The Good Goodbye (30 page)

“Maybe Bishop wasn’t the best place to send her.”

We’d been so delighted when Theo got the job as headmaster. It meant we could send Arden to the best school. She’d be set for life. We’d been talking about figuring out a way to send the boys to Bishop’s brother school, but now I wonder.

After Theo leaves, I call my mother. She’s seen the news, too, and she’s been waiting for my call. “It makes me furious,” she says. “How can they do this? How can they get away with saying all those terrible things?” Her voice is shaking. “Do you think I should keep the boys home from school? I don’t want them overhearing anything.”

I think about it. Their teacher wouldn’t say anything and neither would another parent, not about something like this, not to six-year-olds. “I think school’s okay, and soccer practice. But maybe no playdates.” I picture them in their sleepers, Oliver curled under his covers like a comma, Henry sprawled out like a starfish.

“Okay.”

“And, Mom? Don’t answer the home phone.”

“Oh. Okay, I won’t.”

I look down the hall. Dr. Morris stands outside Rory’s room, talking with a man in a long, white lab coat. She’s nodding, arms crossed, as he talks. “Something’s going on with Rory,” I tell my mom in a low voice. Rory’s in a medical coma and has been drifting in and out of consciousness for days. They’ve been fighting to keep her sedated and calm.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. But if it’s serious, Gabrielle and Vince would tell us.” But it ends up being Denise the nurse who tells me Rory’s going to be put on an artificial lung.

“Permanently?” I ask, in horror.

“No, no. It’s a temporary measure.” She shines a flashlight to check Arden’s IV.

“Her breathing’s no better?”

Denise shakes her head.

I peek into Rory’s room, but Gabrielle and Vince aren’t there. Maybe they’re talking to the doctors. Maybe they’ve gone to the hotel. I dial my sister’s number.

Christine answers the phone immediately. Her voice echoes. She’s got me on speaker in her car. “How’s Arden?”

“The same. Can you talk?”

“Of course.”

“It’s Rory. They’re going to put her on an artificial lung. Do you know what that means?”

“ECMO?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s probably what it is. It just means that her lungs still haven’t started working and they want to be more aggressive about giving them a chance to heal. Try not to worry, Nat. It’s a fairly safe procedure. It’s been around a long time.”

I sense what she’s not saying. “But?”

A pause. “But I wonder why they didn’t put her on it earlier.”

I glance toward Rory’s closed door. “Does this mean it won’t work?”

“No, no,” Christine says.

I call Theo next, and when he doesn’t answer, I leave a long message on his phone.

That afternoon, they wheel Rory out of her room. I hear the rattle of gurney wheels outside in the hall, the voices going past. Gabrielle says, “…in here?” as she passes by.

It’s a simple surgery, Christine has explained, and sure enough, within the hour, Rory’s wheeled back into her room. I crane to hear something, anything, but all is mysteriously silent. I’ve been online so I know there’s a seventy percent chance this procedure will help. I can’t help but think of the thirty percent no one is talking about. I text Vince.
How’s Rory?
I’m still holding my phone, waiting for a response, when the nurse comes in to empty Arden’s Foley bag.

I stand. “I’ll be out in the hall,” I tell the nurse, and she nods.

Gabrielle’s alone in the room with Rory. She stands with her back to me, and doesn’t turn around as I approach. She’s intent on something, and as I come closer, I see she’s fiddling with Rory’s breathing tube. We’ve been told not to touch our daughters’ breathing tubes. We can’t adjust the monitoring equipment; we shouldn’t touch the bandages covering our girls’ burns. If we notice something awry, we are to summon immediately for help. “Do you need me to get the nurse?” I whisper.

She spins to face me. “Natalie! What are you doing creeping up on me like that?”

“I’m sorry. I thought you heard me coming in. I wanted to see how Rory’s doing. Vince isn’t answering his phone.”

Her hand is at her throat, her charm bracelet dangling from a narrow wrist. Every charm was given to her by Vince, mementos from their trips across the country. She’s never left America, not once in twenty years.
There’s so much to see here,
she once told me in a chirpy sort of way, but I know Vince always has a hard time convincing her to leave home. She inhales, turns back to Rory. “She’s doing as well as can be expected, I suppose.”

