The Beresfords (12 page)

“Frannie knows that,” said Jonathan, rinsing his dishes in the sink. “She would know it even if you didn’t remind her so often.” He patted his aunt on the shoulder to soften the reproach and then smiled at me. “I miss him, too. Hey—Mom—will you be ready if I start the car in about fifteen minutes?”

When he disappeared back upstairs, Rachel rolled her eyes and said in a low voice. “Never mind. I’m just saying there’s no need to put on a big show, Frannie.”

To my amazement, Julie rushed in. “Oh, right,
Rach
. Like you’re one to talk about putting on a show or calling Frannie a hypocrite!”

“What? What’s bothering
you
? I didn’t cry when I talked to Dad.”

Julie threw a glance at Aunt Terri, but she was going on about Uncle Roger’s pre-diabetes to Aunt Marie while they arranged the roses. “Nothing’s bothering me. I’m just saying that you could totally give
lessons
in how to be fake.”

Rachel’s mouth dropped open. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. But if you want to say something, say it, Julie.”

Julie’s fork clattered to her plate, and she gripped the edge of the table with both hands. “Fine, then,” she hissed. “I’m talking about how you’ve already
got
a boyfriend, but you’re totally carrying on with Eric Grant like you don’t, and you don’t care if it bugs Greg or makes you look like a total slut.”

Now Rachel’s wasn’t the only mouth hanging open. I had never heard words like these coming from Julie—and to Rachel! I thought my older cousin would defend herself hotly when she recovered from the shock, but to my further astonishment, Rachel went on the offensive. “You’re out of your mind! What do you mean by ‘carrying on’? And as for ‘looking like a total slut’—you should wash your mouth out, using a word like that when we’re going to church—”

“I’m talking about how you’re always going over to where he is and flipping your hair and, like, laughing at his jokes, and being all look-at-me—”

“I think his jokes are funny, you idiot. Not like you or this conversation.”

“And then that time you two were figuring out who was taller and you were all touching him—”

“I was not,” said Rachel, outraged.

“You were, too. You were all grabbing his arm and lining up your heads and everything.”

“Because we were comparing our heights, like you just said. That’s what you
do.
But this is the stupidest conversation. If that’s what you
think’s
going on, you’re just jealous! Uh-huh—Jealous that Eric Grant would flirt with me, even though I do already have a boyfriend! I can’t help it if he likes to talk to me and joke around with me. You just wish he thought you were cute enough to notice—”

“He
does
think I’m cute,” Julie cut in. “He told me so the other day when I had my hair down. He said it looked really nice like that.”

“Oh!” That took the wind from Rachel’s sails for a moment, but she recovered and switched tacks. “Well, I’m sure he was just being nice, though that would explain why you’ve been wearing your hair down so much.”

“You—”

“Face it. He’s a college guy,” Rachel went on ruthlessly. “You’re his friend’s little sister. He doesn’t care one bit about you that way. He’s just humoring you. I bet he doesn’t even think about you any more than he does Frannie here.”

“That’s what you think!” Julie choked, her face red.

“That’s what I think.”

“I should’ve told Dad how you’re behaving.” A clear bluff—I knew Julie dreaded conversations with her father and generally tried to lay low.

“Pick up the phone, then, and call him back.” Rachel tossed her chin. “I dare you. Because I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just having a little fun with Tom’s friend. It’s not like I’m married to Greg, or anything.”

“Then why don’t you break up with Greg?” her sister demanded. “I bet he doesn’t like you ‘having a little fun’ with Eric Grant.”

“I’ll handle Greg. You keep your nose out of my business,” Rachel fired back. She shoved her empty pancake plate away. “And you know what—if this is what’s going on in your petty little jealous head, I don’t need it. No one does. I’m disinviting you to Greg’s All-Star Carnival.”

Julie gasped. “You can’t disinvite me! The Carnival’s at
my
high school, so I can go if I want. You’re the one who keeps telling me you’re graduated you’re graduated you’re graduated you’re such a big shot—if you’re so graduated from high school, maybe you’re the one who shouldn’t go.”

