Wild Swans (17 page)

“I understand,” I say. “Good night.”

I trudge upstairs. Pass the bathroom, where I can hear Isobel throwing up.

I pause. Should I stop and—what? Offer to hold her hair?

Erica ruined everything, so now
I
have to work extra hard to prove myself.

That's the story of my life.

And I am getting goddamn sick of it.

I keep walking.

Gracie finds me in the kitchen late the next morning. “Something's wrong with Izzy,” she announces. “She's sick. I heard her throw up and she says she doesn't want any ginger ale and I don't know what to do.”

I get up from the table, where I've been reading an awesome graphic novel,
Nimona
, that I borrowed from the library on Abby's recommendation
.
I go to the fridge and pour some ginger ale because, like it or not, Izzy needs to hydrate. “I'm on it.”

Gracie hovers. “She says her head hurts.”

“I bet it does.”

Grace's little face is all scrunched up with worry. Her blond hair is pulled back into a simple ponytail, which makes me think it's Isobel who braids her hair every morning. That softens my annoyance. “I'll take care of her. Don't worry. Why don't you go read more Fancy Nancy in the sunroom?”

Gracie beams at me. “Izzy always says when I have a problem I should tell her because she's the big sister and she'll fix it. So I knew I could tell you because now
you're
the big sister!” She throws her arms around my waist and then runs off, her bare feet pattering against the tile floors, clutching her book in one hand and her stuffed puppy in the other.

I knock lightly on their bedroom door before letting myself in. Isobel's side of the room is a mess of clothes and shoes, and she's taped posters from a few Broadway shows on the walls:
Hamilton
,
The Book of Mormon
, and
Chicago
. Isobel herself is curled up on her twin bed. She opens one eye and glares at me. “Did I say you could come in?”

“Sit up.” I stride across the room and yank the curtains open.

“What the hell!” she shrieks, blinking and throwing her arm over her eyes. “Why would you
do
that?”

“You need to get up. You're freaking Gracie out. She thinks you're dying or something.” Isobel sits up and I hand her the glass of ginger ale. “Drink this. Then we'll get you something to eat.”

Isobel's hair is straggling out of last night's braids, and last night's mascara and eyeliner are smeared beneath her eyes. “Don't tell me
you've
gotten trashed.”

“I haven't, but Alex has.” I smile at the memory. “It was some dumb initiation for the baseball team freshman year. He was scared to go home and face Luisa, and Granddad was at some faculty thing, so Alex came over here and hid out. He got sick and then ended up taking a nap in the living room. I made it look like he fell asleep watching an old movie with me.”

Iz takes a few tentative sips, then lies back down. “Did he get away with it?”

“Nope. We thought we were sneaky, but Luisa totally grounded him.”

She groans. “Mama would never ground me. Do I really have to go to that stupid theater camp? Can't you, like, talk to Granddad for me?”

“Wouldn't do any good. He doesn't change his mind about stuff like that.” I sit on Gracie's unmade bed. She has
Frozen
sheets.

“
You
didn't get in trouble,” Iz complains.

“I got a lecture for letting you get drunk,” I say. “Has Erica checked on you?”

“Are you kidding? No. She's barely looked at me since we found out you're our sister.”

“Maybe she feels bad for lying.” I stack the pile of chapter books next to Gracie's bed.

“Um, no. She just doesn't want to deal with me being mad. That's why she pawned me off on Alex last night. You think she cares whether I make friends?” Iz leans up on one elbow. “I have every right to be mad at her. And at you.”

I lift my gaze to hers. “I'm sorry. I really am. I wish I'd told you the truth the day you got here.”

“Well, I don't forgive you.” She rolls over to face the wall.

“I guess I'll just have to live with that.” I sit there for a minute, listening to her breath and the lazy whir of the ceiling fan. When it becomes obvious that she isn't going to answer me, I stand. “You can be mad at me, but don't do stupid shit like this again, okay? Gracie worries about you too much. She needs you. You're her big sister.”

I close the door behind me without waiting for a response.

• • •

That afternoon, Granddad takes Gracie into town with the promise of strawberry milk shakes and a new Fancy Nancy book. Erica is off God knows where, so the house is quiet. Iz came downstairs for lunch, nibbled at her turkey sandwich, and then went back upstairs for a nap. I'm sitting at the kitchen table reading
Nimona
again when Claire knocks at the back door.