Rory’s features assemble before me in the darkness, her swollen cheeks squeezing her eyes to slits, the rise of her throat, the triangle of skin where her gown gapes open. Her pale hair spills over the pillow. Arden’s hair had to be shaved for surgery. All we’ve seen of it is that single wisp protruding from the bandages wrapped around her head.

“They’ve taken off her helmet. That’s good news.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think she’s awake?” Is she listening to us now? I try not to envy Gabrielle this.

“No, she’s asleep.”

A new tube has been taped to Rory’s neck. It’s filled with dark fluid—blood. It travels across her pillow and over to the small white machine on the table against the wall. That small white machine is doing the work that Rory’s lungs can’t. “Maybe she won’t have to be on that long.”

“Maybe.” Gabrielle’s voice is carefully neutral. She’s upset and trying not to show it. She lifts up the sheet. It floats above Rory and slowly settles.

“I guess you’ve seen the news,” I say.

“It’s everywhere. How could I not?”

“It’s horrible. I don’t know how people can live with themselves.” A deadly love triangle. Gabrielle thinks it’s true. She said so herself. “You haven’t been talking to the press, have you?”

She glances at me, frowning. “Of course not. I don’t want anything to do with them. This is private.”

Her words have the ring of truth. Gabrielle values privacy, I know. Still, where had the television station gotten that photograph of Arden? What am I suspecting Gabrielle of, exactly—asking questions? Having doubts? I’m guilty of the same. I tell her, “Our lawyer’s going to have them take the story down.”

“It’s good that you have a lawyer.”

I glance to her, sharply. Is she threatening me? She’s tidying the things on the small nightstand. Then she adds, “I think we’ll get one, too.”

—

The glass door slides open and Theo ducks around the curtain, slings his jacket onto the chair by the door, and holds up a plastic bag. “Mama Joe’s special fish taco, extra avocado.” By unspoken consent, we’re avoiding the cafeteria. We keep our heads down in the corridor. Within hours, we have become recognizable—the parents of the burned girl in the ICU, the desperate girl facing expulsion who might have set her roommate on fire. “Thanks,” I say, though I’m not hungry. We’re both tiptoeing around each other, afraid of saying too much, afraid of unburying another truth.

He waggles the bag. “Chips and salsa, too.”

Arden loves salsa: the spicier, the better. She sprinkles red pepper flakes over everything; she bites into a jalapeño and winks at her brothers watching her with awe. He goes over to Arden. “Reinforcements have arrived,” he tells her. The soft wheeze of the blood-pressure cuff fitted around her forearm is the only response.

“How did it go?”

“I met with parents all day. Some of them just needed to talk it through. Some of them had already made up their minds.”

I guess it’s not surprising. Many Bishop parents are more concerned with status and reputation than academics. “Let them. You have a waiting list of girls wanting to get in.”

“It’s hard after the school year starts.” He adjusts the sheet around Arden’s shoulders. “Any news about Rory?”

“It sounds like the procedure went okay. They took off the helmet.”

“That’s great.”

“You haven’t talked to Vince, then? He isn’t answering my texts.”

“No.”

“He hasn’t been by to check on Arden. He’s avoiding me. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” Theo’s just standing there, looking down at Arden. “What is it?” I say, worried, getting up to look.

“Is there something else going on?” he says in a low voice.

“What are you talking about?”

“You and Vince. It’s like you’re taking his betrayal personally.”

“I am. Of course I am.” Why are we suddenly talking about this?

“Do you still have feelings for him? Is that why you get so angry with him?”

He can’t know. I’ve never breathed a word to anyone about that night. It’s dark in here, but he’s standing so close. Can he see the guilt plain on my face? Can he see the story unravel in my eyes? A snowstorm had blown through, trapping Vince and me at Double. The power had gone out and we were huddled in the dark, laughing over the customers we’d had that evening, intrepid tourists who didn’t speak English, and Vince had gone out to pantomime the dishes.
Do the chicken one again,
I’d said, laughing so hard I was crying, and he obligingly got up and did the chicken dance. I looked at him, with his bent elbows and knees, jerking his head back and forth, and thought to myself,
Did I make a mistake?

When he collapsed on the floor beside me, I put my hand on his thigh. I only meant to clasp it, but he shifted and I turned and his mouth found mine. He moved to unbutton my shirt and I put my hand on his, stopping him.
No,
I said.
We can’t
.

