The Geometry of Sisters (24 page)

Two cats stalked into the kitchen, went straight to Beck's ankles. She crouched down to pet them.

“You're in high school,” Katharine said.

“Yep.”

“Do you like Newport Academy?”

“I miss home,” Beck replied.

“I can understand that,” Katharine said.

The conversation seemed to make Maura uncomfortable. She fidgeted, went to the window. “Travis should be along soon. He has football practice, but…”

“No, Mom,” Beck said. “Practice was canceled. I told you—the Blackstone Blaze is starting! We have to go….”

And just like that, Katharine was swept up into family life. Grabbing coats and mittens, checking to make sure the stove was off—Katharine smiled, felt a pang to see Maura run back; it was just what their mother, and before her their grandmother, used to do—locked the doors, made sure the cats didn't escape outdoors.

The three of them hurried across campus, joining a wave of students and teachers. Katharine spotted Ted Shannon, who gave
her a big wave. “Good to see you!” he called as she waved back. Katharine's neck burned, feeling Maura's eyes on her.

“You gave him my address, didn't you?” Maura asked as they strode along. “In Columbus? That's how he knew where to find me?”

“Yes,” Katharine said.

They kept walking without another word. She thought back to when they were children, when Maura was feeling insecure about schoolwork, or a sport, or a boy. Katharine had understood her older-sister role right down to her bones. She was there to encourage, lead, guide. She'd loved praising her little sister. And she'd grown up wanting to be there for her all through life. It was a huge blessing to be having that chance right now.

There was no wind. Katharine knew Angus always waited for a calm evening, when no breeze stirred the nearly bare branches, no danger of spreading the fire. Students ran over. Beck's friends gathered around her. The football team came out of the field house.

Katharine saw Stephen Campbell staring at her and Maura, and they exchanged nods. She recognized teachers, staff, kids who lived in town. There was Edith Nicholson, the old bat who dominated Newport society: regal, dressed in fur and pearls, and the huge Nicholson diamond, a blonde blue blood who belonged to the school of thought that said rich women could and should stay looking young forever.

She had purchased two of Katharine's pieces and donated them to museums. Katharine had learned through the years that when Edith possessed art, she believed she also owned the artist. She gestured for Katharine to come over, but Katharine didn't move.

She stood right by her sister. Ted Shannon made a speech, thanking Mrs. Nicholson for her generosity in sponsoring the Blackstone Blaze, reminding everyone of the school's long history, the weaving of traditions and academic excellence. He mentioned the winning football season, the upcoming Middlebridge away game on Saturday.

“That's because of Travis,” Maura said proudly. Then, “He's right over there.” She gestured at a tall, handsome boy, standing with his friends.

“I'd love to see him play,” Katharine said.

Maura nodded. “You will.”

An invitation. Katharine felt a lump in her throat. She watched Ted light the torch and present it to Edith, who handed it with a flourish to a beautiful young woman with glossy dark hair. Katharine's gaze was drawn again to Travis, staring at the girl as she ignited the pile of wood.

The sticks began to crackle. A thin plume of smoke wafted into the heavy gray sky. The flames spread, and the smoke thickened. Ted and his wife called everyone over to a long table, to help themselves to hot cider and cinnamon doughnuts. Stephen called to Maura; she shook her head.

Katharine and Maura just stood there staring into the fire, arms touching. Katharine didn't want to move, or even breathe. She'd made peace with her feelings about J.D.; he wasn't between them anymore. She didn't want to take one step away from her sister. And it seemed that Maura felt the same way.

Travis waved to his mother. She was standing with his aunt, a woman he'd met only once in his life, at the funeral. Still, he'd have known her anywhere. She looked just like his mom, only a little older and bigger, with a long braid down her back. He started toward them, but Pell was suddenly there, her hand on his elbow.

She wore a navy blue pea coat and black watch cap. Her lips were pink, smiling, and her breath wisped out into the frosty air.

“Travis, my grandmother wants to meet you,” she said.

