The Good, the Bad & the Beagle (18 page)

Peals of laughter came from every corner of the closet and Melody’s face turned the color of a red rubber gym ball. Poor Melody.

Veronica dreaded what they would ask her. Probably something terrible like whether or not she had her period yet, at which point she would die.

“Oh my gosh. That is so rude,” Melody said. She hid her head in her hands. “No! I haven’t!”

“Can I try on your mother’s Chanel?” Maggie Fogel asked.

“Go for it,” Sarah-Lisa said. “Darcy Brown, your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Um … dare,” Darcy said.

Sarah-Lisa’s face lit up like a forest fire. “Yay! Someone’s got guts!” she said. She called Athena over to help her with the question. Sarah-Lisa and her best friend plotted in whispers.

Veronica was nervous even though she wasn’t the one being dared. She was not volunteering ever. They better not ask her.

“Okeydoke, Darcy Brown,” Sarah-Lisa said to her newest victim. “Your dare is to go downstairs and pile the smallest plate with the biggest amount of yummy refreshments.”

“Liquids
and
solids—” Athena interjected.

“Yes—liquids and solids, and bring them up here. In thirty seconds. Ready? Go!”

Just thinking about all that white furniture and white carpeting made Veronica scared. She worried for Darcy.

“Veronica. Are you going to join in or just spy on us?” Sarah-Lisa asked.

“I’m not spying,” Veronica said. Although she was standing on the side, watching and not participating. From their perspective it must have looked like she was spying.

“Maggie, you’re such a slob. You left my mother’s favorite skirt on the floor,” Sarah-Lisa scolded.

“Sorry.”

“Well, hang it up,” Sarah-Lisa declared.

“Why don’t we dress you up, Veronica? You look too somber in black. This is a party. What should we dress Veronica in, you guys?” Athena said.

“What’s wrong with black?” Sylvie asked. “It’s my favorite color.”

“Exactly,” Athena said to Sylvie. “I mean, you are not exactly known for your lighthearted goofiness.”

Athena walked back to Veronica and sized her up from every angle. Auden Georges held up a pair of knee-high brown boots with appliquéd shapes and flowers sewn onto them. Athena approved. Becky Shickler unfolded a giant lace scarf and held it against Veronica’s face as if she were matching fabric swatches with paint chips and tile samples. Athena took Veronica by the hand and led her to the fur section of the closet. Athena ran her hand along a row of Sarah-Lisa’s mother’s coats and finally settled on a short hooded jacket of some kind of white fur.

“Wait! I was going to wear that,” Sarah-Lisa said.

“Oh, S-L. Be nice. You can come in here any day and wear whatever you want. Look how cute it is on her!” It was like a dream come true, being defended against Sarah-Lisa by Athena. Veronica was beside herself.

“You look like an old-fashioned skater in Central Park! Give her the muff!” Auden Georges said.

Veronica looked at herself in the mirror, but all she could see were Sarah-Lisa’s eyes, staring at her from behind like two black darts. They were pointing right at her and they looked like they could hurt.

The sweet little terrier wandered in and sniffed around. Veronica gave him her hand, which he licked gently before walking to the other side of the closet.

“He has such expensive taste!” Coco said, laughing. The dog had a black Prada purse in his mouth.

“Binky,
no
!” Sarah-Lisa yelled. “Don’t eat that! Oh my gosh, Binky! You’re so dumb. My mother is going to kill me.”

Esme always said that a dog is only as dumb as his owner. Sarah-Lisa obviously didn’t know that.

“Veronica, naturally we only see you at school in your uniform, but do you always wear black when you aren’t at school?” Auden asked.

“It makes you seem sad,” Melody said.

“It’s because her cat died,” Coco said.

“She didn’t have a cat, she had a dog,” Athena said. Binky dropped the purse and went deeper into the closet.

“Uh-oh, he’s going after the Chanel skirt,” Sylvie said. Binky, being a terrier, was a very good jumper. He was three feet off the ground, determined to make contact with the skirt and pull it from its hanger. He got it in his mouth. Sarah-Lisa took hold of the hanger and a tug of war began. The dog refused to let go.

“Careful,” Athena said.

“Binky,
no
!” Sarah-Lisa said, pulling at the fabric while Binky clamped down tighter. Veronica couldn’t stand the way Sarah-Lisa was hollering. Obviously Binky thought Sarah-Lisa was playing with him. His tail was wagging like crazy and he was snorting happy, laughing sounds. “Binky!” Sarah-Lisa yelled, and pulled harder.

