The Second Summer of the Sisterhood Part 20

She parked at the bottom of the cemetery and scrambled up the paths and along the little sculpted hills with her Giant bag in her hand. The ground was soft and her shoes were digging into the soil. It gave her a bad feeling. She stopped to take them off. Better to tread barefoot and lightly over the gra.s.s.

Bailey's gravestone had arrived since she'd last been there. It looked like a gravestone.

Tibby leaned the yellow cereal box against the gray marble. No, the colors looked too lurid for a graveyard. She opened the box and took the bag out. There, that looked better. She stuffed the empty box back into her plastic bag.

She was a bit worried about something as she surveyed the stone. She took a marker out of her bag and on the back of the stone, very, very small, she printed MIMI in smart, boxy letters. She didn't want Bailey to be alone in there, or Mimi to go entirely unmarked.

She lay down on the gra.s.s. Her clothes were getting drenched, but she didn't care. Half blades of recently mown gra.s.s coated her bare, wet feet. She turned over so her cheek was resting against the ground. "Hi," she whispered.

Her tears were soaking into the earth. She had a feeling of wanting the rest of her to soak in along with them.

Is it any nicer up there? she wanted to ask.

How had Tibby let herself get so far away? Where had she been? Her whole life since Bailey had died now seemed to her like the distant wanderings of an amnesiac, full of confusion and forgetting.

She reached out her arm and touched the cold stone with three of her fingertips.

Remind me, she needed to ask. I don't seem to know how to be.

Her ear was pressed to the ground along with her cheek. She listened.

"Lenny, you broke up with him," Bee said kindly, after listening patiently through Lena's avalanche of woe, even though it was midnight.

"But I wasn't the one who forgot about him," Lena moaned into the phone.

Bee was quiet for a moment. "Len," she said as gently as she possibly could. "Breaking up with someone is kind of like forgetting about them. It's saying you don't want to be with them anymore."

"But maybe I didn't mean it that way," Lena said tearfully.

"But maybe that's how it sounded to him," Bee said.

"Well, he didn't have to go and get a new girlfriend," Lena replied accusingly.

Bee stifled her sigh. "You broke up with him. I saw your letter. He is allowed to get a girlfriend after that. It is fair." Her voice softened again. "I know you are so sad, and I am sad for you, but you need to think about how this might seem in his eyes."

"What should I do?" Lena asked. She had to do something. She felt so desperate she couldn't even stand to be in her own skin. She would rather have clubbed herself over the head with her history binder than feel the things she was feeling.

This was why she had broken up with him. So she wouldn't have to go through this. This wis.h.i.+ng and wanting and not having. Why had it turned out so wrong?

"Lena?"

"Yes."

"You still there?"

"Yes."

"You know what you need to do?"

"No," she lied.

"Think about it for a minute."

Lena thought. She did know. But she couldn't admit it, because then she might actually have to do it.

"I can't," she said miserably.

"Okay," said Bee.

"Mom." Tibby touched her mother's shoulder. "Mom?"

Alice's eyes opened. She was disoriented. It was three o'clock in the morning. She sat up in bed.

Before Tibby's wondering eyes, her mother instinctively put her hands on Tibby's sad face. Alice's eyes were full of worry that Tibby wasn't where she was supposed to be. Alice remembered that she loved Tibby before she remembered how mad she was at her.

Roughly Tibby threw her arms around her. Her sobs were dry and quiet. Take me back, she wanted to say. Let me be your girl again.

On the night of the fight, Carmen sat for many hours in her darkened room. In one of those hours, she overheard a whispered, strained conversation from inside her mother's room. Carmen knew Christina was talking to David. She had poured gasoline all around her mother's tender relations.h.i.+p, and the missed phone call was the lit match. Carmen listened in ugly, guilty satisfaction as agonized, overextended Christina broke up with confused, resistant David. She overheard the feeling of it clearly, even without hearing all the actual words.

Later that same night, when Carmen went to get a gla.s.s of orange juice, she couldn't help glancing into her mother's room. Carmen looked away quickly, but she'd seen Christina's tear-streaked face and puffy eyes.

The next day, Monday, her mother came straight home from work and roasted a chicken. She and Carmen ate in near silence.

Tuesday night Christina claimed a headache and stayed in her room. Carmen stole into the kitchen for some ice cream and noticed one of the pints of Ben & Jerry's was already gone.

