Three Sisters (20 page)

She started crying. Again. I should stop, she

thought, this is terrible.

“Karen?” Tobi said. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know … everything. Everything is

awful… .”

“Is it that business with Scott?”

“What do you mean? What business?”

Tobi shrugged. “Oh, I know about it, Liz told

me.”

Karen’s heart grabbed. “She told you? She told

you, Tobi?”

“Whatever got into you? I never acted like that

when I was your age.” The tears, the humiliating, satisfying, irresistible

tears came again. She ran out of the room, ran out

of the house, snorting and crying, her eyes puffed

and sore. Who else had Liz told? Mom? Dad?

Grandma? Did they all despise her now, the way

Liz did?

Thirty-three.

She woke up sick. Her head hurt, she had no strength in her legs, she had a deep, chesty cough. Yes, oh healthy one. She and her boasting about never getting sick. Now she was getting paid back. Her father moved the TV into her room. Tobi brought her tissues and the baby cup with a soft boiled egg. Liz stayed away.

“You’ll be okay?” her mother said, lingering in the doorway. “I hate to leave you alone, sweetie. Don’t forget, call me if you need me.” They all left for school and work. She watched TV all day. Game shows. Soaps. Movies. The last movie she watched was called The Game of Honor. It was about a young girl and an older man. Don’t look, she told herself. Don’t watch it. Turn it off.

The man is a lawyer. Big office. Important clients. The girl is an honor student, beautiful, smart, editor of her high school paper. She prints an article her principal objects to. (This principal wears three-piece suits and a blow-dried haircut.) He censors

the article. The girl is outraged; this is a violation of freedom of the press. Everyone tells her to forget it. She looks in the phone book, picks out a lawyer’s name at random. She goes to see him, but at first he doesn’t take her seriously. She persists, impressing him with her brains and beauty. Her nickname is Randy and she makes uneasy, but sophisticated, jokes about her name. He says, No, I will call you Miranda. It’s easy to see he’s on his way to being totally zapped by her.

His name is William. He’s handsome, in an older-man way, sort of thin and fit. He jogs. He has a wife and children, he has a beautiful house, but he’s not happy. He and his wife are having trouble. Bla bla bla bla bla. Finally, he goes to Randy’s house. Her parents were conveniently away. They make love on the living room couch. William says, I love you. Randy says, I love you.

Next, they’re romping around on a beach, little skimpy bathing suits, sun, sand. After that, racing each other down a footpath, jeans, sweat shirts, a breeze in the trees. Then they’re at the zoo together; she’s wearing something preppy, he’s casual and well-pressed. The monkeys perform for them. After that, a whole bunch of scenes where they smile a lot (Randy and William, not the monkeys), say clever things, and tear off each other’s clothes every chance they have.

In between all this, they have terrific battles with the school board and the principal. He makes great speeches. She makes great speeches. He tells her she should be a lawyer. They win their case. The school paper will not be censored. Anyway, school is over. It’s summer. He’s still unhappy. They keep seeing

each other. Once or twice he says something about being too old for her. But she always puts her perfect little fingers over his mouth and tears off her clothes and tears off his clothes and they make love and everything is wonderful.

Then one day he’s with Randy and who comes into the restaurant but his wife! She sits down. She’s not so bad-looking. She’s actually rather nice. They all talk about the case. William’s wife knows all about it. Randy is sweet—but young. Suddenly you can see how young she is, and you can see William seeing how young she is. Or maybe how old he is. Or maybe how nice his wife is. And what a fool he is. So then he’s in the park with Randy again, telling her, I’m too old for you. He’s sober and brave and so is she, although they both cry and say goodbye oh goodbye goodbye, and creep off into the bushes to make love one last time.

And that’s that.

Except for one final scene when she passes his office, looks up at the window, and you can see on her face how she’s still heartbroken, but you also notice even more how gorgeous she is and how, even though she’s still thinking about William practically every minute, other men can’t keep their eyes off her. She walks down the street. You know she’ll be okay.

“Good movie?” Her father looked in. Behind him, Liz passed, giving her father a little affectionate pat.

Karen shook her head.

“Oh, sorry about that.”

She coughed. Her eyes teared, her nose ran.

“Anyway, sometimes it’s fun to watch a really bad movie.”

