We Were Liars(22)

“That’s a big promise.”

“Okay, maybe not great, but at least I won’t be suboptimal.”

“Why say suboptimal? Why not say what you really are? Thoughtless and confusing and manipulative?”

“God.” Gat jumps up and down in agitation. “Cadence! I really need to just start over. This is going from suboptimal down to total crap.” He jumps and kicks his legs out like an angry little boy.

The jumping makes me smile. “Okay,” I tell him. “Start over. After lunch.”

“All right,” he says, and stops jumping. “After lunch.”

We stare at each other for a moment.

“I’m going to run away now,” says Gat. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Okay.”

“It’s better for the starting over if I run. Because walking will just be awkward.”

“I said okay.”

“Okay, then.”

And he runs.





33




I go to lunch at New Clairmont an hour later. I know Mummy will not tolerate my absence after I missed supper last night. Granddad gives me a tour of the house while the cook sets out food and the aunts corral the littles.

It’s a sharp place. Shining wood floors, huge windows, everything low to the ground. The halls of Clairmont used to be decorated floor to ceiling with black-and-white family photographs, paintings of dogs, bookshelves, and Granddad’s collection of New Yorker cartoons. New Clairmont’s halls are glass on one side and blank on the other.

Granddad opens the doors to the four guest bedrooms upstairs. All are furnished only with beds and low, wide dressers. The windows have white shades that let some light shine in. There are no patterns on the bedspreads; they are simple, tasteful shades of blue or brown.

The littles’ rooms have some life. Taft has a Bakugan arena on the floor, a soccer ball, books about wizards and orphans. Liberty and Bonnie brought magazines and an MP3 player. They have stacks of Bonnie’s books on ghost hunters, psychics, and dangerous angels. Their dresser is cluttered with makeup and perfume bottles. Tennis racquets in the corner.

Granddad’s bedroom is larger than the others and has the best view. He takes me in and shows me the bathroom, which has handles in the shower. Old person handles, so he won’t fall down.

“Where are your New Yorker cartoons?” I ask.

“The decorator made decisions.”

“What about the pillows?”

“The what?”

“You had all those pillows. With embroidered dogs.”

He shakes his head. “Did you keep the fish?”

“What, the swordfish and all that?” We walk down the staircase to the ground floor. Granddad moves slowly and I am behind him. “I started over with this house,” he says simply. “That old life is gone.”

He opens the door to his study. It’s as severe as the rest of the house. A laptop sits in the center of a large desk. A large window looks out over the Japanese garden. A chair. A wall of shelves, completely empty.

It feels clean and open, but it isn’t spartan, because everything is opulent.

Granddad is more like Mummy than like me. He’s erased his old life by spending money on a replacement one.

“Where’s the young man?” asks Granddad suddenly. His face takes on a vacant look.

“Johnny?”

He shakes his head. “No, no.”

“Gat?”

“Yes, the young man.” He clutches the desk for a moment, as if feeling faint.

“Granddad, are you okay?”

“Oh, fine.”

“Gat is at Cuddledown with Mirren and Johnny,” I tell him.

“There was a book I promised him.”

“Most of your books aren’t here.”

“Stop telling me what’s not here!” Granddad yells, suddenly forceful.

“You okay?” It is Aunt Carrie, standing in the door of the study.

“I’m all right,” he says.

Carrie gives me a look and takes Granddad’s arm. “Come on. Lunch is ready.”

“Did you get back to sleep?” I ask my aunt as we head toward the kitchen. “Last night, was Johnny up?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says.





34




Granddad’s cook does the shopping and preps the meals, but the aunties plan all the menus. Today we have cold roast chicken, tomato-basil salad, Camembert, baguettes, and strawberry lemonade in the dining room. Liberty shows me pictures of cute boys in a magazine. Then she shows me pictures of clothes in another magazine. Bonnie reads a book called Collective Apparitions: Fact and Fiction. Taft and Will want me to take them tubing—drive the small motorboat while they float behind it in an inner tube.

Mummy says I’m not allowed to drive the boat on meds.

Aunt Carrie says that doesn’t matter, because no way is Will going tubing.

Aunt Bess says she agrees, so Taft better not even think about asking her.

Liberty and Bonnie ask if they can go tubing. “You always let Mirren go,” says Liberty. “You know it’s true.”

Will spills his lemonade and soaks a baguette.