“Oh,” he said, flattered, not sure how to act in front of such an obviously rich and important lady, who stood nearby with Mr. Shannon. Pell pulled him into the small circle. He wanted to make
a good impression for Pell, so he stood tall and faced her grandmother. Pell stood by his side, leaning into him slightly, the pressure of her body electric. He felt himself turning red, thrilled that she would want to introduce him to her only family here in Newport.

“Edith, may I present Travis Shaw,” Mr. Shannon said. “Travis, this is our wonderful benefactor, Mrs. Nicholson.” Pell's smile faltered slightly.

“Pleased to meet you,” Travis said, shaking the old woman's hand.

“Where is the other one?” she asked, craning her neck and looking around.

“The other one?” Travis asked. “Ma'am?”

“The other student, Mr. Shannon. Didn't you say he had a sister?”

“Yes, of course,” the headmaster said, smiling at Travis. “Where is Rebecca?”

“Beck?” Travis asked, confused. “She's over there, behind my mother.”

“Well, call her over,” Mrs. Nicholson said, smiling. “I want to meet her too!”

Travis started to go, but Pell pulled his coat to keep him where he was. Mr. Shannon went instead, returning an instant later with Beck, who gave Travis a look as she joined them and Mr. Shannon introduced her too. Travis glanced at Pell; she'd been radiant a moment ago, but now her eyes were downcast, as if she wanted to disappear. Smoke billowed up from the fire, swirling into the darkening sky.

“You're the child, the friend of Lucille's,” Mrs. Nicholson said thoughtfully. “Who didn't want to come aboard
Sirocco
.”

“I don't like water,” Beck said.

“My dear,” Mrs. Nicholson said, fixing Beck with a steely smile, “you've made an odd choice in secondary school… considering that Newport Academy is essentially surrounded by
la mer
.”

“La-Mare?” Beck asked, frowning.

“The sea, dear,” Mrs. Nicholson said, bemused. “Ted, aren't these children being taught proper French? Perhaps I should fund scholarships at St. George's instead!”

“Scholarships?” Beck asked.

“Grandmother…” Pell said warningly.

“Mrs. Nicholson wished to meet the student beneficiaries of her most generous scholarship gift,” Mr. Shannon said.

“We're not on scholarship,” Beck said. “Our mother teaches here.”

Mrs. Nicholson laughed lightly. “Dear, who do you think pays for the children of faculty to attend Newport Academy? Education costs money. Do you think the funds simply fall out of the sky?”

“Grandmother!”

“Pell,” she said, her eyes brightening and an indulgent tone entering her voice. “Learning manners is part of an excellent education. Throughout life, these children will need to know whom to thank and how to express gratitude. Manners are crucial. Now. As you are well aware, I fund these scholarships in memory of your father, a Newport Academy alumnus. I am certain that these commendable students would want to know that, and to remember him.”

“Travis, Rebecca,” Mr. Shannon said nervously, his hand on each of their shoulders. “Please thank Mrs. Nicholson for her generosity.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Nicholson,” Travis said, nudging Beck. She stood perfectly still, cheeks bright red the way they always got when she was humiliated.

“The scholarships are in memory of Pell and Lucy's father?” Beck asked finally.

“Yes,” Mrs. Nicholson said. “Taylor Davis.”

“Beck,” Travis said, watching his sister stare at the old woman.
“Thank her
.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Nicholson,” Beck said, standing tall. “I'll think of Taylor Davis as I study.”

Now it was Mrs. Nicholson's turn to be silent. She stared at
Beck for a long moment, then cleared her throat. “That would please me,” she said. She glanced very quickly at Pell. Then she linked arms with Mr. Shannon and walked away. Travis stared at her back, disappearing into the smoky dusk of a cold evening. When he glanced down at Beck to tell her she'd done a good job, she had already run away. He stood alone with Pell.

“That was embarrassing,” she said. “I'm so sorry. I thought she wanted to meet you because you're my friend, and because you've made the team win so many games this year.”

“That's okay,” he said.

