The Sisters Montclair (11 page)

Alice pulled a compact out of her purse and carefully reapplied her lip rouge. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said.

Laura’s breath fogged the air in front of her and she turned and blew on the glass and wrote, B.B. + L.M. with a heart around it, and then wiped it clean. Alice, embarrassed, pretended not to see.

“All my life, I’ve wanted to be someone else,” Laura said.

“We should probably head home,” Alice said, closing the compact. “Mother will be worried.”

“Wait,” Laura said, shyly touching Alice’s arm. “Let’s go one other place first. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Alice felt a slight tremor of dismay. There was no use stopping now; she had come this far and she might as well see it through to the end. She carefully slid the compact back into her beaded bag.

“All right,” she said.

They drove past the Smithson School through the Missionary Ridge Tunnel to Brainerd. Above them, the lights of the houses on Missionary Ridge twinkled merrily. Evening was coming on quickly. Alice followed Laura’s instructions and pulled up in front of a small, steep-roofed garage with a couple of gas pumps outside. The bell rang as they pulled up and the door opened and a man in a gray jumpsuit stepped out into the gathering gloom. He was smoking a cigarette, its tip glowing feebly, and he took it out of his mouth and crushed it under his toe, walking toward them with his hands thrust deep in his pockets, his shoulders rounded against the cold.

Laura rolled down her window. “Hello,” she said, and he stopped for a moment and stared, and then came on slowly, his cap pulled low on his forehead.

“Hello,” he said. He came around to Alice’s window. “Fill her up?” he said, and she said through the glass, “Yes.”

“Roll it down,” Laura said. Her face was pale under her cloche hat. “The window. Roll it down.”

“It’s cold,” Alice said, but she did as her sister asked. He stuck the nozzle in the tank and then came around to clean the windshield. She could see his face now in the slanting light from the garage window. His expression was fierce, intolerant, challenging. Briefly, through the glass, their eyes met.

Laura leaned over and said, “Brendan. This is my sister. Alice.”

He took a rag out of his pocket and wiped his hand and held it out to her. Alice, after a slight hesitation, took it.

“Brendan Burke,” he said.

He seemed to be laughing at her; she sensed it in his tone.

“How do you do,” she said coldly.

“We’ve been Christmas shopping,” Laura said.

“Have you?” His eyes were an unusual shade of green, pale and luminous like sun-lit water.

“We thought we might see a picture show tonight,” Laura said, laughing. “Do you want to come?”

Alice, shocked, looked at her sister and then said with some confusion, “Mother will be expecting us home tonight. It’s nearly Christmas.”

The station door opened and a young man came hurrying out, pulling on his cap. “Sorry, Mr. Burke,” he called, putting his hand on the nozzle. “I didn’t hear the bell.”

“That’s all right, Billy.”

“Please say you’ll come,” Laura said, leaning across Alice’s lap and smiling up at him.

“Laura!” Alice said.

He looked at Alice. “I can’t,” he said.

Laura pushed herself back into the corner, pouting.

“What do I owe you?” Alice said, lifting her purse. She could feel her face burning in humiliation at her sister’s behavior. She wanted to meet his gaze but she felt herself to be at a distinct disadvantage.

“You can pay Billy,” he said, and without another word, he thrust his hands deep into his pockets and walked off toward the station, whistling.

“Really, Laura, how could you?” They drove swiftly through the dimly-lit streets. Alice was rigid with anger, remembering his expression through the windshield glass, the careless way he had walked off. “You practically threw yourself at him.”

“I did throw myself at him.”

“And you’re proud of that?” Alice turned her head and looked at her sister who sat with her forehead resting against the window glass.

“I love him.”

“Oh, Laura.”

“I don’t care what Mother says, or Father. Or you.”

“He’s not – suitable.”

She turned her head and stared at Alice, her eyes fierce, mouth drawn up tight. “You don’t even know him.”

“I know enough.”

“You always said not to judge people by how much money they had.”

“I’m not talking about money, Laura. Be reasonable.”

“I don’t have to be reasonable,” Laura said, pulling her coat tightly around her throat. “I love him.”

