Authors: Holly Chamberlin
Last Summer (20 page)
29
F
rannie sat on a brightly upholstered chair in the waiting area reserved for women scheduled for a mammogram. She had only been able to get an appointment midafternoon, so she had worked through her lunch hour to justify leaving the office at three-thirty. Getting a mammogram wasn’t something she liked to do—who did?—but it was something she took very seriously. Her grandmother and an aunt had both gotten breast cancer while they were in their fifties. Frannie had had a scare once, and so for all those reasons she was vigilant about self-exams, too. Like her mother had always said: You never know. It was a grim mantra by which to live your life, but it was better than expecting good things and being continually disappointed.
rannie sat on a brightly upholstered chair in the waiting area reserved for women scheduled for a mammogram. She had only been able to get an appointment midafternoon, so she had worked through her lunch hour to justify leaving the office at three-thirty. Getting a mammogram wasn’t something she liked to do—who did?—but it was something she took very seriously. Her grandmother and an aunt had both gotten breast cancer while they were in their fifties. Frannie had had a scare once, and so for all those reasons she was vigilant about self-exams, too. Like her mother had always said: You never know. It was a grim mantra by which to live your life, but it was better than expecting good things and being continually disappointed.
Frannie sighed. It was impossible not to be plagued by gloomy thoughts while you were waiting for two of the most sensitive parts of your body to be sadistically squished. In spite of the pleasantly decorated room, with several thriving green plants, stacks of magazines with pictures of rich desserts and beautiful homes on the covers, and classical background music wafting from unobtrusive wall speakers, the spectre of sickness and death was not far off.
Who, Frannie wondered, glancing around at the other women waiting, all strangers to her, who would take care of the kids if she got sick and then, God forbid, died? Once she could have counted on Jane and Mike for some degree of support. Not anymore, at least, not in the big matters. Mike might be willing to be a friend to Petey and pleasant to his mother and sister, but without his wife’s full support ... The bottom line was that without the Pattersons, there was no one. Jane’s note in reply to the one Frannie had slipped under her front door had made it clear that a friendship between the two women was out of the question. Though Frannie had half expected Jane’s negative response, it had hurt and disappointed her all the same.
Face it, Frances Mary,
she told herself now.
You’re alone in the world.
It was true. Her parents were long dead. She was estranged from her only sister, who lived in California. And even if they weren’t estranged, she doubted that Kathleen would want anything to do with taking in two orphans, especially two kids she had never even met. Responsibility wasn’t really her strong suit. Besides, even if for some bizarre reason she did want to take in Frannie’s kids, she had sworn she would never move back to the “gloomy northeast.” That would mean further uprooting Meg and Petey’s life by sending them out to the West Coast.
she told herself now.
You’re alone in the world.
It was true. Her parents were long dead. She was estranged from her only sister, who lived in California. And even if they weren’t estranged, she doubted that Kathleen would want anything to do with taking in two orphans, especially two kids she had never even met. Responsibility wasn’t really her strong suit. Besides, even if for some bizarre reason she did want to take in Frannie’s kids, she had sworn she would never move back to the “gloomy northeast.” That would mean further uprooting Meg and Petey’s life by sending them out to the West Coast.
Frannie continued her silent survey. She had no brother. Peter’s older sister was dying, and both of his parents were in a nursing home, barely aware of their own names. In short, there was no family except for Peter, and even if by some miracle he wanted to raise the kids after her death, there was no way Frannie would allow it. So, where would Petey go? There was no way he was going to be raised by a borderline alcoholic like Peter and his string of bimbo girlfriends. And Meg ... Frannie suspected that no matter what happened to her mother, Meg would be on her own as soon as she legally could. Meg was tough. Which was not to say that Frannie didn’t worry about her daughter. That very toughness could become a problem, and God only knew what the emotional and psychological results of Meg’s having such a lousy father figure would turn out to be. Maybe Meg would decide never to marry because of Peter’s bad example as a husband. Maybe she would marry at seventeen, desperate for male attention. Neither scenario seemed particularly healthy, though if she could choose her daughter’s path she would choose the first one over the second, and neither over almost any alternative.
Absentmindedly, Frannie picked up a cooking magazine from the low table to her left and placed it on her lap, unopened. There was certainly no one at work she could turn to for help with her children. Sure, she was on friendly terms with a few of the women, but there was no one she could call a real friend. Her relative isolation was her own fault, Frannie realized. After those early bad experiences in the workplace, first with her boss from hell, Mrs. Monroe, and then with her backstabbing colleague Elaine Blair, she had never gone out of her way to make friends at the office. Plus, she was always so busy, running the household alone, and besides, for fourteen years she’d had Jane. Her entire social world had been centered on the Patterson family. The three people next door to her on Pond View Road had been her entire social network. Jane and Frannie had even scheduled their annual mammograms for the same day and time! Now, of course, that was no longer possible.
