The Sweetness of Salt(37)

“Okay,” I said.

Sophie sat back again in her chair. She looked exhausted suddenly. “Anyway, I don’t even know if I answered your question. About what she looked like.” She leaned forward. “But that’s all I can do for today, okay?”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “Okay.”





chapter


25


Over the next few days, Mom and Dad called no less than twelve times. Each time they both got on the phone, doubling up, as if it might increase their persuasive powers. Each time I assured them over and over again that yes, I knew what I was doing, and that yes, I was still staying. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. My throat ached when Mom cried and I closed my eyes when Dad swore, but I held fast. It was as if a wedge had already been driven between us; something built out of necessity, but there nonetheless. I wasn’t going to be the one to knock it back down. Not after all this time.

And to make sure of that, on the third day I turned my phone off completely and shoved it under my pillow.



Sophie and I worked on the outside of the house for the rest of the week. While I scraped, I thought about Maggie. Especially that black mohawk hair of hers. I wondered who in the family she resembled the most. Mom? Dad? Sophie? Me, possibly?

It was crazy that I’d never stumbled upon a picture of her over the years, something slipped in behind a loose photo in an album or hidden in between one of the cellophane pages. Mom had at least eight family photo albums—all organized by year—set up like encyclopedias in the living room. The first two were mostly of Sophie—up until she was about twelve years old. When she hit junior high, Mom said that Sophie developed a morbid aversion to having her picture taken and would dart out of the room whenever a camera appeared. She refused to pose for anything except our annual family Christmas photo, which, despite Dad’s threats, always captured her with her eyes glued to the floor. The next six photo albums were all of me—starting with preschool and going all the way up to my senior year. How was it that in all of those compilations of memories, no one had ever thought to include a picture of our sister? Why had Maggie—along with her death—been virtually erased from the world? And what was it about her that Mom and Dad didn’t want me to know?



The steady train of thoughts inside my head made the hours go by quickly, and on Friday, when Sophie came around to my side again, it was late in the afternoon. She surveyed my work, whistling in admiration. “Shit, girl. You’ve been trucking!” She smoothed her fingers against the smooth wood and nodded. “Nice work. Really nice work.”

“Thanks.” I wiped my brow with the back of my wrist, detecting a faint whiff of sweat. The underarms of my shirt were wringing wet, and my hair clung to the back of my neck.

“You stink?” Sophie grinned.

“A little.”

“That’s nothing,” she said. “Wait’ll I get you up on that roof. Then you’ll know what it feels like to sweat.”

I smiled, groaning inwardly. This was by far the most laborious physical activity I had ever done in my life. How much harder was it going to get?

Sophie swatted me on the side of the arm. “I don’t want to burn you out, though. You’ve done enough for today. Go upstairs, take a shower, and lie down for a while. Relax. I was thinking we could order some Chinese food for dinner. They’ve got a great place just a few miles away. You like Chinese food?”

“Love it.”

“Chicken and broccoli?” she asked, pointing her scraper at me.

“Shrimp and snow peas,” I said. “Extra spicy.”


“You got it,” Sophie said. “Go get clean.”



The shower felt good against my hot skin, almost like a salve. I stood under it for a good while, letting the water run over the planes of my face and down my hipbones. I had two more blisters on my fingers, and my shoulder blades hurt when I tried to rotate them, but when I got out of the shower I felt strangely refreshed. The scent of Sophie’s mint and grapefruit body wash lingered on my skin, and my hair smelled like apricots. I fastened my hair back with a rubber band and pulled on a pair of clean jeans, a T-shirt, and shoes. Then I headed downstairs.

Sophie was sitting on the side porch, smoking a cigarette and talking on her cell phone. “Yes, I know, Greg,” she said. “You’ve told me that at least a million times. Hold on, okay?” She pressed the phone flat against her shoulder. “What’s up? You’re not going to lie down?”

I shook my head and pointed to the phone. “Is everything okay?”

Sophie dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. “Oh, yeah.”

“Is Goober there?” I asked. “Can I say hi?”

“She’s napping,” Sophie said. “We’ll call her tonight.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’m gonna walk around then. I’ll see you in a little while.”

“Go down to East Poultney!” Sophie said as I headed down the driveway. “I’m telling you, you’ll love the gorge! It’s beautiful!”





chapter


26


I told myself I was going to keep walking in the direction of East Poultney. I’d read about gorges. And now that I thought about it, there had actually been a question about a gorge on my SATs. But I’d never seen a real gorge before. It would be interesting. Something different. An adventure.