“It’s going to rip, Sarah-Lisa, stop pulling,” Athena said. Sure enough, a few moments later, the skirt ripped away from the waistband and Sarah-Lisa exploded. “Binky, you idiot! I am going to get in so much trouble,” she said, smacking Binky with one of her mother’s shoes.

The dog whimpered and hid under a bench. Veronica was furious. She picked up the shoe Binky had been hit with and hurled it at Sarah-Lisa. “Never hurt an animal. Don’t
ever
do that,” Veronica told everyone.

She walked out of the closet and slammed the door with all her might. The shoe hadn’t even hit Sarah-Lisa. Nothing she did made an impact.

Goodbye, and Thank You for Inviting Me

Sarah-Lisa’s many apartments joined together to make one house was like a white rat maze and Veronica couldn’t find her way out. She found an office, a guest room, a palatial bathroom. All she wanted to find was stairs. The stairs led to her mother. But the stairs were nowhere in sight. She turned down a hall and ended up in what had to be Sarah-Lisa’s room.

Of course Sarah-Lisa had a canopy bed. She had everything. She even had a dog she didn’t deserve.

She took in Sarah-Lisa Carver’s well-organized vanity with its mirror and its lip glosses and fancy brush set and the matching nail scissor and emery board. Sarah-Lisa had a cloth-covered bulletin board covered in notes from Athena—
Dear S-L, C U after school xoxox
—and so many pictures of the two of them having so much fun.

Sarah-Lisa’s dresser was right next to the vanity and had a perfect glass animal collection and a tower of powder blue boxes from Tiffany proudly displayed on top. Veronica opened Sarah-Lisa’s drawers. All her cashmere cardigans were inside, folded perfectly and arranged by color, just like the clothes in Mrs. Carver’s closet.

She put a navy blue one next to her face. It was soft and smelled like it had been washed in expensive perfume. Veronica took it to the vanity, carefully laid it over the mirror, and cut off all the pearl buttons. She went back to the dresser and took out a pale blue cardigan. She cut its arms off. She cut holes in the armpits of an ivory one. One by one, she destroyed all of Sarah-Lisa Carver’s cashmere cardigans.

When she was finished she put the scissors back on the vanity and was overtaken by the strangest sensation. She’d left her body. She was there, but she wasn’t there. She was at a distance, watching herself in the bedroom of a fancy girl named Sarah-Lisa Carver. She needed to find the hall that led downstairs. She would find her mother and they would go home. Oh, to be home, to have a few days without having to see any of those girls. She wanted her mother but came face-to-face with Athena Mindendorfer instead. Her blood stopped moving through her body. It coagulated like Jell-O.

“Veronica! What are you doing?” Athena asked.

Veronica couldn’t answer the question. She’d messed up all of Sarah-Lisa’s pretty sweaters. But she hadn’t planned it. She couldn’t explain anything. She walked out of Sarah-Lisa’s room, away from the damage and away from Athena, who would never choose her over Sarah-Lisa. She was in her altered state of being. Detached. A spectator. Her life wasn’t her own. What happened here tonight was scenes from a scary movie of a life that belonged to someone else. She didn’t need to be afraid.

She escorted her disembodied self down the stairs, which had suddenly appeared before her. She wished she’d thought to do this earlier; leave her body, be here by not really being here. It solved so many problems.

Sarah-Lisa came down the stairs behind her, holding half of the desecrated pale blue cashmere cardigan, followed by an army of hysterical girls. There was shouting, and in the midst of a huge commotion, which should have shaken her to the core, she felt very little. The real Veronica was somewhere else, safe and sound, protected by her numbness.

Sarah-Lisa waved her cashmere remnants in Veronica’s face and Sarah-Lisa’s mother shook her and stripped off her white fur jacket.

She thought she heard her mother tell her to say, “Thank you for inviting me,” so she did. She thought she heard Sarah-Lisa’s mother telling Mrs. Morgan that her daughter needed a psychiatrist and Mrs. Morgan saying something like, “Thank you very much, she has one. Plus two as parents. One plus two equals three. Good night.”

The Center of Another Bed

That night, Veronica lay in the center of her parents’ bed half-asleep. Her parents were holed up in their bathroom. Veronica could hear every word.