Wednesday night Carmen went over to Tibby's, feeling guilty about leaving her mother at home all alone. When she returned, Carmen heard the laugh track of a Friends rerun through her mother's bedroom wall.

David hadn't called, and it seemed Christina hadn't called him again. From everything Carmen could tell, it was really over.

Carmen had wanted to ruin it. And so she had.

Oh, Bee.

Remember last summer, how furious I was with my dad and Lydia and how my anger got so big I tried to bring the whole place down with me? Remember that?

Well, did you know there are two kinds of people in the world? There are the kind who learn from their mistakes and the kind who don't. Guess which kind I am?

I know you are always finding ways to love me in spite of how horrible I am. I hope I haven't run out of chances.

With love and agony,

Carmen

On Sat.u.r.day, Bridget went for a run in the morning before the soccer game. She'd gotten up to four miles. Slow ones, but still. When she arrived at the field, she was sweaty and sticky, but happy in the way only running could make her happy.

She took her usual spot on the sidelines. Billy looked for her. He looked relieved to see her there. She noticed he swung close by her in the first quarter, in case she had anything to say. She just waved.

By the end of the half, Burgess was down by one. Billy ambled over. "What do you think?" he said.

She was enjoying this. "I think your midfield is a disaster," she said.

Billy looked alarmed. "Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Why?"

"If Corey can't pa.s.s the ball, tell him to take up tennis."

Billy disappeared for a moment and came back with Corey. He sort of shoved Corey at Bridget. "Listen to her," Billy instructed.

"Corey."

"Yeah."

"Pa.s.s. Pa.s.s the ball. You handle all right, but you can't shoot worth a d.a.m.n."

Indignation settled over Corey's face.

Billy looked grave. "She's right," he p.r.o.nounced.

The whistle blew, and Billy hauled Corey back into the game. She noticed right away that Corey started pa.s.sing.

That was something Bridget loved about boys. They took insults well.

Burgess won it 21, and there was the usual cheering on the field after the final whistle. Bridget cheered and screamed right along with them. All the high school kids bunched up to go out afterward. Corey was already making out with his girlfriend by the goalpost. Billy came over to her. "You want to come out?"

Bridget considered this. It was nice that he'd asked, but he hadn't asked in a way that made her want to go. He'd asked in a way that let her know he was grateful. Grateful and interested were a world apart. "No. Thanks, though," she said.

Instead, she hiked out to Interstate 65. A bunch of the high school kids pa.s.sed her on the road. They were clumped together in a convertible, and she walked alone on the shoulder. She knew how it looked to them and she didn't care. Some girls couldn't stand being alone. Bridget was different. She went to movies, restaurants, even parties by herself. She loved her three friends above all other things, but she'd rather be alone than cling to people she didn't care about.

When she got to the Wal-Mart she bought a bunch of things, most importantly a soccer ball. She hitched a ride back, hopped out at the courthouse, and found her feet swerving her past the soccer field again. It was dark out now, but there were a few strong lights illuminating three patches of gra.s.s.

With a swarm of emotions in her chest, she took the ball out of its box and smelled it. She had tears in her eyes. She dropped it on the ground. She loved it clean and s.h.i.+ny, but she loved it dusty, too.

She had quit soccer back in November because she hadn't wanted people counting on her anymore. She'd just wanted to sleep. For the entire autumn and winter, she had watched her former teammates and pretty much everyone involved in athletics at school stare at her in the halls as if she'd personally amputated her legs.

But she loved soccer. She loved it in every one of her muscles. She'd missed it deeply and painfully. Her body needed to be in motion. She was a voracious person.

She had dreamed about connecting her foot to a ball again. Kick. There she went. It rolled softly. She kicked it again. A puff of dust rose from the ground. Her heart was galloping madly. She ran to keep up with it. Kicking, running, kicking. She let the blurring hexagons and pentagons hypnotize her. This was nice, just this. She didn't need any games or coaches or cheering onlookers or college scouts. She just needed this.

"She hasn't gotten out of bed in three days," Carmen said, sipping her latte. "I feel horrible. I want to be there for her, but she won't even look at me."

Tibby was listening, but she wasn't listening in the way Carmen liked best. She wasn't nodding and egging her on. She was sitting very quietly, shredding her croissant between her fingers.

Finally she looked up. "Carma?"