“I was thinking we should go for a swim,” she suggests. “We'll invite Iz. Your granddad will be happy you're spending time with her, but I'll be there as a buffer.”

We have already texted about the fallout from last night. “She doesn't want to hang out with us.”

Claire grins. “Maybe not with you, but she thinks I'm pretty cool.” She sees me wince and her smile fades. “Are you jealous that your sister thinks I'm cool?”

“No.” Claire stares at me until I relent. “Maybe a little? I'd settle for her not hating me.”

“Give her time,” Claire advises. “You're too nice to hate.”

Nice. Likeable. That's what I want, isn't it? But sometimes having to be
nice
grates.

“You can ask her to come. I don't think she'll say yes if I'm part of the package.”

“You are underestimating my powers of persuasion. Don't ever do that,” Claire chides. Her dark hair is pulled back into a high, bouncy ponytail. “Go get your suit and meet Iz and me down here in five minutes.”

• • •

It takes fifteen, but somehow Claire convinces her. She even convinces Iz to wear a bathing suit. It's a deep-purple-and-white polka-dotted tankini and Iz looks fantastic, if a little self-conscious. She keeps a towel wrapped around her waist as we walk down to the water, while Claire strips to her black bikini right in the kitchen.

I run and dive off the dock like always. “Show-off,” Claire teases like always. She wades in from the shore, wincing as every new inch of skin hits the cold water.

Iz follows Claire tentatively. “So this is where our grandmother drowned? Like, right here?” she asks. “Isn't that kind of creepy?”

I shrug. “I try not to think about it.”

“Why didn't Granddad move? Why would he stay here?” she asks.

I've wondered that myself.

“He loves this house. All the history of it,” I explain. “I guess he thinks more about the happy memories than the sad ones.”

“I think her paintings are creepy. Pretty but creepy,” Isobel declares.

“Me too,” I say.

We all look up as the roar of the lawnmower gets louder. Alex is coming around the side of the carriage house on the riding mower. He's shirtless and wearing headphones and, by the looks of it, singing. I wave. He does not wave back. I shrink into myself.
Maybe he didn't see me?

“Cold,” Claire says. She gives him the finger.

Isobel takes a few more steps until she's knee deep. “Why's he mad at you?”

“It's complicated.” I dunk under the water.

When I come back up, I hear: “…so he's mad that she's dating Connor. She's never had a real boyfriend before.”

“You've never had a boyfriend? Mama said you were like a nun.” Iz laughs—not meanly but sort of disbelievingly—and I give her a strained smile. I'm not sure how I feel about the fact that my fifteen-year-old sister's more experienced than me. “I've had three. Four if you count Josh, but that was back in sixth grade and we only held hands. Claire, do
you
have a boyfriend?”

It's Claire's turn to evade the question. “Not right now.”

“Claire doesn't date,” I explain. “She thinks boyfriends are too much drama.”

“
Relationships
are too much drama, whether they're with boys or girls. Don't be heteronormative.” Claire turns to Isobel. “I'm bi.”

“Bisexual?” Isobel asks, and Claire nods. “My friend Rhiannon is too.”

“Really? I don't know anyone else who's bi. Everybody around here thinks I'm just a slut.” Claire sighs. “I can't wait to get away from all this small-town nonsense. I'm going to go to college in DC, so you'll have to tell me all the fun places.”

“Sure. What about you, Ivy?” Iz splashes me to get my attention. “Where do you want to go to college? Harvard? Yale?”

Is that how she sees me? As some superachiever destined for the Ivy League? “Nope. Nothing that fancy. I might end up staying here. They have a good swim team and a good English program, and I could go for free since Granddad's a professor.”

“Mama said Granddad's loaded,” Iz says.

She's so direct. No wonder she likes Claire so much; they are kindred spirits in that regard. “We don't really have to worry about money, but most of it's not his. It belongs to the Milbourn estate, and some of it goes into a trust for me. And you and Gracie. But…I don't know. It feels kind of frivolous to spend so much money on college if I don't have to. If I want to go to grad school, that will cost a lot of money, so—”

“Grad school?” Iz grimaces. “You must really like school.”