“Sometimes I can't believe the way she acts. She doesn't mean to be so awful. She's just not used to regular people.”

“It didn't turn out so bad,” he said.

“She has no idea how she comes across. She surrounds herself with people who only tell her what she wants to hear.”

The fire roared. Everyone stood back, but still close enough to feel the strong heat. He wanted to tell Pell that people weren't responsible for what their families did. Everyone made their own choices. His father had taught him that, to stand up for himself.

“I'm sorry, Travis,” Pell said again. “I didn't know her wanting to meet you had anything to do with scholarships….”

“You don't have to be sorry,” he said. “She's right. Beck and I are here because she's paying our tuition. We're grateful, and I won't forget. I'll pay her back, every penny.”

“She doesn't need the money.”

“I'll pay her back,” Travis repeated slowly, more sharply, his eyes burning into Pell's. “Every penny.”

“I believe you mean that,” Pell whispered.

He couldn't help himself; he touched her face with his bare hand, traced the line of cheekbone down to her chin. She reached up, took his hand in hers. They leaned close together, feeling the fire's warmth surround them. He wanted to tell her the blaze was nothing compared to what he felt for her.

“Pell!” The voice wafted through the air, and they turned to see her grandmother gesturing. “You are coming to dinner with me and the Shannons!”

“Oh, great,” Pell said to Travis, waving back at her grandmother.

“You're not staying for the rest of the bonfire?” Travis asked.

“There were no dinner plans until just now. I shouldn't have let her see us together,” Pell said.

“She has nothing to say about it,” Travis said, standing an inch away from her, staring into her eyes and having to hold himself back from pulling her tight.

“You don't know my grandmother,” Pell said.

“And she doesn't know me,” Travis said as Pell turned to join Mrs. Nicholson and the Shannons.

14
MAURA HAD A FREE PERIOD, SPENT IT ON THE phone with Tim Marcus, the private detective she'd hired to find Carrie. He'd traced a postcard she'd sent from Minneapolis, learned she'd bought it on eBay.

“She left the lot number right there on the back,” Tim said. “I called the seller out in Phoenix, and it seems she bought ten postcards, various cities west of the Mississippi. That's what the lot was called—‘Western Cities’—and…”

“Why would she do that?”

“Well, to throw you off her trail,” Tim said. “She bought the cards, then used a postmark service—you send your correspondence, they'll make sure it's postmarked from wherever you say. Child-support scofflaws use it to send birthday cards and stuff, so their exes won't be able to send the sheriff after them.”

“Carrie wasn't really in Minneapolis?”

“No, or Santa Fe or Billings, from what I can see.”

“She tried that hard to keep me from finding her?” Maura asked, feeling despair.

“Well, that's what runaways do,” he said. “But I have to tell you, I think she wants to be found. She's a smart girl, and if she went to all the trouble of using a postmark service, I'd expect her to erase the eBay lot number. It's pretty unmistakable, and contains the seller's ID.”

“Does the seller keep records?” Maura asked, hope starting to build.

“Yes, he does,” Tim said, sounding pleased. “He's checking to see where he sent the lot containing those three cards. He sells everything from postcards to old cell phones and all kinds of things in between, so he's got a lot of invoices to go through.”

“Did you tell him it's about a missing girl?” Maura asked, her eyes filling with tears. To think that some stranger had records that might lead her to Carrie made her want to jump in her car and drive to Arizona.

“I did,” Tim said. “He was sympathetic, and what's more, he doesn't want the law to come looking into his business, what he's shipped where.”

“Maybe they should,” Maura said.

“I'm working on him,” Tim said. “Hang in there, Maura. This is the best lead we've had. Once we find out where he shipped those postcards, we're going to find her.”

“Thanks, Tim,” she said. She hung up the phone and wondered if that place would be Columbus, Ohio. She'd always wondered if after Carrie had run away from the hospital up north, she had returned to Columbus. Carrie had always been such a loving daughter and sister; Maura used to dream she'd stayed close by, staying silent for her own reasons, but within sight of her family.