We Were Liars(14)

The shelves are bare. No pictures, no posters. No old toys.



Giveaway: a travel toothbrush kit Mummy bought me yesterday.

I already have a toothbrush. I don’t know why she would buy me another. That woman buys things just to buy things. It’s disgusting.

I walk over to the library and find the girl who took my pillow. She’s still leaning against the outside wall. I set the toothbrush kit in her cup.



Giveaway: Gat’s olive hunting jacket. The one I wore that night we held hands and looked at the stars and talked about God. I never returned it.

I should have given it away first of everything. I know that. But I couldn’t make myself. It was all I had left of him.

But that was weak and foolish.Gat doesn’t love me.

I don’t love him, either, and maybe I never did.

I’ll see him day after tomorrow and I don’t love him and I don’t want his jacket.





22




The phone rings at ten the night before we leave for Beechwood. Mummy is in the shower. I pick up.

Heavy breathing. Then a laugh.

“Who is this?”

“Cady?”

It’s a kid, I realize. “Yes.”

“This is Taft.” Mirren’s brother. He has no manners.

“How come you’re awake?”

“Is it true you’re a drug addict?” Taft asks me.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“You’re calling to ask if I’m a drug addict?” I haven’t talked to Taft since my accident.

“We’re on Beechwood,” he says. “We got here this morning.”

I am glad he’s changing the subject. I make my voice bright. “We’re coming tomorrow. Is it nice? Did you go swimming yet?”

“No.”

“Did you go on the tire swing?”

“No,” says Taft. “Are you sure you’re not a drug addict?”

“Where did you even get that idea?”

“Bonnie. She says I should watch out for you.”

“Don’t listen to Bonnie,” I say. “Listen to Mirren.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. But Bonnie’s the only one who believes me about Cuddledown,” he says. “And I wanted to call you. Only not if you’re a drug addict because drug addicts don’t know what’s going on.”

“I’m not a drug addict, you pipsqueak,” I say. Though possibly I am lying.

“Cuddledown is haunted,” says Taft. “Can I come and sleep with you at Windemere?”

I like Taft. I do. He’s slightly bonkers and covered with freckles and Mirren loves him way more than she loves the twins. “It’s not haunted. The wind just blows through the house,” I say. “It blows through Windemere, too. The windows rattle.”

“It is too, haunted,” Taft says. “Mummy doesn’t believe me and neither does Liberty.”

When he was younger he was always the kid who thought there were monsters in the closet. Later he was convinced there was a sea monster under the dock.

“Ask Mirren to help you,” I tell him. “She’ll read you a bedtime story or sing to you.”

“You think so?”

“She will. And when I get there I’ll take you tubing and snorkeling and it’ll be a grand summer, Taft.”

“Okay,” he says.

“Don’t be scared of stupid old Cuddledown,” I tell him. “Show it who’s boss and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He hangs up without saying goodbye.





Part Three


   Summer Seventeen





23




In Woods Hole, the port town, Mummy and I let the goldens out of the car and drag our bags down to where Aunt Carrie is standing on the dock.

Carrie gives Mummy a long hug before she helps us load our bags and the dogs into the big motorboat. “You’re more beautiful than ever,” she says. “And thank God you’re here.”

“Oh, quiet,” says Mummy.

“I know you’ve been sick,” Carrie says to me. She is the tallest of my aunts, and the eldest Sinclair daughter. Her sweater is long and cashmere. The lines on the sides of her mouth are deep. She’s wearing some ancient jade jewelry that belonged to Gran.

“Nothing wrong with me that a Percocet and a couple slugs of vodka doesn’t cure,” I say.

Carrie laughs, but Mummy leans in and says, “She’s not taking Percocet. She’s taking a non addictive medicine the doctor prescribes.”

It isn’t true. The nonaddictive medicines didn’t work.

“She looks too thin,” says Carrie.

“It’s all the vodka,” I say. “It fills me up.”

“She can’t eat much when she’s hurting,” says Mummy. “The pain makes her nauseated.”

“Bess made that blueberry pie you like,” Aunt Carrie tells me. She gives Mummy another hug.

“You guys are so huggy all of a sudden,” I say. “You never used to be huggy.”

Aunt Carrie hugs me, too. She smells of expensive, lemony perfume. I haven’t seen her in a long time.