Anything Is Possible(40)

Lucy’s face seemed to grow pink. She said, “I would put it the way I just put it. That we’re old. And we’re getting older.” She gave a tiny nod. “And I wanted to see you guys.”

“Are you in trouble?” Vicky asked.

“No,” said Lucy.

“Are you sick?”

“No.” Lucy added, “Not that I know of.”

And then there was a silence that went on for a long time. In Pete’s mind the silence became very long. He was used to silence, but this was not a good silence. He moved back to the armchair in the corner and sat down slowly, carefully.

“How are you, Vicky?” Lucy asked this, looking over at her sister.

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“Oh God,” Lucy said, and she put her elbows on her knees, covering her face for a moment with her hands. “Vicky, please—”

Vicky said, “?‘Vicky, please’? ‘Vicky, please’? Lucy, you left here and you have never once come back since Daddy died. And you say to me, ‘Vicky, please’—as though I’m the one who’s done something wrong.”

Pete wiped his finger across the wall again, and again his finger became streaked with dust. He did it twice more before he spread his hands over his knees.

Lucy said, looking upward, “I’ve been very busy.”

“Busy? Who isn’t busy?” Vicky pushed her glasses up her nose. In a moment she added, “Hey, Lucy, is that what’s called a truthful sentence? Didn’t I just see you on the computer giving a talk about truthful sentences? ‘A writer should write only what is true.’ Some crap like that you were saying. And you sit there and say to me, ‘I’ve been very busy.’ Well. I don’t believe you. You didn’t come here because you didn’t want to.”

Pete was surprised to see Lucy’s face relax. She nodded at her sister. “You’re right,” she said.

But Vicky wasn’t done. She leaned forward and said, “You know why I came over here today? To tell you—and I know you give me money, and you never have to give me another cent, I wouldn’t take another cent, but I came over here to see you today to tell you: You make me sick.” She sat back and wagged a finger toward her sister; on her wrist was a watch whose small leather band seemed squished into her flesh. “You do, Lucy. Every time I see you online, every time I see you, you are acting so nice, and it makes me sick.”

Pete looked at the rug. The rug seemed to holler at him, You are such a dope for buying me.

After a long time, Lucy said quietly, “Well, it makes me sick too. What I’d really like to say on whatever you’re watching—and why are you watching me?—what I’d really like to say, sometimes, is just: Fuck you.”

Pete looked up. He said, “Wow. Who do you want to say that to?”

“Oh,” Lucy said, running a hand through her hair, “usually it’s some woman who doesn’t like my work and stands up and says so. Or some reporter who wants to know about my personal life.”

Pete asked, “A person really stands up and says they don’t like your work?”

“Sometimes.”

Pete moved his chair slightly forward. “Then why don’t they just stay home?”

“Well, that’s my point.” Lucy opened her hand, waved it in a small gesture. “Fuck them.”

“Poor Lucy,” said Vicky, and her voice was sarcastic.

“Yeah, poor me,” Lucy said, and sat back.

“Mommy’s favorite,” Vicky said, and Lucy said, “What?”

“I said you were her favorite kid, and boy did that pay off, for you.”

Lucy looked at Pete and then she said, “I was her favorite?” Her surprise surprised Pete. “I was?” she asked, and he shrugged. Lucy said, “I didn’t know she had a favorite.”

“That’s because you didn’t know anything that went on in this house, Lucy. You stayed after school every day, and she let you.” Vicky was looking at her sister; her chin was quivering.

“I knew plenty of what went on in this house.” Lucy’s voice had hardened. “And she didn’t let me, I just did it.”

“She let you, Lucy. Because she thought you were smart. And she thought she was smart.” Vicky tugged hard on the bottom of her blouse; Pete could see a strip of her flesh exposed above her pants, almost bluish.

Pete said, “Hey, Vicky. Lucy saw Abel. Lucy, tell Vicky about seeing Abel.”

But when Lucy said, “I saw Abel,” Vicky only shrugged and said, “I couldn’t stand his sister, Dottie. Mom always made her a new dress.”

“Well, Dottie was poor,” Lucy said.

“Lucy, we were poor.” Vicky leaned forward, as though trying to put her face in front of Lucy’s face.

“I know that,” Lucy said. She suddenly stood and walked to the front window. She gave the blind cord a little tug, and it opened up. Sunlight spilled into the room. She walked to the other window and opened that blind as well. Then Pete saw that the dirt from the floor had been scrubbed into the corners, it was right there to see in this sunlight.

“Do you ever eat?” Vicky asked this to Lucy, and Lucy shook her head before she sat back down on the couch.

“Not much,” Lucy said. “Appetite I do not have.”