“
I’m
the one dating the former quarterback and star pitcher, so don’t tell
me
what to do!”

“Well then, why did you invite the Grants and Tom and Jonathan?” Julie persisted. “The Grants didn’t even go to our high school, and Tom and Jonathan don’t care about your dumb all-star boyfriend.”

“I invited them because we’re all friends, you retard—”

“Now, who should wash her mouth out for using a bad word?”

“Girls, girls,” chided Aunt Terri when the escalating battle finally drew her attention. Even Aunt Marie was looking over. “What are you thinking—clear your dishes and finish getting ready. It’s time to go. Frannie, for heaven’s sake—what have you been doing all this time? Hurry up and eat—we can’t be wasting food around here. Think of all those children who would just die for those pancakes on your plate.”

My appetite was gone, but I dutifully shoveled in the remaining bites after Rachel and Julie stormed off. I didn’t know about starving children, but I bet Uncle Paul, at the very least, would love to find such standard, identifiable fare on his plate.

How he would appreciate the strife that accompanied the feast, however, was less certain.

The Warm Springs High School All-Star Carnival was the athletics program’s annual fundraiser. Before Aunt Terri dreamed the Carnival up, the high school teams raised money individually in sporadic, largely unsuccessful car washes and bake sales, bolstered by candy bar drives. Then, in Tom’s sophomore year, Aunt Terri lobbied for an annual carnival, organized by a special committee of the PTA. It was a modest enough affair that year: a few booths, an athletes’ exhibition, hot dogs for sale, and a ride or two, but the Carnival made more money than all the other efforts combined. The next year Aunt Terri spearheaded it, doubling its size, quadrupling its attendance by marketing it to the community, and sextupling its financial haul. It was never that big again, but, each successive year, headed up by some poor mom who drove herself to nervous breakdown, the Carnival highlighted the last weekend in June.

It made no sense, really, for Rachel to disinvite Julie or Julie to complain that the Grants didn’t belong. People directly related to WSHS athletics programs accounted for only a fraction of Carnival attendees by this point. Besides, Aunt Terri would never have countenanced Julie staying home—she had signed each of us up for shifts working various booths. Julie whined her way from two shifts down to one, and Rachel exempted herself because her boyfriend was the star All-Star, but I could look forward to one shift at the potato sack slide and another at the dunk tank.

Carnival Day dawned hot, sunny and unusually muggy. I woke up early because I forgot to shut my blinds and the light streamed in. Aunt Terri dictated the thermostat be kept at 78F in the summer, but in my front bedroom temperatures frequently climbed above that, and I was already sticky. I took the quickest shower possible and downed a bowl of cereal, but Aunt Terri beat me anyhow and was waiting outside, foot tapping. “Let’s go, honey. I promised we’d be there fifteen minutes ago. I suppose you didn’t remember to put on sunscreen. The least you could do is find a hat—when
will
you learn that protecting your skin from sunburn is your responsibility? Blondes like you do wrinkle horribly, not to mention risking skin cancer—”

Grabbing one of Jonathan’s old baseball caps from the rack, I climbed in her ancient car. “Isn’t Julie coming early with us?”

My aunt waved this away. “Oh—she said she was getting a headache last night and needed some extra sleep. Probably a good idea in this heat. She wouldn’t have been much use, complaining. You’ll just have to take up some of the slack, Frannie.”

And then some. In the four hours before the Carnival opened, I sliced watermelons and pies, lettered and taped and pinned up signs, placed cones and ropes, set out trash cans and napkins and condiments, made sure each booth had one-dollar bills and rolls of quarters to make change, and called the volunteers whose last names began with M-Z to remind them of their shifts. By the time they swung the field gates open I was a flushed, sweaty, itchy mess. Even Aunt Terri took pity on me and said she would take my shift at the potato-sack slide so I wouldn’t have to be in the sun. “Go help with the drink stand, Frannie, until they need you at the dunk tank.”

