Family of Liars(45)

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Not to Bess. Bess is shallow, aspirational, trying to be older than she is all the time. She’ll offer sympathy when what she really wants is gossip.

She clutches my hands. “I told Penny not to talk to Pfeff so much. I pulled her aside, and I was like, Carrie’s going to be mad when she gets here and what are you doing? I think she had too much to drink, though. She wasn’t thinking straight, and you know, he’s very cute. I’m sure she didn’t mean to.”

I free myself, squeeze the toothpaste, and begin to brush my teeth.

“She had like three beers in an hour,” continues Bess. “I counted. And I bet she wishes she never went outside with him and—”

I spit and rinse my mouth out. “She knew what she was doing.”

“It was only kissing,” says Bess. “Not anything more, in case you’re wondering.”

I stop and look at her. “Were you watching?”

“I was using the upstairs bathroom,” says Bess. “And I looked out the window. I couldn’t help but see them on the lawn. And then you came, and—”

“Ugh.” I bang into my room and begin pulling on clothes.

Bess follows me. “I’m trying to say sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to say sorry for. You didn’t do anything,” I snap. “Except spy on people and meddle in their business. But you’re not sorry for that, are you?”

Bess. Our martyr. The virtuous sister. She stands for a moment as if in shock, then stamps her foot like a child. “You’re mean,” she says. “You think you’re the only one who has any feelings, don’t you?”

“What?”

“Carrie got sick, Carrie’s in love, Carrie misses Rosemary, Carrie’s crying in the middle of the school carnival, or the middle of a family party—like you’re the only one who’s sensitive, when really, you’re just the only one who’s a complainer. You know that?”

I stare at her, open-mouthed.

“You think I don’t know you’re taking pills?” Bess goes on. “We share a bathroom. And you’re obviously looped out of your mind half the time. I can’t believe our parents haven’t noticed. You’re falling apart, Carrie, and it’s hard to even sympathize with you because you don’t care one ounce about me. You never think of me, never talk to me. You basically try to get rid of me, any time you can. So no. I actually don’t care if Penny kissed your boyfriend. I can’t believe he even liked you in the first place.”





49.


WHEN BESS LEAVES, I take a long shower. I clean my room and fold the clothes in my drawers.

I don’t want to see anyone. Ever. Maybe I’ll stay up here for the rest of my life, medicating myself and talking to Rosemary, safe in my room where no one can hurt me.

But eventually I get hungry.

I run a comb through my hair and put on clothes.

In the kitchen, my mother is folding napkins into neat squares. She makes me toast with apricot jam while I fix myself coffee. If she notices my swollen eyes, she doesn’t comment. “I need you to do a boat run,” she says as I sit down to eat.

“?’Kay. How come?”

“Gerrard is busy with the bush guy.”

“What’s a bush guy?”

“Putting in my new bushes,” she says. “Snowball viburnum and honeysuckle. I told you about it.”

“Do you need shopping?”

“Luda will do the shopping on the Vineyard. I need you to take people to Woods Hole.”

“Oh. Who’s leaving?” I don’t want to take Pfeff.

“Erin needs to go home,” she says. “And so does Yardley.”

“Yardley? I thought she was here all summer.”

“Well, she changed her mind.”

“How come?”

“She didn’t say. Just came to breakfast and said she needs to go back to the mainland and would I arrange transport. And that was just after Penny told me Erin was leaving, too.” Tipper laughs bitterly. “I think we’ve been good to that girl. Weeks of sand and sun, meals, everything anyone could want. And now she’s leaving with no notice, as if she doesn’t even like it here.”

“I thought you didn’t want to have so many guests anyway.”

“The boys,” my mother says. “The boys are a bit much. Erin is fine. Quiet as a mouse and keeps Penny occupied.”

My head hurts from the pills and all the crying last night. And the fight with Bess. “I’m sure she’s grateful. She probably just feels like she’s stayed too long.”

“Then I haven’t been a good hostess,” says my mother. “No one should ever feel they’re anything but welcome here.”

I would actually love to get off the island. Away from everyone. “I’ll take them,” I say. “I’ll tell Erin how much we loved having her. It’ll be fine.”

Tipper hugs me. “You’re a good girl,” she says.



* * *



—

I MEET YARDLEY and Erin at the family dock at noon. Tipper has packed them Brie-and-sun-dried-tomato sandwiches. They each have a container of sliced nectarines, another of salt-and-peppered cucumber, and a wax paper packet of ginger cookies. I hand them their brown paper sacks and they hold them like schoolchildren.