“Sure,” she said.

That night, she woke up coughing uncontrollably. She hung over the side of the bed, coughing and spitting into tissues. She was dying. Spitting out her life’s blood. They all knew she was dying, and even so, Liz wouldn’t forgive her, and none of them cared. She coughed and spit and cried.

Thirty-Four

Karen. Over here.” Scott was parked in his truck at the corner. At the sight of him, her stomach climbed straight up into her throat, nauseating her. It was the first time she’d seen him since the lake.

She walked toward him.

“Hello, Karen.” A brief smile flickered under his mustache. That was new. “I’d like to talk to you,” he said, opening the passenger door. “Please.” She shrugged and climbed into the truck. He pulled away from the curb. She looked out the window; the sky was blue, perfectly blue, like an egg.

“So, how’ve you been?” he said.

“Terrific.” He missed the irony, of course. “You’ve got a mustache.”

He fingered the silky growth. “I wanted a change.”

He drove across town; the streets were dry and bare; a man sat in a window, knees up, a woman languidly entered a bar. They drove over railroad tracks, rusted and broken, past a used car lot, flags

waving limply. It was still too hot for June. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“I have to drop some plans off. Kitchen remodeling job.” He stopped at an old, impressive-looking house on Valley Drive. “I’ll just be a minute.” The plans were rolled up in a tube.

When he came back, he said, “You want something? Ice cream?”

“No.”

“A beer would be nice now.” He pulled into the parking lot of a red and white diner in the shape of a hot dog. There was a red-and-white sign over the burning tin roof. FRANK’S HOT DOGS AND FRIES. SOFT ICE CREAM. “Sure about the ice cream?”

“Is this what you want to talk to me about?”

“Karen, you’ve changed.”

“Have I?” She was lightheaded, felt almost sick again. A scrap of dream from last night came back to her, something about the mulberry tree, Liz and she sitting together. The dream had been soft, windy, warm, private. Why think of it now? The truck was dry, harsh, flat, hot.

Scott lit a cigarette. “Tell me, how’s Liz?”

“Why don’t you ask her?” She put her head back against the seat.

“She’s not—we’re not on very good terms right now.” He stared out the window, coughed, pulled at his shirt. “That’s putting it mildly. She won’t see me. I was wondering—would you talk to her?”

Karen looked at him disbelievingly. “You want -me to talk to Liz for you? Me, put in a good word for you?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s sort of funny.”

He tapped ash over the window. “You know, you could just tell her that what happened was not so important. Just one of those things, it didn’t mean anything. It’s the sort of thing—the sort of thing that can happen. It can happen to a man. It can happen.”

She was startled by a desire to hit him in the face. “I want to get out of here,” she said. “I want to get out of this truck.”

“What’s the matter? Wait—”

She opened the door, jumped out, stumbled; she’d worn high-heeled, cork-soled sandals to school. She should have worn sneakers. If she’d known what was coming, she would have worn her running sneakers and her boxing gloves, too.

Scott came after her. “Karen, what’s happening, where are you going?” He caught her arm.

“Go away. Leave me alone! Speak to Liz yourself! I’m not saying anything for you. Nothing!” His hand on her arm made her shudder.

“All right.” He put up his hands. “If that’s the way it is—I’ll drive you home. Do you even know where you are?”

“Go away.”

“Hey.” He half-smiled under his new, soft little mustache. “You know, you always say that when you see me lately.”

She turned on him, beating him with her fists, pounding and hitting, wanting to hurt. She punched him in the chest, his belly, tried to hit him in the face.

He flung up his hands, fended her off. “Okay! Okay! Stop it!” He shoved her away. “That’s enough!” They stared at each other.

“Did I hurt you?” she said.

He shrugged.

“Did I hurt you?”

“You’re strong.”

“I wanted to hurt you.”

“You don’t have to hate me so much, Karen.”

She didn’t answer. What was the point? What could she say, anyway? Maybe I won’t hate you someday, Scott, but right now, I do—and I have to.

Thirty-Five

Over the weekend, her parents flew to Atlantic City for a dental convention. They left Friday night and wouldn’t return until Tuesday. Of course Karen had been alone with her sisters before, but never like this. The house was quiet, too quiet. It wasn’t just her parents being away. It was she and Liz and Tobi, each in her own room: separated, alone. Each going her own way. She and Liz—so much distance between them. They were like two particles of dust floating in a vast space, never touching, never making contact.

