Practical Magic (Practical Magic #2)(19)
“Everything is such a mess,” Gillian admits.
“Well, guess what?” Sally tells her sister. “I know you won’t believe this, and I know you won’t care, but I’ve actually got my own problems.”
The electricity bill, for instance, which has begun to reflect Antonia’s increased use of the radio, which is never for an instant turned off. The fact that Sally hasn’t had a date in almost two years, not even with some cousin or friend of her next-door neighbor Linda Bennett, and can no longer think of love as a reality, or even as a possibility, however remote. For all the time they’ve been apart, living separate lives, Gillian has been doing as she pleased, fucking whomever she cares to and waking at noon. She hasn’t had to sit up all night with little girls who have chicken pox, or negotiate curfews, or set her alarm for the proper hour because someone needs breakfast or a good talking to. Naturally Gillian looks great. She thinks the world revolves around her.
“Believe me. Your problems are nothing like mine. This time it’s really bad, Sally.”
Gillian’s voice is getting smaller and smaller, but it’s still the same voice that got Sally through that horrible year when she couldn’t bring herself to speak. It’s the voice that urged her on every Tuesday night, no matter what, with a fierce devotion, the kind you acquire only when you’ve shared the past.
“Okay.” Sally sighs. “Let me have it.”
Gillian takes a deep breath. “I’ve got Jimmy in the car.” She comes closer, so she can whisper in Sally’s ear. “The problem is ...” This is a hard one, it really is. She has to just get it out and say it, whispered or not. “He’s dead.”
Sally immediately pulls away from her sister. This is nothing anyone wants to hear on a hot June night, when the fireflies are strung across the lawns. The night is dreamy and deep, but now Sally feels as if she’s drained a pot of coffee; her heart is beating like mad. Anyone else might assume Gillian is lying or exaggerating or just goofing around. But Sally knows her sister. She knows better. There’s a dead man in the car. Guaranteed.
“Don’t do this to me,” Sally says.
“Do you think I planned it?”
“So you were driving along, headed for my house, figuring we should finally see each other, and he just happened to die?”
Sally has never met Jimmy, and she can’t say she’s ever really spoken to him. Once he answered the phone when she called Gillian in Tucson, but he certainly wasn’t talkative. As soon as he’d heard Sally’s voice, he shouted for Gillian to come pick up.
“Get over here, girl.” That’s what he’d said. “It’s your goddamn sister on the phone.”
All Sally can remember Gillian telling her about him is that he served some time in the penitentiary for a crime he didn’t commit, and that he was so handsome and so smooth he could get into any woman simply by looking at her the right way. Or the wrong way, depending on how you wanted to evaluate the consequences, and whether or not you happened to be married to this woman when Jimmy came along and stole her before you had an inkling of what was going on.
“It happened in a rest area in New Jersey.” Gillian is trying to quit smoking, so she takes out a stick of gum and pushes it into her mouth. She has a pouty mouth that’s rosy and sweet, but tonight her lips are parched. “He was such a shit,” she says thoughtfully. “God. You wouldn’t believe the things he did. Once we were house-sitting for some people in Phoenix, and they had a cat that was bothering him—I think it peed on the floor. He put it in the refrigerator.”
Sally sits down. She’s a little woozy hearing all this information about her sister’s life, and the concrete stoop is cool and makes her feel better. Gillian always has the ability to draw her in, even when she tries to fight against the pull. Gillian sits down beside her, knee to knee. Her skin is even cooler than the concrete.
“Even I couldn’t believe he’d actually go and do something like that,” Gillian says. “I had to get out of bed in the middle of the night and let it out of the fridge or the thing would have frozen to death. It had ice crystals in its fur.”
“Why did you have to come here?” Sally says mournfully. “Why now? You’re going to ruin everything. I’ve really worked hard for all this.”
Gillian eyes the house, unimpressed. She truly hates being on the East Coast. All this humidity and greenery. She’d do almost anything to avoid the past. Most probably, she’ll find herself dreaming about the aunts tonight. That old house on Magnolia Street, with its woodwork and its cats, will come back to her, and she’ll start to get fidgety, maybe even panicky to get the hell away, which is how she ended up in the Southwest in the first place. She got on a bus as soon as she left the Toyota mechanic she’d left her first husband for. She had to have heat and sun to counteract her moldy childhood, with its dark afternoons filled with long green shadows and its even darker midnights. She had to be very, very far away.
If she’d had the cash, Gillian would have run out of that rest area in New Jersey and she would have kept running until she got to the airport in Newark, then flown someplace hot. New Orleans, maybe, or Los Angeles. Unfortunately, right before they left Tucson, Jimmy informed her they were penniless. He’d spent every cent she’d earned in the past five years, easy enough to do when you’re investing in drugs and alcohol and any jewelry you took a fancy to, including the silver ring he always wore—which had cost nearly a week of Gillian’s salary. The only thing they had after he was done spending was the car, and that was in his name. Where else could she have gone on a night as black as this? Who else would take her in, no questions asked—or, at least, none she can’t think up an answer for—until she gets back on her feet?