Frannie felt a sudden wave of anger come over her. Why was Jane continuing this ridiculous stalemate? What was she hoping to accomplish by refusing to reconcile? Punishment. That had to be it. She wanted to continue to punish the entire Giroux family, but to what end? Revenge?
She tried to imagine herself in Jane’s position.
In all honesty,
she asked herself now,
would I have forgiven Rosie and Jane if Rosie had betrayed Meg?
She would like to think that she would have. Her religious tradition told her that she was obliged to forgive. Forgiveness was a cornerstone of the Catholic creed. The sacrament of confession offered absolution for your sins, the priest acting for God himself. Or maybe the priest was acting for Jesus. She really wasn’t sure. But either way, he could offer absolution.
In all honesty,
she asked herself now,
would I have forgiven Rosie and Jane if Rosie had betrayed Meg?
She would like to think that she would have. Her religious tradition told her that she was obliged to forgive. Forgiveness was a cornerstone of the Catholic creed. The sacrament of confession offered absolution for your sins, the priest acting for God himself. Or maybe the priest was acting for Jesus. She really wasn’t sure. But either way, he could offer absolution.
Who was it who had first said that to err was human but to forgive was divine? That was setting a pretty high standard of behavior, but it wasn’t at all a bad idea. A person could try. It never hurt to try.
Frannie sighed aloud and quickly looked around the waiting area. No one seemed to have heard her. Or if they had, they were too occupied with their own worries to care about her dramatics. Good.
Of course,
Frannie thought now,
if I had re-married, there would be someone to care for Meg and Petey if something bad happened to me.
Assuming, of course, that the second time around she chose wisely, and assuming, too, that the man wanted to legally adopt her children. Marriage was still an option. She wasn’t even forty. But ... Frannie mentally inventoried her body, and try as she might, she just couldn’t see any nice-looking guy finding her physically attractive. Sure, other things mattered, like intelligence and kindness and humor and ... But guys didn’t care as much about those things as they did about a flat stomach, big perky breasts, and a perfect butt.
Frannie thought now,
if I had re-married, there would be someone to care for Meg and Petey if something bad happened to me.
Assuming, of course, that the second time around she chose wisely, and assuming, too, that the man wanted to legally adopt her children. Marriage was still an option. She wasn’t even forty. But ... Frannie mentally inventoried her body, and try as she might, she just couldn’t see any nice-looking guy finding her physically attractive. Sure, other things mattered, like intelligence and kindness and humor and ... But guys didn’t care as much about those things as they did about a flat stomach, big perky breasts, and a perfect butt.
Come on, Frannie,
she thought.
You’re selling guys short. Not all of them are idiots.
Look at Mike Patterson, for example. He was a good man. He was the very definition of upstanding. And Rob Costello, from church. His wife had lost a leg in a terrible car accident and he was still totally devoted to her, even though other injuries meant she would never walk again. He knew what really mattered in life: love and commitment. And then there was Father William, though of course he was out of the running as a spouse. Still, he was a really good man, too, totally devoted to his parishioners. He routinely visited the elderly who couldn’t get to church, and in what little free time he had volunteered at a homeless shelter up in Portland. She would much rather Petey look to Father William as a role model than to his own father.
she thought.
You’re selling guys short. Not all of them are idiots.
Look at Mike Patterson, for example. He was a good man. He was the very definition of upstanding. And Rob Costello, from church. His wife had lost a leg in a terrible car accident and he was still totally devoted to her, even though other injuries meant she would never walk again. He knew what really mattered in life: love and commitment. And then there was Father William, though of course he was out of the running as a spouse. Still, he was a really good man, too, totally devoted to his parishioners. He routinely visited the elderly who couldn’t get to church, and in what little free time he had volunteered at a homeless shelter up in Portland. She would much rather Petey look to Father William as a role model than to his own father.
Frannie looked down at her empty ring finger and tried to imagine a pretty ring around it, something solid but unostentatious, maybe a platinum band with a small but good diamond, something she could leave to Meg in her will. Instead, she noticed another dark, slightly scaly spot on one of her knuckles. No. Dating just wasn’t going to happen. She didn’t have the mental or emotional energy to make herself vulnerable and attractive to anyone else. Her kids would have to survive without a new father and she would grow old and die alone and ...