With relief I obeyed, filling cups of root beer and 7-Up and Hawaiian Punch for Mrs. Hernandez while she handled the cash. Because of the heat we ran a busy stand, and I didn’t see my cousins until they were nearly at the counter: Rachel, looking proud of Greg in his WSHS Trojans baseball uniform, Tom and Jonathan and the Grants. Caroline was wearing super short cut-offs and an off-the-shoulder top, her curly dark hair in a bouncy ponytail. When she waved at me, I caught a whiff of Hawaiian Tropic Dark Tanning Oil. No Coppertone SPF 12 for her.

“Where’s Julie?” I asked, without thinking, as I pushed Rachel her root beer. There had been cool tension between the sisters since their argument.

Rachel only laughed. “She’s here, but she probably wishes she wasn’t. Aunt Terri spotted her right off the bat and dragged her over to fill in at the pony rides. You should’ve seen her face! You got lucky, Frannie, here in the shade, with all the drinks you want.”

“Don’t you have any beer?” Tom demanded. “What kind of carnival is this?”

“A family one,” said Mrs. Hernandez firmly. She was fond of Tom, having a son his age who had been one of Tom’s teammates. “But you can have a free refill later.”

“Why should Tom get a free drink, Mrs. Hernandez?” Rachel mock-protested. “Don’t you know Greg is the star of the show today?” Her glance met Eric’s over Greg’s strapping shoulder and there was something triumphant in it. Eric gave her a lazy grin.

Mrs. Hernandez tapped Greg on that strapping shoulder. “For you, Mr. Greg Perkins,
two
free refills. What do they have lined up for you today?”

He beamed. “I’m running the Little League Pitch Contest and then doing a double shift in the dunk tank.”

“That
oughtta
be a real moneymaker,” said Eric blandly. Caroline pinched his arm.

“How long is your shift, Frannie?” asked Jonathan.

“She can go now,” said Mrs. Hernandez, giving me a little shove. “Your aunt has been working her like a slave all morning. Go along with your family, Frannie. My next helper comes in ten minutes anyhow.”

I could only go, as she requested, but no one looked especially eager for my company. I chose to tag along with Jonathan and Caroline, knowing I was safest from rejection there. While the others made their way toward the baseball field where Greg would be showcased, Jonathan and Caroline had no itinerary. They wandered, stopping here and there before a booth, talking and enjoying each other’s company.

“This is some production,” Caroline said. She waved her hand to encompass the entire, sprawling event.

Jonathan nodded. “Well, you know. Anything my Aunt Terri touches becomes some production.”

“No way! Is she in charge of all this?”

“Not this year. But she was the first time it was held. She’s still on the committee every year. I think whoever takes it on feels pressure to out-do the person who did it the year before.”

“And when you were a student here…?” she prompted. “Did you have to stand in the spotlight like Greg for the greater good?”

My cousin laughed. “I was never the jock Greg is.”

“That’s not true,” I spoke up. “You were the best on the swim team. Jonathan still has the school records for the 50 Fly and the 100 IM,” I added to Caroline.

“I believe it,” breathed Caroline with mock admiration. “A regular Rowdy Gaines.”

“Rowdy Gaines is a freestyler,” I said. “You mean Pablo Morales.”

Neither one appeared to hear me.

Jonathan and I were both blushing, he from modesty and me from vexation. “Other than Frannie,” he replied, “the rest of the world remains blissfully ignorant of my athletic prowess.”

“No, no,” Caroline said, “your legend is growing, since now I know, too. I might’ve guessed you were a swimming champion. You teach me with such sureness, such confidence. I feel so safe in your hands.”

You would never know it, from the stranglehold she always put on his neck.

Jonathan glowed even more brightly. I was sorry I ever brought it up.

“What about you?” he rejoined, as we continued walking. “Besides singing and orchestra, did you cultivate other talents in high school?”

She tilted her head and smiled up at him. “Eric would tell you I was the drama queen, but don’t hold it against me. Every adolescent girl is an emotional handful. Like being physically awkward isn’t bad enough.”