The Sweetness of Salt(20)

I still wasn’t 100 percent sure what my motivation was for doing this. I did know I wanted to hear Sophie’s version of things. I wanted to stand in front of her and ask her why she had kept Maggie from me. But why I was driving three hundred and fifty miles to ask her—right now, with everything else going on in my life—wasn’t really clear. Why was I letting this weird sense of urgency take over instead of the usual straightforward, calculated way I did things? And how was it that I had just graduated at the top of my class two days ago and now felt as if I didn’t have a clue about anything at all? Maybe in an ironic sort of way it would turn out that Sophie was the one who had a handle on things; after all, she’d spent seventeen years keeping a secret. And a massive secret at that. I’d done a lot difficult things in the last few years—getting a 1680 on my SATs (after taking them six times), receiving the highest score ever on Mr. Phillips’s ridiculously grueling chemistry final—but I’d never done anything like that. And as much as it angered me that she had done it, I couldn’t help but feel a strange kind of awe about her too.

The occasional punctuation of a few red taillights broke up the vast blackness in front of me. A lopsided moon moved overhead, gossamer clouds separating in front of it like milkweed strands. By the time I reached the end of the thruway, it had scuttled to the front, like an enormous blinker pointing the way.

Every time I tried to imagine the impending scene between Sophie and me, I felt sick. I’d seen enough blowouts between Sophie and Mom and Dad over the years to know that arguing with Sophie was not for the faint of heart. Sophie, if it could be said, was pretty damn good at arguing. I had never known her to back down. She held her ground the way a bullfighter waited in front of a bull, fluttering that red cape until the last possible second. And then, just before the charge, she would move, so swiftly that Mom or Dad or whoever it was she was baiting did not even have time to blink. By the time they were ready to face her again, she had settled into another fighter stance, red flag waving all over again.

It was not something I was looking forward to. But maybe, when things finally got said, when details were spread out before us, an argument would not be necessary. Maybe we could just sit there and…talk.

I closed my eyes for a second, trying to imagine it. And then I opened them again.

We were talking about Sophie here, a girl who had once been dubbed by Dad as Miss Darrow, after Clarence Darrow, possibly the most famous trial lawyer in history. He was known for his powerful closing arguments.

Who was I kidding?





chapter


14


When I was nine years old I won the Acahela Summer Camp Spelling Bee. It had come down to a final round between me and Hannah Reed, who stumbled on the word “octopus.” I clutched my little plastic trophy on the bus ride home, wriggling with excitement at the thought of showing it to Sophie. Mom and Dad always made a fuss over my good grades, but getting Sophie’s approval was like hitting gold. Once, after I had shown her a perfect math test—complete with three gold stars—Sophie asked if she could hang it in her room. Seeing my paper there every time I came into her room afterward sent a swell of pride through me.

It was unseasonably cool that day in July. Leaves on the maple trees whipped to and fro under a sharp wind, and the sun peered out faintly behind a film of clouds. The air smelled like rain. I had just passed the kitchen window when I heard someone shouting. The window was cracked slightly and I stood under it, listening with my heart in my throat.

“They’ve been saying shit behind my back since the end of last year,” Sophie said. “They just haven’t been as vocal about it until now. Seriously, Mom, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.”

“What kinds of things? About your weight?”

“Yes, about my weight!” Sophie exploded. “Like it’s a big deal that I put on twenty pounds!”

“Well, what are they saying exactly?” Mom asked.

“You want to know what they’ve been saying? When I got up from my lounge chair at the pool today, some * friend of Eddie’s made oinking noises. And when I walked over to the snack bar to get a soda, I heard Marissa Harrington call me a lard-ass under her breath. Okay? That’s the kind of shit I’m dealing with.”

“Sophie, please.” Mom was begging. “Don’t use that kind of language.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sophie yelled. “Me using bad language isn’t the point here, okay? You asked me what was wrong and I told you what was wrong.” I flinched as the sound of something being slammed filtered through the window. “I don’t know why I ever think I can talk to you about anything!”

I counted slowly to ten, then went inside.

Mom looked bewildered as I walked through the door. “Julia,” she said flatly.

“What’s wrong with Sophie?”

Mom blinked. “Oh, nothing. She’s having a rough day is all. She’ll be fine.” She glanced down at my trophy. “What’s that?”

I held it up. “I won the spelling bee at camp today.” Somehow, the news didn’t feel that exciting anymore.

But Mom squealed and clapped her hands and kissed me. She placed the trophy on the kitchen counter so she could admire it, and then said, “How about a snack?”

“No thanks.” I grabbed the trophy and began to climb the stairs.