Eventually, snowplows had come through and I’d slowly, carefully driven home. The light had been on in Arden’s bedroom, shining around the door, and I’d almost knocked before deciding not to waken her in case she’d fallen asleep. I’d climbed into bed beside Theo, who’d sleepily turned toward me to sling his arm around me.
I’m glad you’re home,
he’d murmured and I’d lain stiffly until dawn, staring up at the ceiling.

“I get angry with you, too,” I say, now. “Whenever you leave your dirty socks on the floor of the closet. You know it drives me crazy.” I lean against him, slide my hand beneath the collar of his shirt and feel the warmth of his skin. I close my eyes and smell the lingering trace of cologne he’d dashed on hours before. “I love you, Theo. With all my heart.”

It had just been the one time.

Arden

I’M VENUS,
pastel and pure, rising from the sea. Silvery bubbles dance past me on their way up to the surface. I’ve been down here too long and it’s time to leave. I try to suck in a deep breath, but something stops me. Something’s covering my nose and lips. A hand? It presses against the thing in my mouth, drives it deeper into my throat. I see fire-engine red and black and twinkling stars.

“Natalie! What are you doing creeping up on me like that?” Aunt Gabrielle’s using her angry voice.
Put that down, Arden. Could you girls be a little quieter?

“I’m sorry. I thought you heard me coming in….”

My mom’s smooth voice twines around Aunt Gabrielle’s prickly one. They make a thick and thorny vine.
Your mothers are oil and vinegar,
Grandma Sugar told Rory and me once.
They are as unalike as two people can be.
Rory and I know who is the floating oil and who is the bitter vinegar.

I love my mom, but she doesn’t get it. She thinks Rory’s perfect. She won’t listen when I try to tell her.
You girls are too close,
she’ll say.
You need to give her some room.
She doesn’t know about Rory’s drinking, or sleeping with half the guys in high school, or that she’s the one who sneaked a fish into our guidance counselor’s car where it sat in the bright sun all afternoon. She doesn’t know I wrote all of Rory’s college essays and most of her school papers. No way does she know I took the SATs for her.

The one time I did tell my mom a secret about Rory was back in eighth grade, when I told her Rory had been making herself throw up. My mom freaked and told Aunt Gabrielle and Uncle Vince, which ended up being a nightmare. Rory had to meet with a therapist and keep a food diary and weigh herself in front of her parents every night. She wasn’t allowed to be on the swim team or do any sports at all until her weight went up. Worst of all was the fighting between Aunt Gabrielle, who said that everyone was overreacting and that Rory looked fine, and Uncle Vince, who said Aunt Gabrielle had a skewed idea of what fine was. Rory still hasn’t forgiven me. So of course I’m not going to tell my mom what I think’s going on with Rory. I’m not sure myself.

You were in a fire. Do you remember?

I remember holding the heavy can against my chest, liquid sloshing around inside. I remember twisting off the metal cap. It smells terrible, but I don’t stop.

—

“Stop hanging out with my boyfriend,” Rory says, and I look over at her with alarm. She can’t know. She sits cross-legged on her bed, hunched over and painting her toenails silver. She’s not even looking at me.

“We’re just studying together. You should try it sometime.” Maybe that’s all we are, study partners. I came back from the art studio last night to hear Hunter’s low murmur on the other side of the door and Rory’s answering giggle. I backed away, confused and horrified. I’ve been so stupid. When have I ever won over Rory?

She looks at me with her green, green eyes. “You do know that Hunter’s not interested in you.”

“You can be such a bitch.”

“Just trying to keep you from humiliating yourself.”

“Why? Because you think Hunter and I might actually have something in common?”

“Oh, Arden.” She gives me that pitying look I know so well, the one that smacks me down. It’s the only time ever that she looks just like her mom. “You can’t possibly understand. You’ve never even had sex.”

—

Hunter and I kiss forever, his hands sliding up beneath my shirt and pushing up my bra. I am going to melt right into the tree he’s pressing me against. My legs are shaking. I want to run; I want to lie down. I can’t get enough of him, his mouth, his hands, his warm skin. I work my hands around his waist, under the waistband of his jeans. I want to pull his whole body inside me and melt us into one person. A long, searing wolf whistle from a group of kids walking past makes us stop, panting.