The episode colored all of Christmas. Alice went around sunk in despair, avoiding Laura when she could, pretending to be merry and unconcerned, when she couldn’t. Laura had always been so malleable, so willing to bend herself to Alice’s will, and this new streak of stubbornness was disturbing. Ash Hill, Chattanooga, the people in her life, felt suddenly removed and distant. It was as if Alice’s whole world had been turned inexplicably upside down; things she had taken for granted, small truths she had accepted without question, now felt false. She drifted, rudderless, through the holidays; attending parties and helping her parents keep a close watch on Laura.

There was nothing they could do, short of locking her in the cellar, to prevent Laura’s escapes. There were too many windows to be climbed out of, too many doors to be opened and closed softly. These trysts never lasted long; Laura returned most evenings by midnight. Twice Alice caught her on the landing, her shoes in her hands, tiptoeing off to bed. Both times Alice stood staring, hoping to shame her, but Laura said nothing, pushing boldly past and going off to bed without a word.

Alice could put a stop to it. She could tell her father; but Roderick was a proud man, there was no telling what he might do. She could go herself and appeal to Brendan Burke as a gentleman. But her father had already tried that. He had, no doubt, offered inducements; money, patronage, gifts. He had most likely issued threats, too, although Alice could not imagine Brendan Burke responding to those.

She remembered his face that night under the lights, his expression of intense yet curious scrutiny, as if he were looking deep inside her to find that one thing, she wished above all else, to keep hidden.

She did not return to Sweet Briar in January. Her mother had slipped into one of her black moods, staying in bed most days behind a closed door, and if Alice left there would have been no one to order the meals, or arrange Adeline’s busy social life, or see to it that Laura returned to school. Alice went around to see the headmistress and together they worked out a plan whereby Laura could return to school and graduate with her class.

In February she ran into Bill Whittington at a dance at the Country Club. He was there with Isabelle Aubrey, another of the wealthy Lookout Mountain crowd, and Alice was there with Bud Case. Bill Whittington gave her the cold shoulder at first, but later he asked her to dance, and because she obviously didn’t care to dance with him, he was smitten. He stayed close to her elbow the rest of the evening, ignoring his date and trying to impress her with his smooth talk about bogeying the back nine. It was obvious that he and most of his friends spent their days golfing and they were all proud of this fact and stood around boasting about who had had the better game. Listening to them, Alice stifled a yawn. Isabelle stood beside Bill hanging on his every word, her lips slightly parted, ready at the least provocation to break into gales of giggles. Alice imagined Isabelle and Bill’s future life together, the stately home on Lookout Mountain, the long dining table surrounded by a bevy of good-looking children, endless charity events and golf tournaments, the kind of life Alice’s mother had settled for. The kind of life Alice had decided she never wanted for herself. Bud Case was nice enough, Alice’s friend Sally had arranged for Bud to escort her, but he was a bank clerk from East Ridge and Alice could see that Bill Whittington and his wealthy friends intimidated him.

Afterwards, they all went out to a juke joint on the river. Bud said goodnight, he had to work the next morning, so Bill offered to drive Alice home. She tried to decline but she’d had enough Singapore Slings to make her tongue-tied and light-headed, and so she smiled at Isabelle, who was giving her a cool, appraising look, and said, “Sure. Why not?” She raised her glass in a cocky salute.

Later, when the smoke and the noise and the smell of tightly-packed, perspiring bodies became too much for her, she went to the ladies room and then stumbled out into the cool evening. She had stopped drinking some time before and the brisk night air sobered her immediately. In the distance, the river glistened in the moonlight. She followed a graveled path down to the water’s edge, past a dimly-lit bricked patio to a pair of wooden chairs facing the water. She sat for a long time watching the dark, swiftly moving river and listening to
Dixie Vagabond
and the rhythmic thumping of the dancers’ feet. From time to time the door would bang open and she would hear a woman’s soft laughter, or a man’s gruff voice, and then the sound of their feet on the graveled drive. Once she heard Bill Whittington calling for her. She pulled her feet up and slumped down in her chair, and he went around to the parking lot, calling her name. A moment later Isabelle came out looking for him and Alice could hear their low, angry voices in the drive. Bill said, “Oh, calm down, will you? I promised to see her home, that’s all.” They went back inside, the door banging loudly behind them. Alice sighed and put her feet down, wrapping her arms more tightly around herself.

