“No,” said my mother. “You’re going to stay home. We’ll have Christmas dinner here with the family.”

“I want to go!” I yelled. “I want to go! I want to go!”

“I think she should go,” Alex said. “It’s not right to keep the girls apart. That’s probably what the therapist said.”

“I don’t care what the therapist said,” my mother yelled. “Molly is too young to go by herself.”

There was a lot of yelling, crying, and slamming of doors, as there often is whenever my family discusses something controversial. But I know how to handle my mother, and generally I get my way.

“Stop babying her,” Alex always used to say to her. “She’s a spoiled brat, and it’s your fault. You never babied us the way you do her. We always had to pick up after ourselves, and we always had chores. She doesn’t lift a finger around here, and she always gets anything she wants.”

Jeff says that Alex was always a little jealous of me. He says Alex was the baby before I came to live with them. I can’t remember because I was only three at the time, and my brothers always seemed like grown-ups to me.

Maybe Alex picks on me sometimes, but I can always handle my mom. I just stop talking to her. She can’t ignore me for more than a day. Then she’ll follow me around and try to reason with me. Maybe she’ll try to bargain. But if I can keep up the silent treatment long enough, she’ll give in.

Not that year. I cried and stopped talking to her for a week. She went through the first two stages—ignoring me and reasoning with me. But she didn’t give in. I heard her crying one night in her bedroom, and my dad said, “Maybe you ought to let her go, Karen. Maybe it would be all for the best.”

She just cried louder, but I didn’t get to go.

We sent fancy presents, though—gold cuff links for Mr. Lattimore, a big red silk scarf for Mrs. Lattimore, and a gold locket for Beth.

I didn’t talk much to my mom for a while. I was polite but cold. Alex took me to see
The Nutcracker
ballet and treated me to lunch in the city. Even though he’s the one in the family who picks on me the most, he’s also the one who spends—well, before Lisa, he used to spend—the most time with me. While we were eating, he gave me one of his big-brother lectures. I didn’t mind. I was used to them, and I was enjoying myself too much.

“You have to understand that Mom has had enough problems in her life.”

“Umm,” I said, and poured more ketchup over my French fries.

“You’re not a baby anymore, even if she treats you like one, and you’re old enough to stop making her feel bad.”

I swallowed a couple of fries.

“I thought you should have gone out to San Francisco too,” he said, “but Mom isn’t ready for you to go. Just hang on another couple of years and try to understand.”

I licked some ketchup off my mouth. At that moment, I didn’t mind not going to San Francisco. I was having too good a time with my brother Alex. And I did understand. It was because of Beth. Because she had chosen to go off to live with the Lattimores, and my mother was afraid the same thing would happen to me. She was afraid I might decide to go stay with them too.

In my daydreams I used to wonder about that myself. What would I do if they asked me? Maybe they’d say something like, “Molly, we’d really like you to come and live with us too. You could have your own big room with all the toys you’d like, and your own bathroom, and a dollhouse just like Beth’s. And you could come with us to London and Paris and Maine.” Well, of course, I’d thank them very much, but I’d say no. I think I’d say no.

So that night, I started talking to my mom again. I sat on her lap, and she laughed and said what would I like to do very, very special during the holidays.

“Have a slumber party,” I told her.

She didn’t put up any kind of fuss. Four of my friends stayed over. We all slept on the floor in the living room, and we made such a racket all night long that Mrs. Palagonia from upstairs banged on the ceiling. My mom didn’t say a word. She made us frozen waffles and bacon for breakfast, and later that week, she let me buy a bunch of new outfits for my Barbie doll.

Chapter 5

My mother was too busy complaining in a low voice about having to make dinner on Sunday to listen to me.

“I was looking forward to taking it easy this weekend, just doing nothing for a change, maybe even going to the beach, maybe sitting under a tree in the park, maybe just staying home and relaxing
...
”

“She’s sleeping in my bed,” I told them. My dad was sitting in front of the fan, smoking and listening to my mom.

“So now I have to make dinner for nine people. Of course, Jeff has to bring over a friend—some girl named Ginger—and it’s going to be another blazing hot day ... I need all this like a hole in the head.”

“She won’t move,” I said. “She’s sleeping in my bed, and she won’t move.”

My mother waved a hand at me to shut up, to stop interrupting her while she was in the midst of something important. “I’ll have to go shopping tomorrow, and I’ll have to spend the whole day cooking
...
”

“I’ll help,” my dad said sympathetically. “I’ll go out shopping early in the morning, and—"

“I don’t even know what to make,” my mother cried, but in a low voice.

“Lasagna,” both of us said together and smiled at each other. Lasagna was my mother’s greatest triumph—she wasn’t that good a cook otherwise, but nobody ever made lasagna the way she did. Nobody.

“It’s too hot,” my mother complained. “Who needs the oven on when the temperature is in the 90’s? And who wants to eat lasagna on a miserably hot day?”

“I could eat your lasagna on any kind of day,” my father said. “I could eat your lasagna on a hot day or on a cold day.” He paused, shook his head up and down, and added, “And I could eat your lasagna hot or cold or
...
” Another pause. “Or room temperature. Nobody makes lasagna like you.”

My mother lifted her chin, but she still pretended to be undecided. “And what about dessert?”

“Can we have a German chocolate cake from Kings?” I said.