As Close as Sisters (5 page)

I was still rubbing her belly. I couldn’t get over the magic of it. A baby. At forty-one years old. Our Lilly was going to have a baby. In all these years, I was the only one who’d ever had children. And kept them. I was immediately excited to have this connection with Lilly. Being mothers. And for a moment, the years that will follow flash in my head: being in the hospital when Lilly gave birth, going to the baby’s birthday parties, comparing her experiences to mine so many years ago.

Then I remembered. Would I even make it to the baby’s birth? What if I took a turn for the worse?

“When are you due?” I asked, refusing to feel sorry for myself right now. I’d do it later, when I was alone and could hide my shameful thoughts.

“I’m twenty-seven and a half weeks. Almost seven months. October fourth.”

October fourth.
I can make it until then
. I wasn’t even breathing that hard right now. With Lilly about to have a baby, I had to make it until then.

“Let me help you carry things in,” I said.

She gave me a look, a
Lilly look
. “You shouldn’t be carrying anything. You need to save your strength to get better.”

Lilly didn’t understand that I was dying. Or refused to believe it. I wasn’t sure which. From the beginning of my diagnosis, she’d been Miss Polly Positive. Even when the lab results, lung biopsy, and specialist consultations turned out to be less than positive. I’d tried to talk to her about it, about my chances of survival. Or lack thereof. But she hadn’t been willing to listen. And if I was honest with myself, I guess I hadn’t been totally forthcoming with information, as of late. It was that guilt. Feeling guilty about disappointing her. Anyway, the good thing was that since she didn’t think I was dying, she didn’t treat me like I was. She babied me like I was sick, but not like I was headed out the door.

Of course I was going to have to talk to her about it. I had to make her understand. But I didn’t want to. I was going to make her cry. Sob. Aurora and I talked about it last night. Aurora said I needed to make Lilly understand. She said I couldn’t just die on Lilly without her knowing it was coming. I thought it was interesting that Aurora had put the burden on me. Why didn’t
she
make Lilly understand?

I eyed Lilly through the lenses of my sunglasses. “I want to help you,” I said. “I can carry a bag to the house.” Now, I actually
was
feeling a little out of breath. If I could hear it in my voice, she could, too.

She looked at me for a second too long, then leaned into her car and pulled out an enormous handbag. Lilly had always had a thing for expensive handbags. And shoes. Sometimes, I got her hand-me-downs. The bag I was carrying now was an old bag of hers. But it wasn’t this big.

Her white bag felt heavy as she dropped it into my arms. She grabbed a big wheely case from the backseat and lowered it to the ground. “We’ll get the other stuff later. Am I the first one here?” She headed for the back steps, pulling her designer luggage behind her; she was light on her feet, despite the big belly.

“Nope. I got here last night. I wanted to open things up for everyone. I didn’t get a lot done,” I confessed, following her. “And Aurora was already here. She’s been here for days. Apparently,
she got bored in Rome
.”

Lilly threw me a different
Lilly look;
she had a whole repertoire of them. She climbed the steps, dragging the suitcase. “Bored in Italy. We should all be so lucky.” She grinned over her shoulder at me.

I grinned back.

“She here now?”

“Nope.” I took the steps one at a time. Riser, foot, foot, riser, foot, foot. I was really winded. But I wasn’t going to give in to it. I wasn’t. My Lilly was here. With a bun in the oven. I wasn’t going to crawl into my bed and pant the day away. “She was gone when I got up.”

“Ah. So who knows when we’ll see her? Janine?” Lilly held open the door for me and waited.

“Working today.” I stopped at the top of the flight of steps and took a couple of breaths before forging ahead. “She’ll be here as soon as she gets off.”

Lilly led the way through the laundry room to the kitchen and left her suitcase next to the dishwasher. “I’ll be right back. I have to pee. I’m not going to tell you how many times I had to stop between Annapolis and here.”

When Lilly came back from the bathroom, she heaved a sigh of relief. “That’s better. Anything to eat here? I’m starving.”

“I brought a few things.” I had set her handbag on the counter and taken a seat on the nearest stool. “I thought we’d plan some meals, then go to the market together. Tomorrow, maybe.”

She opened the refrigerator. “Any word on that lawsuit against Janine? She e-mailed me earlier in the week, but didn’t mention it.”