“Who are you hiding from?”

The voice, deep, overtly masculine, had come from behind her. Startled, she raised her head and looked around. She could see a figure in a hat sitting at a nearby picnic table, his cigarette glowing feebly.

“I’m not hiding from anyone.”

He made a short, dismissive sound.

She was not frightened, although perhaps she should have been. “How long have you been sitting there?”

“Long enough to know you’re hiding from someone.”

“I told you, I’m not.” She stood abruptly. He rose, too, stubbing his cigarette under his toe, and something in his mannerism, in his spare yet sturdy build, seemed familiar to her.

“You don’t recognize me, do you?”

“Should I?” She took a step up the graveled walk, but stopped. She would have to walk past him to get back to the juke joint and she was suddenly hesitant to do that. What had she been thinking, coming out here alone? It was dangerous. Dangerous and foolish.

He took his hat off and stepped forward into the light slanting across the lawn, and she recognized Brendan Burke.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

She felt a quiver of anger followed quickly by a wash of relief. “No? Then why are you sitting in the dark? You should have announced yourself.”

“If I had announced myself, I would have spoiled the vision of you in the moonlight.” His teeth glimmered in the dim light. “You would have left, like you’re doing now.”

She walked slowly up the path. She could see him clearly in the wash of light from the patio. He looked different than he had that night at the garage, standing there in a dark suit with his hair combed off his face, his pale, straight part shining in the moonlight.

He fell into step beside her. “I’m fairly harmless,” he said.

“That’s not what I hear.”

“You’ve been talking to the wrong people.”

She stopped and looked at him, holding his gaze. “My sister is only sixteen years old,” she said.

His expression changed then, became closed and wary. He raised one hand and indicated an empty table and two chairs on the patio. “I’d like to talk to you about her.”

She hesitated. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say about Laura, about himself and Laura. As if realizing this, he said in a coldly polite manner, “Please. I’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”

He pulled out a chair for her and she sat down. “You’re cold,” he said.

“No.”

He took off his coat and draped it around her shoulders and then sat down facing her.

The coat was warm and smelled faintly of cologne and tobacco and whiskey. A good, manly smell.

“It’s my father you should be speaking to,” she said.

“I’ve spoken to your father. Several times.”

“Oh?”

“Would you like a drink?”

“No. Thanks.”

The table was near the door, partially hidden by a trellis. If Bill Whittington came looking for her now, she’d have no choice but to answer.

He cleared his throat and stared out at the dark river as if considering how to begin. After a moment, he sat back. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Go ahead.”

He pointed vaguely at her. “They’re in the breast pocket,” he said, and she felt her face flush, fumbling in his coat.

She pulled out a silver case, took out a cigarette, and stuck it between her lips. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not.”

She passed the case to him and he lit her cigarette and then his. They both leaned back in their chairs, smoking quietly.

“Your sister is a fine girl,” he said abruptly. She made a restless movement with one hand and he said quickly, “I met her at the county fair. I saw her across a crowded dance floor and I asked her to dance. I didn’t know how old she was.” He put his head back as he exhaled, looking up at the stars. After a moment, he dropped his chin, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “And later, when I found out who she was and how old she was, I broke it off.”

She exhaled slowly, watching him with narrowed eyes. “You broke it off?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, that’s odd because she sneaks out of the house several nights a week and comes dragging home around midnight. Are you saying she isn’t with you?”

“Sometimes she’s with me. But never alone. I’m never alone with her. I don’t date her. I haven’t dated her since your father came to see me. She finds out where I’m going to be, I don’t know how, and she just shows up. It doesn’t matter where I am or who I’m with.” He looked at her. “Sometimes I’m with another girl. It doesn’t matter.”

Alice felt her face heat up with the shock of his words. She waited until she was certain she could control the trembling of her voice. “So you’re saying my sister is a hopeless flirt.”