“Well, she certainly is grieving,” Mr. Morgan said after hearing his wife explain what had happened at the party he did not attend.

“But what are we going to do?” Mrs. Morgan said, whispering. “We have to do something.”

“I think she needs to talk more about processing her feelings. For a start.”

“She doesn’t want to,” Mrs. Morgan said. “We ask her constantly to process. She won’t.”

“Tough,” Mr. Morgan said. “And she is going to have to apologize to that girl.”

“But I thought she was grieving so wonderfully. I thought she was doing so well. She acted out at school by not doing that project. She had his ashes, the letter from Esme, she sat a shiva…”

“She just needs some help, Marion. Her teacher told us as much. We obviously are not helping her.”

“No, we’re not,” Mrs. Morgan said, and burst into tears.

Fake It Till You Make It

Veronica spent the night in her parents’ bed.

The next morning she was brought a cup of tea and a pad of paper. She had instructions to compose letters to both Mrs. Lehman-Carver and to Sarah-Lisa.

She looked at the blank paper, having no idea what to say. Her parents suggested she begin with “I’m sorry.” And as if that was enough help, they both left the room.

Veronica struggled. The paper was blank and she couldn’t imagine filling it with words. Or with ideas. Her handwriting was so undeveloped compared with Sarah-Lisa’s. She decided to pretend she was someone else. A person who possessed more integrity, a person who could actually write a meaningful letter.

Dear Sarah-Lisa,

Thank you for inviting me to your party. I was not a very good citizen and I should not have cut all your beautiful sweaters. I am sorry. I was wrong. I am sorry that since I have not come to any of your other parties, this is the party you will remember me by. I love animals very much and I miss my dog. I lost my temper. I am sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I cannot forgive myself unless I apologize to you.

I am very sorry.

Truly,

Veronica

Mrs. Morgan walked in with a breakfast tray and presented Veronica with pancakes and juice.

“You need to keep up your strength,” she said. “How is the letter coming?” Veronica handed her mother what she’d written. Mrs. Morgan read it over.

“Excellent,” she said. Veronica put syrup on her pancakes and took a bite. “Now another letter, to her mother.”

Veronica’s soul had more squeezing to do. Ugh. Mrs. Lehman.

“Fake it till you make it,” her mother said, and left the room. Veronica ate the pancakes and drank her juice. The letter to Mrs. Lehman was a little easier because she didn’t know her.

Dear Mrs. Lehman,

Your daughter has the most beautiful things in one room I have ever seen. I am so sorry that I was jealous. I will work out something with my parents and pay to replace all the sweaters I ruined. Please send us a bill. I am so sorry I ruined your evening with my behavior.

I am sincerely more sorry and ashamed than you will ever know.

Sincerely,

Veronica Louise Morgan

Veronica put the breakfast tray on the floor and went to sleep.

In the afternoon her mother came in. “Put your coat on,” she said. “We are going for a walk. Daddy too.”

Veronica got out of bed and got dressed. She put on her coat and scarf in a daze and stood dutifully next to her parents. Mr. Morgan and Mrs. Morgan took hold of their daughter, one on either side, and supported her as they walked out of the apartment, in and out of the elevator, and onto the street.

“When I was a child,” Mrs. Morgan said, “the whole community came on the seventh day of a shiva and walked the grieving family around the block. Daddy and I want to be your community. We thought we were doing enough. But we haven’t been.”

When Veronica was very little her parents used to walk with her like this, one on either side. On the count of three they would lift her in the air. She would make them do it again and again.

“Honey,” her father said, “you loved that dog. And you were so good to that dog. You took such amazing care of that dog. We are proud of you.”

“We sure are, Veronica. You have an incredible heart.”

The Morgan family walked along Fifth Avenue past the hospital, down 102nd Street with its funny brownstones mixed in with big apartment buildings and north on Madison Avenue past the bagel store and west on 103rd Street until they were headed south on Fifth. When they ended up back at their apartment Veronica let them lift her over the threshold.

The Parting of the Red Sea

Veronica unpeeled two stamps and stuck them very carefully on the top right-hand corners of the envelopes containing her apology letters. It was very important to her that each stamp line up with the corner of its envelope perfectly. When she dropped the letters in the mailbox she felt an ounce of misery slide down the chute with them.