I shrugged. “She was cleared for duty. I can’t imagine it will come to anything.”

“It’s so unfair. The whole abusive cop stereotype.”

I wanted to say that there was almost always a reason for stereotypes, but I didn’t. Lilly believed in the best in all of us, even when we didn’t deserve it.

Lilly took out a ball of mozzarella cheese and a tub of pesto from the refrigerator. “You bring fresh tomatoes?”

“From the farmer’s market.” I pointed to a wooden bowl by the sink. Aurora had put the peaches, bananas, and tomatoes in it the night before while she was making dinner. I didn’t tell Lilly that I didn’t actually
go
to the farmers’ market. A neighbor in Newark had brought them to me. That little detail wouldn’t mean anything to her; for me, it was another chink in my armor. “Bread’s in the cupboard.”

“I really hope that’s the end of it. The thing with Janine. Matt read in the paper that there were videos.” She grabbed the bread and carried all the ingredients to the counter in front of me. “You know, like cell phone videos from witnesses on the beach.” She retrieved two Fiesta dinnerware plates, one lavender, one yellow, and started making sandwiches. She didn’t ask me if I wanted one. Lilly had always been the mother of the group. She mothered us all. “What kind of woman eight months pregnant would get into an altercation on the beach?”

I smiled at her innocence. “The kind who gets into fights with state troopers?”

“But to accuse Janine of police brutality.” She shook her head. Her shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail and bobbed back and forth. “That just seems crazy.”

“Crazy times,” I said. “I’m sure the woman is just looking to make a buck. I’m sure Janine’s family history doesn’t help.”

Lilly sliced a tomato. “You think? That was a long time ago. And Buddy wasn’t a state trooper. He was just a
town
cop.”

“He was still a cop.” He had been on unpaid leave that night. Waiting to go to trial for the attempted murder of the young black man he’d beaten half to death; the case was dropped when he died. Over the years, I had wondered about Lenard Moore. Did he go on to have a happy life? Become a schoolteacher? Or had he succumbed to a life of crime? Was he even alive?

“Chips?” Lilly asked cheerfully, a bag of Old Bay flavored potato chips in her hand.

“You better hide them from Janine or there won’t be any.” It was an old joke that wasn’t really that funny, but we both laughed, and I wished Lilly’s laughter would go on forever.

4

Janine

I
pulled in behind Lilly’s fancy Mercedes, but I didn’t cut the engine in my Jeep Cherokee. I just sat there. Hands on the steering wheel. I stared at the house through the mirrored lenses of my sunglasses. I sat there so long that Fritz stuck his nose between the seats and gave me a nudge.

“Back it up. Your breath smells like ass,” I told the German shepherd that cost me more money than some people paid to adopt a kid. I bought him in Germany from a world-renowned breeder. Had him flown over as a puppy. Trained him myself. He was a perfect specimen: strong and agile. He was my best friend. At least after Mack, Aurora, and Lilly.

When that thought went through my head, I realized I still wasn’t sure where Chris fit in. Was I in love or just lust? Jury was still out. And if I was in love, then what? Did I stay and try to make it work? Did I take off before I screwed it up the way I’ve screwed up every other romantic relationship I’ve ever been in?

So much to think about. So much, that sometimes I just wanted to put the heels of my hands to my temples and crush this stuff out of my head.

At my command, Fritz scooted back on the seat. He continued to watch me. He tilted his head the way a dog does when he thinks you’re not following what he’s saying. I knew what my dog was saying. He was giving me permission. He was telling me it would be okay if I backed out of the driveway. Went home. We lived in a town house five miles inland. Chris would be there.

Fritz knew I hated this house. I mother effing hated it. But I kept coming back. I couldn’t let it go. Why couldn’t I let it go?

Chris had a psychobabble explanation. Chris has a psychobabble explanation for just about everything. Being a psychologist and all. When we first started dating, I thought it was kind of hot. This morning, at breakfast, when we talked about my coming here and the feelings that would come with it . . . not so hot.

But right now. Being here. It felt worse than usual. Why did it feel worse? Because McKenzie was dying?

Too simple. It was something else. Something this bastard of a house had in store for us.