“Mrs. Giroux?”
Frannie looked up from the hand she had been staring at and smiled weakly at the nurse who had come to fetch her.
It’s Ms. Giroux,
she silently corrected as she put aside the magazine and followed the nurse out of the waiting area. Not that it really mattered.
she silently corrected as she put aside the magazine and followed the nurse out of the waiting area. Not that it really mattered.
30
Tuesday
One of them, I don’t remember who, Mackenzie or Courtney or maybe even Jill, whispered at me as I passed them in the hall that I was a slut. I didn’t even care. I still don’t care.
What’s wrong with just giving up? Why do I have to keep trying to smile and get through each day like I’m normal like everyone else? I’m not like everyone else. I’m way worse. I’m pathetic.
Tuesday, again
Nothing touches me. Nothing ... gets through. I look at a flower and I know—I remember—that it’s one of my favorite flowers, like a peony, but I feel nothing. I feel dead inside. If you can feel being dead.
31
“G
rrrrr!” The girls were hanging out in Rosie’s bedroom. Meg was sitting cross-legged on the bed and Rosie was curled up in the big comfortable armchair by the window.
rrrrr!” The girls were hanging out in Rosie’s bedroom. Meg was sitting cross-legged on the bed and Rosie was curled up in the big comfortable armchair by the window.
“What’s wrong?” Rosie asked, a smile playing about her lips. Meg could be so dramatic.
“Everything. But for one, why can’t I look like Kate Middleton? Look at this picture!”
Meg held up the issue of
People
magazine she was reading for Rosie to see.
People
magazine she was reading for Rosie to see.
“She is pretty.”
“Pretty? She’s beautiful. I hope I marry a prince someday, or at least a guy with lots of money. Not that I’m going to sit around waiting for some guy to take care of me. I’m going to make a ton of money on my own first. I saw what happened with my mom and dad.”
“That’s smart,” Rosie said. “To make your own money and have your own career. That’s what I’m going to do, too.”
“Yeah, and one of the first things I’m going to do when I have money is have plastic surgery to make me look beautiful like Kate Middleton!”
Rosie rolled her eyes. “You’re totally pretty. I don’t know why you can’t be content with who you are.”
Meg laughed. “That’s easy for you to say! You’re gorgeous. And you don’t even have to work at it!”
Rosie hesitated. She knew she would probably sound like Dr. Lowe, giving advice, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. “You’d probably be happier,” she said, “if you appreciated all the stuff you do have instead of focusing on all the stuff you don’t.”
Meg grunted. “Like what stuff do I have?”
“A nice house, for one.”
“Yours is nicer.”
“Meg!” Rosie laughed. “You’re impossible. And you have a cute little brother. And a pretty cool mother. And I know you hate your hair, but I think it’s really nice.”
“Well,” Meg said grudgingly, “I don’t hate my hair. I just don’t like it all that much.”
“And you’re really smart. That counts for a lot.”
“Yeah, okay, but why can’t I want more?”
“No reason. Just, come on, Meg, can’t you be nice to yourself for once?”
Meg raised her eyebrows. “So, you really never feel bad about yourself?”
For about a half a second Rosie considered telling Meg about the cutting. But she just wasn’t ready to reveal that awful secret. Not yet.
Instead, she laughed. “Are you serious? Do you think if I had had any real self-respect I would have let Mackenzie and the others get to me like they did?”
“That wasn’t about not having self-respect,” Meg argued.
“That was about fear. You were afraid, and for a good reason. I think Mackenzie is a psycho. A social deviant. Whatever she is, she’s not normal. And Courtney’s a thug. She’ll probably grow up to be a professional hit man. Hit person, whatever. Jill’s just pathetic.”
“Well, I still let them get to me rather than taking control like I should have.”
Meg looked back at the magazine. “I really wished I looked like Princess Catherine,” she said.
“I don’t think she’s a princess yet. She’s the Duchess of Cambridge.”
“And her hair is awesomely fabulous!”
Rosie laughed. “Why don’t you call yourself Megan, Duchess of Yorktide? It might make you feel better.”
“Ha.” Meg closed the magazine and tossed it toward the bottom of the bed. Rosie thought she suddenly looked serious or thoughtful.
“What’s wrong now?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Meg said unconvincingly. “It’s just, I don’t know if I should ask you something.”
“You can ask. I might choose not to answer.”
No,
Rosie remembered,
is also a valid choice.