I laugh. “I do, actually. I've been thinking I might want to teach. Be a professor like Granddad.” It's a newish thought, one I've shared only with Claire and Abby. Last summer I helped teach swim lessons at the Y, and even if I'm not a great writer, I love studying books, teasing out the themes, examining the characters.

“I hate school. It's so boring,” Iz complains. “Like history class. Oh my God. Who cares about all those names and dates?”

“That's because most of history's been whitewashed so it's all about straight white men,” Claire says. “My mom teaches a class on women's history up at the college, and it's actually really interesting. She talks about how women got the vote and birth control. I'm going to major in women's, gender, and sexuality studies at American. I'm president of our Gay-Straight Alliance at school. If you're still here in September, you should join.”

Isobel freezes mid-paddle. “I'm not going to be here that long.”

“Probably not,” Claire says. “But if your mom goes into treatment or something…”

“Is
that
what you think is going to happen?” Isobel narrows her eyes at me. “You think Mama's going to go to rehab and Gracie will go live with Dad and I'll be stuck here? Is that why you're being so nice to me?”

“What? No. I'm being nice to you because you're my
sister
.” My heart sinks. This was the longest conversation we've ever had, and okay, she made fun of me for not having a boyfriend, but it felt sort of…sisterly. Like in her own prickly Isobel kind of way, she was trying to get to know me.

“You feel sorry for me. I can tell.” Isobel tugs on the bottom of her tankini. “You think Mama's going to run off on us the way she did you. Well, she's not. She wouldn't do that. She wouldn't leave us. Things got really bad before Gracie and Dad, but she's never left me.” Isobel storms out of the water and wraps a towel around herself.

“Iz, she wasn't—” Claire wades toward the shore.

“Don't defend her.” Isobel glares at me again. “You're not my sister. You're just some stranger I have to live with for a while.”

She stomps up to the house, passing Alex, who waves at
her
.

Claire turns to me, sympathy written all over her face. “Wow,” she says. “That kid has a temper on her.”

I nod. “Like mother, like daughter.”

• • •

Gracie is mad when she comes home and finds out that Izzy went swimming with Claire and me. She stomps around the library in her pink sandals like an adorable, inconsolable T. rex. “I want to go swimming! It's not fair! How come Mama let Izzy learn how and not me? I'm big enough to learn how to swim!” she complains.

“If your mama says no swimming, then we need to respect that,” Granddad says, even though he seems to have precious little respect for the rest of Erica's rules (or lack thereof). “But maybe you and Ivy could do something special tomorrow.”

Gracie brightens. “Like a special sister date?”

“Sure.” My mind spins, trying to dream up something fun.

“Sometimes Mama and I have special Grace-and-Mama dates,” she says. “We go get our toes painted and go to the movies, and Mama lets me put M&M's in our popcorn.”

I hesitate. I can't quite picture that version of our mother. “Do she and Izzy have Iz-and-Mama dates?”

“Uh-huh. They go see musicals.” Gracie grins. “So what're we going to do for our sister date?”

I think fast. Abby has off tomorrow. “Do you know how to ride a bike?”

“Yes.” Gracie looks insulted at the idea that she might not. “Daddy taught me.”

“Okay. How about we get my old bike out for you and ride our bikes to the park? We can have a picnic with my friend Abby and her little sister. Ella's almost the same age as you.”

Gracie grins. “Can we bring ice cream cookie-wiches?”

I tweak her ponytail. “Ice cream cookie-wiches would probably melt, but we can bake cookies. Whatever kind you want.”

“Peanut butter!” Gracie shrieks, and runs off to the kitchen. A minute later I hear the clatter of pots and pans as she extracts a cookie sheet from its cabinet. I like that she knows where it is. That she feels at home here already.

• • •

Sunday afternoon, Grace and I ride our bikes through the side streets to the park. There is a wedding taking place down by the water. The bridesmaids are dressed in coral and the groomsmen are in gray suits, and Grace squeals with excitement when she spots the bride. I have to grab her hand and tell her she can't go closer. We set up our blue-plaid blanket and wait for Abby and Ella to arrive. Abby texts me to say they're running late.
E refused to ride his boy bike so we had to get V's old bike out of the shed & it was covered in spiders
, she explains. I've prepped Grace by telling her that Ella looks kind of like a boy but is really a girl, and she said okay.