Rapid Falls(27)
A murmur from the back made me think the funeral was about to start; maybe the priest or whatever was walking down the aisle. But instead of a black-suited man of God, a glint of metal caught my eye as I looked back. A wheelchair—probably an older relative coming to pay respects. The hum of voices grew louder as I turned for a better look. It was Anna.
My stomach lurched. My dad pushed her into a spot at the back. I nudged my mom, who turned in her seat and motioned for them to join us. My dad shook his head no. He seemed to be struggling to maintain his composure as he slid the chair between people who had been his friends and neighbors all his life. His jaw was tight. A few people whispered quickly to those beside them as my dad rested his hands on the back of the wheelchair. Anna’s face was pale. She smiled quickly when she saw Sandy and then looked down, ashamed, when Sandy turned her head back to the front, face blank. I slunk down in my seat, and my mom squeezed my hand again.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. Her face was pale, shades lighter than the foundation that now made her look orange. I couldn’t tell if she was reassuring me or herself. Then I saw Dan stand up and walk toward the back. I could hear Cindy’s sobbing as she stayed in place. Dan met my dad’s eyes. The church grew quiet as everyone shifted to watch. Dan shook his head as he looked at Anna.
“No,” he said. The word echoed in the silence. I heard my mom suck in her breath. My dad recoiled as if slapped. Anna looked down. She slowly took the wheels in her own hands and clumsily spun the tires backward, running into my dad while trying to turn the chair to face the door. People stepped back to make a path for her.
“I’ll go.” She looked at my dad. “You stay.”
Dan turned and walked down the aisle again. Cindy’s cries were still audible. My dad looked helpless as Anna held up her hand, motioning for him to stay.
“It’s okay,” she said, echoing our mother. Whispers hissed through the church as my dad shook his head and pushed the unfamiliar vehicle back out the door. Each rotation seemed to be defying the laws of physics in its inability to gain momentum. Push, roll. Push, roll.
I had heard the doctors at the hospital tell her that she needed to stay as immobile as possible to ensure her ribs set properly. I knew that I should leave with her. I should walk out and show the town that I would always stand with her, that we were in this together. But I didn’t. My mom’s body felt tense, as if she was waiting for my decision before she made her move. When I didn’t get up, she stayed too. I knew Anna understood why I didn’t join her. I also knew that understanding didn’t make her feel any less alone. My dad held open the door. Its deep thud echoed as it closed behind them.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
July 2016
As I toss my soggy swimsuit into my overnight bag, I think of Anna and how far she has fallen. When I look through our 1997 yearbook, I can see how pretty she was, prettier than me—her features slightly more refined and symmetrical than mine, her hair shinier, her smile brighter. Maybe that’s why my parents favored her. As a kid she could get away with anything, whereas I was always told I should have noticed, should have helped, should have told her not to do it. I was supposed to be the responsible one, the older sister, though now it’s hard to tell that she is a year younger. Hard living has visibly aged her, and my jealousy about her appearance has faded away. Anna no longer has the same shy smile she used to reserve for guys she liked and teachers she hated. Her grin, on the rare occasions it appears, is now startling for its yellow teeth pocked with visible cavities.
Last year, at Christmas, I gave her a voucher for $1,500 in treatments at our family dentist. She opened the envelope and turned to me, embarrassed. “I go to the dentist, Cara.”
I feigned surprise at her reaction. I knew the gift was a risk, but I thought it would help. “I know, I know. I just thought . . . if there was any big work you wanted to get done. Dentists are expensive.” I laughed warmly and prepared to launch into a story about possible braces for Maggie, willing myself not to look at Anna’s mouth.
“Thanks for thinking of me,” Anna interrupted abruptly before I could begin my story. She covered her mouth every time she laughed that night. She still does, but she’s not quick enough to hide the fact that she never used my gift. It’s not like she’s ugly now, exactly. She still manages to attract a host of men though they rarely stay for more than a couple of months. Like her, they have lost any promise they once had. They are broken by life, angry because they thought they were better than they actually turned out to be. They uniformly curse loudly, make foul jokes, and leer at me when Anna goes to the bathroom. Her last boyfriend stole a laptop from my mom’s house during a visit.
Anna used to be able to get anyone she wanted. Anyone, even people she should never have tried to date because other people loved them. It must be hard to lose that—harder still to sink to the point of being for sale. I try to muster up sympathy for her situation, but all I can do is feel annoyed and angry.
As I click my seat belt, Rick offers, “Not the night we planned, huh?”
“Not even close,” I say with a tight smile, grateful he’s still able and willing to try to make me feel better. At some point, he won’t be. Not if Anna keeps up with this. I know that sooner or later her sickening shadow will begin to cast a pall on me as well, and he’ll wonder how he ended up with a wife who brings so much ugliness into his life. Rick doesn’t have skeletons in his closet. He is perfect and needs his wife to be the same way. The worst thing that Rick has ever done was to spray-paint a statue as a prank in college. He had confessed it in low tones, as if I would be shocked by his immoral act.