The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek(15)

She would have to get it back.

And that is exactly what she thought she was doing when she’d, at long last, had a new idea all her own and flown down to North Carolina to make it happen. A decision that, coincidentally or not, would also get her far away from a certain leather-jacketed asshole and the not-all-that-talented new girlfriend he seemed to have plenty of time for.

And a decision, just like her entire relationship, that was a mistake.

She would call Continental and figure out the next flight she could book home. “You were too smart for that boy anyway,” GamGam said, pulling Janine out of her own head. “Plus, at your graduation I heard him say he didn’t like Smokey and the Bandit.”

Janine smiled in spite of herself. GamGam had no patience for anyone who didn’t recognize the genius of Burt Reynolds.

“You’re better off without him,” she said as she opened the fridge and slowly took out a plate of fried chicken.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” agreed Janine, ashamed that she was still having trouble convincing herself of that.

The doorbell rang.

“Oh,” GamGam said as she walked the chicken over to the table. “Would you mind getting that? It’s your cousin.”

“Donna?” Janine asked, seized by the sudden urge to go hide in the guest room.

“You got other cousins livin’ in this town I don’t know about?”

“Oh yeah, thousands,” Janine deadpanned. “Aunt Roberta’s poppin’ ’em out all the time. But I just— You could have told me she was coming.”

“Well,” GamGam whispered, “guess I didn’t wanna give you time to find a way out of it.” She gave one of her trademark mouth clicks as the doorbell rang again. “Coming, Donna dear!” she shouted before returning to a whisper. “Neenie. Go get the door, please.”

As GamGam well knew, Janine had been hoping to postpone any interactions with Donna for as long as possible. She could imagine few things more awkward and uncomfortable than spending time with her cousin.

“You’re being ridiculous,” GamGam said. “Donna can’t even stay long. She’s just sayin’ hey real quick ’cause you’re in town.”

Janine sighed. She was being kind of ridiculous. She stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room, weaving her way past the floral chair and the plastic-covered couch toward the front door.

It hadn’t always been this way.

When Janine and her family had made yearly visits while she was growing up, Donna—who was two years older—had been Janine’s best friend, her role model, the funniest, weirdest, most creative person she knew. It was Donna who had sparked Janine’s interest in film in the first place, ringleading their operation to slink into the now-shuttered drive-in movie theater to see movies definitely not intended for preadolescents. She remembered lying on the grass in the dark next to cars that were leaking the most sound (convertibles were a gold mine), staring wide-eyed as a teenage prom queen was doused in pig’s blood in Carrie, and gritting her teeth as she saw Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now utter “the horror…the horror” before succumbing to machete wounds. Those images were seared in her young mind, planting in her a desire to tell her own stories on screen one day.

Soon after, the two of them started making their own movies with Donna’s Super 8 camera, a series of silent shorts called The Gnome Girls. Donna would make huge dialogue title cards on posterboard, regularly slipping in witty surprise messages just to crack Janine up. She also taught Janine how to sew costumes, how to authentically walk like a gnome, how to craft elaborate dioramas out of grass and random objects that when shot from the right angle looked like a vast, fantastical forest. She was amazing.

But when Janine visited town the summer after ninth grade, that all changed. Donna was notably quiet and withdrawn. Moody, even. She wanted nothing to do with Janine, and Janine had no idea why. They’d always sent each other hilarious letters during the year; maybe one of Donna’s had gotten lost in the mail, leaving her waiting in frustration for a response from Janine that had never come?

When Janine worked up the nerve to ask Donna if this was the case, or if she’d offended her in some other way, Donna had just said, “No,” before retreating into her room and closing the door. Janine was relieved, then instantly wrecked. Because if she hadn’t done anything wrong, it meant she was simply not cool enough for her older cousin anymore. Maybe she’d never been. The feeling of rejection was new and all-consuming. And painful.

It only got worse the following year, when Janine received the awful news that Donna’s dad, Uncle Jim, had died in a car accident. At the funeral, Donna was understandably as closed off as ever, and though Janine had made a few fumbling attempts at reaching out in the months and years that followed, she’d long since accepted the truth: She and Donna would always be cousins, but they would never again be friends.

And now she found herself looking at the door, her once-close cousin standing on the other side. No part of her wanted to open it, but she took a breath and did it anyway.

“Hey, Donna,” Janine said.

“Hey.”

It was hard for Janine to connect the person in front of her to the radiant human she’d once idolized. Donna had what seemed to be permanent dark circles under her eyes, and her deep brown hair—once lustrous and so long that it reached her waist—was unwashed, choppy, possibly self-cut. It was parted in the middle and hung down the sides of her face to her chin, giving the constant impression that Donna was hiding from something. Her loose-fitting flannel shirt and baggy jeans only added to that effect. She did not look well.