In the morning she pulled on shorts, a T-shirt, cleaned her teeth, brushed her hair, barefooted it past her sisters’ doors. Quiet. Everything so quiet. She took in the newspaper, spread it out on the kitchen table. Her horoscope said, “You have troubles. Don’t keep them to yourself. Talk them over with someone you trust.” Who would that be?

Liz, I’m troubled.

Silence.

I made a mistake and I did something that was rash, no it was stupid, the whole thing with Scott. …

Silence.

Well, maybe stupid and rash don’t cover it. Deluded? I was in love with him—had a crush on him; I didn’t think it was puppy love and if you want to know the truth, I still don’t.

Silence.

I haven’t got it all figured out; can you love someone and hate him at the same time? I read that once in a book; I never understood it, but now I do.

Silence.

In fact, right now, I feel like I love you and hate you at the same time.

Silence.

Can’t you say something?

Silence.

Okay, you were right in what you said about me; it’s true I didn’t think of you. Or—maybe I did and I was jealous, wanted what you had. I don’t mean just Scott… more than that. Your life, your assurance, your beauty. I know it’s crazy!

Silence.

And I let myself believe Scott loved me, too. Does that make you angry?

Silence.

Anyway, I was wrong about Scott.

Silence.

Are you ever going to speak to me again, Liz?

Silence.

She went outside and picked dandelions. She put them in a jar, set it on the dining room table. She set the table with three place mats, cloth napkins

in the wooden napkin rings, a pitcher of milk, the bread in a basket. Tobi came down and whistled approvingly. Liz said nothing.

Later, her grandmother called to see how they were doing. “How are you? How are your sisters?”

“Fine, Grandma.”

“What’s Liz doing?”

“Right now? Laundry, I think.”

“Poetry is a dead end. She needs a profession. Let me say hello to Tobi.”

“She went out running, Grandma.”

“Is she with that man? Tell her to call me when she comes home.”

In the afternoon Karen shopped at the market, bought paper towels, butter, milk, a quart of the first New Jersey strawberries. Liz adored strawberries. For supper, she made meat loaf, baked potatoes, a big green salad. She set the table again in the dining room. Strawberries and cream for dessert. “I’m stuffing myself,” Tobi said, having put a piece of meat loaf big enough for a mouse on her plate.

Liz said nothing. Not to Karen. Then Karen didn’t want to eat. She left the table. “Where’re you going?” Tobi said. In the living room she curled up on the window seat. She heard Liz and Tobi talking about Tobi’s new summer job in an old people’s home. “One of the residents came over to me, Mr. Adler, he’s ninety-six. I was picking up breakfast trays, he trots into a room and brings out the tray for me, like I might wear myself out, you know?” Tobi and Liz laughed. “Then he says, ‘Now don’t take this wrong, sweetheart, but I used to have a girl friend who looked just like you.’ And then, Liz, he

wriggled his eyebrows at me, like woo! woo! honey!”

The sound of their laughter hurt Karen. Sisterly, funny, affectionate, warm laughter. Liz had everything for Tobi, nothing for her. All the things she’d done today, from picking the dandelions to baking the meat loaf, all had been for Liz. She had been courting her, seeking her approval, waiting for her to see her again and to say—what? Something. Anything. Even her name! Karen. Hello, Karen. Hi, Karen. Oh, there you are, Karen.

Yes, here she was! She was here, wasn’t she? She was living, she was breathing, she was Liz’s sister, too! Had been for almost sixteen years. Did Liz think she’d blotted Karen out forever? Liz’s hardness stunned her. She thought of the paper cutouts she used to make when she was a kid. Fold paper, cut, unfold. Stars. Snowflakes. Diamonds. The hardest to do was the doll series with linked hands. She learned how to do it. It was her favorite. She always had one of the doll cutouts pasted on her window. But when Tobi was angry at her, she’d come into Karen’s room and snip through the clasped hands, ruining her cutout. Snip. Snip. Snip. And the paper dolls would fall, one by one, to the floor.

Sunday morning, Tobi went out early. “I may or may not be back tonight.” Liz was in her room, door closed; that meant she was writing.