The Paris Library(84)

“I guess I didn’t think.”

Odile scowled at me. “Well, next time, think! And keep your mouth shut.”

“No one likes a tattletale,” Eleanor added. She and Odile settled back on the couch, back into their conversation.

“So you think I should go?” Odile asked. For once, she was the one who sounded unsure.

“Go where?” I asked.

“Chicago!” Eleanor squealed.

“Chicago,” I sighed, wishing I could get away from people watching my every move, could go to a city full of skyscrapers and fancy restaurants. “You have to go!”

“I haven’t taken the train since I came here forty years ago. And that’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen my friend Lucienne.”

“Why didn’t you go before?” I asked.

“She invited us, but Buck never wanted to. After he died, I was in the habit of saying no.”

“Think of the stores and theaters!” Eleanor said. “Why, if I had the chance… And wouldn’t it be wonderful to see your friend?”

“She wants me to come for a whole month.”

“Lily and I could drive you to the train station,” Eleanor said.

“I’ll think about it,” Odile said, which in my experience meant no.

In bed that night, as I dozed while reading Homecoming, the sounds of an argument slid under the door into my room. “Sue Bob can’t control her daughters and thinks she can tell me how to raise mine?” Dad said. “Angel’s a lost cause, and Mary Louise is following in her footsteps.”

“Nonsense,” Eleanor said. “Mary Louise is just high-spirited.”

Gratitude engulfed my sleepy heart. The door creaked open, and Eleanor’s Isotoner slippers whispered along the carpet. She turned off my lamp.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

“For what?”

For not getting mad about my snooping. For encouraging Odile. For seeing the best in Mary Louise. For understanding. I didn’t say any of this but only snuggled under the comforter, feeling happier than I had in a long time.



* * *




TEN DAYS LATER, Eleanor and I drove Odile to the station in Wolf Point. From the back seat, I watched the barren land pass by and wished I were the one leaving.

As we waited on the platform, Odile asked, “What if she’s changed? What if we don’t get along? I’ll be stuck.”

“You can come home early,” Eleanor said. “Froid will still be here.”

“It’s not Froid I’ll miss,” Odile replied.

My foot slid over hers. “I’ll miss you, too.”

The Empire Builder chugged to a stop, and she boarded. On the empty platform, Eleanor and I waved as Odile slipped away.



* * *




TWO WEEKS LATER, at dinner, as I cut Joe’s chicken, I asked Dad about taking driver’s ed again. “Mary Louise already has her license.”

“Why compare yourself to others? You’re a beautiful, unique girl.”

I dabbed at the ketchup that covered Joe’s face. “I’m unique all right, the last one in my class to get a learner’s permit.” I wanted to tell him he couldn’t keep me hermetically sealed in this house forever. Mary Louise had taught me to drive on the dirt road that led to the dump. It wasn’t that hard.

“After what happened to the Flynn girl, I’d be worried sick,” he said. “I don’t want you taking any chances.”

Jess Flynn had been in a pickup with boys who were drinking and driving. When the Ford flipped off the road, she was killed instantly. Our town had mourned her death for five years.

“Teens don’t drink and drive to and from school,” Eleanor argued. “Nothing wrong with a young woman having a little independence, and isn’t it best that she gets some practice under her belt before she goes off to college?”

Dad accused her of being on my side so that I would like her. She started clearing the table, throwing the silverware onto the plates. Now I was stuck in the middle of their fight, one I’d accidentally started.

After dinner, Mary Louise came over. Cross-legged on the floor, backs against my bed, we listened to the Cure.

“Dad and Eleanor are at it again,” I said. “Wish I could escape to Chicago.”

“It’d take forever to save up. You’ll be able to when you’re thirty.”

“When I’m too old to enjoy it.”

“Lily,” Eleanor squawked from down the hall. “Turn down that music, it’s scaring Benjy! Why don’t you two go water Odile’s plants? They’re probably half-dead by now.”

Odile’s living room seemed the same—a basket of yarn near the chair, the coffee table that displayed my crafts: a lavender sachet, a leather bookmark—but no Bach played, no one asked about our day. The house didn’t smell like freshly baked cookies; the musty odor made the place feel empty. With the curtains drawn, with Odile gone, the room felt like a body without a soul.

The whole house was open to us. We could do anything we liked. And we’d never have this chance again. I opened a drawer, but there was nothing but old newspaper clippings.

“What are you looking for, anyway?” Mary Louise asked as she drizzled water on the crispy ferns.