God damn it!
I slammed my hand on the steering wheel. Fritz didn’t even flinch. I hated feeling this way. I hated that Buddy could make me feel this way twenty-eight years later.

I looked up at the back deck. Closed my eyes. I had to go in. By now they knew I was here. Lilly was probably looking out the window. Waiting. Telling Aurora and McKenzie how hard it was for me to come in. Even after he’d been rotting in the ground all these years.

Mom and my brother. They had wanted to have Buddy cremated. I wouldn’t let them do it. If I’d had my way, they wouldn’t even have had him embalmed. At the time, when he died, I had liked the idea of worms eating his guts. How sick was that for a fourteen-year-old? At forty-two, I still liked the idea.

He deserved worse than he got.

Fritz whined, and I opened my eyes. Aurora was standing on the back deck. She leaned on the rail, her blond hair tumbling over one shoulder. She was looking down at me. My window was open, but she didn’t call to me. Aurora, my angel. My protector.

“Come on, Fritzy,” I said. I opened my door. His manners were too good to climb over the seat. (Which was more than I could say for some of my fellow troopers.) He waited for me to open the back door and jumped down. He was enormous: on the very top end of acceptable height and weight for his breed. He waited for me. I grabbed my old green duffel off the seat. It had my name stenciled on the side. J. McColl. They had left off the last five letters. That was the army for you.

I slung the bag over my shoulder and headed for the steps. Aurora watched me. She smiled faintly. The most beautiful smile. I thought so even before I knew I liked girls. Aurora and I were never lovers, though. I always thought we were too close for that.

“Hey,” I called up to her.

She just stood there, leaning on the rail, looking all lazy and way too cool to hang out with someone like me. “Hey, sweetie.”

Fritz trotted over to a tiny patch of grass. Did his business. He didn’t raise his leg like most male dogs. I’d taught him to just squat and pee. Pee like a girl in fatigues in Afghanistan. He bounded up the stairs after me.

At the top of the steps, I stopped. Bag still over one shoulder. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” I told Aurora.

“Your hair,” she said. “You’re growing it out.” She reached out and ran her hand down one side of my face, stroking my hair and my cheek at the same time. “I love it.”

I glanced at the open door, embarrassed by the attention. I’d worn my hair short since the morning after . . . after Buddy. I had cut it myself. Then my mom took me to have it cut properly for the funeral. I’d been wearing it short ever since. Well . . . until about six months ago. It looked shaggy now, but it was almost long enough to pull into a little ponytail if I used bobby pins.

“How’s she doing?” I whispered the words. I looked tough. I acted tough. Like a woman who’d seen men die far from home. But I wasn’t tough. Standing here right now, thinking of McKenzie dying, it was all I could do to keep my knees from buckling under me.

Aurora nodded. “Good. She’s tired, but . . . she’s good. For now, at least,” she added.

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I didn’t. “How about you?”

Fritz dropped to sit beside me. He was dying to greet Aurora. To run around the deck and smell the smells. But he wouldn’t leave my side until I gave him my okay. And even then, he’d watch me. The minute I called him, he’d come.

“You know me.” Another Aurora smile.

“Exactly,” I murmured. My gaze met hers. Her eyes were brown, but there were golden specks in them. Like a lion’s eyes. I saw her that way. A tawny lion. “Which is why I’m asking.”

We were both quiet for a minute.

I was close to all three of my girls, the sisters I never had: McKenzie, Lilly, and Aurora. No one relationship was more or less important. How could it be? It would be like saying one arm or one leg was more important to my body. To function, to live. But my relationship with Aurora was unique. I didn’t
get
her most of the time. She didn’t think like me. She didn’t think like anyone I’d ever known. But she was the one who saved me from that hell that was Buddy McCollister. I believed in my heart of hearts that Aurora saved my life. And for that reason, in my eyes, she could do no wrong. There was nothing she could say that I would criticize. I loved her more than I loved myself. Which she said was wrong.

“Italy was okay,” Aurora said slowly. “It got . . . a little crazy.”

I could tell there was more to the story. She actually looked worried . . . or scared. Which seemed impossible because Aurora wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything.

I glanced at the door and shifted the duffel on my shoulder. “I guess I should . . .”

“Yeah.”

I let Fritz lead the way.