Dr. Lowe had taught her that bit of wisdom.
No,
Rosie remembered,
is also a valid choice.
Dr. Lowe had taught her that bit of wisdom.
“Okay. Are you, you know, worried about going back to school?”
Rosie had known that at some point this conversation was going to happen.
It might as well happen now,
she thought. “Kind of,” she said. “Yeah. I’m kind of embarrassed, too.”
It might as well happen now,
she thought. “Kind of,” she said. “Yeah. I’m kind of embarrassed, too.”
“You so shouldn’t be! Mackenzie’s the one who should be embarrassed. Though I bet you anything she’s not.”
“Yeah. But I mean, having to leave school early like that, before finals ...”
“You know what?” Meg said. “If anyone says or does anything bad to you, I swear I’ll—”
“No,” Rosie interrupted. “You don’t need to be involved. I’ll be okay. I think I’ve learned how to take care of myself. At least, I know more now than I did a few months ago.”
“Good.”
Rosie looked out the window at the backyard her parents tended so lovingly. Everything was so very lush and green at this time of the year. It was hard to feel really down or sad when that seriously blue hydrangea was in bloom. Rosie turned away from the window. Maybe she wasn’t ready to tell Meg about the self-harming, but she realized she was ready to tell Meg one of the other things she had been keeping a secret. “You know,” she said, “there’s something I haven’t told you about the stuff that happened to me.”
Meg’s expression darkened. “Oh.”
“My hair.”
Meg jumped off the bed and almost fell over her sneakers, which were lying in the middle of the carpet. “Oh, no, Rosie! Oh, I knew it. I just knew it! I had such a feeling that something was wrong about it all and I couldn’t force you to tell me but ... Those ... those little shits!”
“Meg!” Rosie cried, feigning shock. “Good thing your mother isn’t here.”
“Trust me, she would call them something much worse.”
“Yeah.” Rosie thought of all the times she had heard Mrs. Giroux curse and then apologize for it, sometimes with a laugh. “Probably. By the way, Stella wasn’t involved. I don’t know why she wasn’t there, but she wasn’t.”
Meg plopped back down on the bed. “Do your parents know?”
“I told them after I told Dr. Lowe,” Rosie said. “They wanted to confront all the parents but I begged them not to. I was just so—I was just so tired.”
“But it was such a violation!” Meg cried. “God, it was almost like a rape! Sorry, but that’s the way I see it. Those creeps can’t get away with this! With everything! They have to be punished! They should be thrown out of school!”
“The big stuff didn’t take place on school property,” Rosie pointed out. “And I can’t prove that it was Mackenzie who sent the text on Valentine’s Day, or that it was her who told people to act like I wasn’t there.”
Meg frowned. “I bet you could report them to the police for assault. Courtney should be thrown in jail and then someone should lose the key.”
“Maybe. Probably. But I don’t want to.”
“Doesn’t your therapist tell you to report them?”
“That’s not how it works,” Rosie said with a smile. “Therapists don’t tell you what to do.”
“Well, doesn’t she suggest you report them?”
“We discuss my options and the possible ramifications of those options,” Rosie explained. “And then I make a decision.”
Meg made a sound of disgust. “I still think you should rat out those bitches.”
“Meg!”
Meg shrugged. “Witches. Whatever. They need to be taught a lesson.”
“Revenge usually backfires. Unless it’s in the movies.”
“I’m not talking about revenge,” Meg corrected. “I’m talking about punishment. There’s a difference.”
“Well, whatever. Hey, do you believe in karma?”
“I don’t know,” Meg admitted. “I’m not really sure how it works. I mean, what if you do something bad to someone but then you’re really sorry you did it and apologize? Does that mean you still might be punished later on or in another life? Does it mean you’re going to come back as something gross, like a honey badger?”
“I don’t really know how it works, either,” Rosie said. “But think about ‘crime and punishment.’ They don’t always go together, do they? There’s a good chance that nothing bad will ever happen to Mackenzie, even though she caused other people pain. That’s just the way life is. Sometimes it’s totally unfair and random. And sometimes it’s not. Or it doesn’t seem to be. Sometimes good people get rewards and bad people get punishment. But you can never tell what’s going to happen.”
“Life shouldn’t be that way,” Meg said, “unfair and random, I mean. But I guess there’s not always a lot you can do about it.”
Rosie faked a big sigh. “Right. Like, why is Kate Middleton married to a prince and living in a castle and you’re stuck on Pond View Road with me?”
Meg laughed. “Yeah, exactly like that!”
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