The Starfish Sisters: A Novel(35)

The baby. That little girl I was forced to give away.

Something deep within cracks open.

So intense. So long ago.

I’m embarrassed to realize there are tears leaking out of my eyes, and I force myself to step back. He reaches out and is about to brush them away, but I step back at the same instant, mortified. “Come inside.”

His face is entirely expressionless as he follows my lead. I can’t help wondering if Phoebe knew he would be the one to show up.





THEN

I DON’T KNOW HOW TO LOVE HIM





Monday, Thanksgiving Week

Dear Suze,

I got your letter last night. I’m so PISSED OFF at your dad, and I wish I could help you somehow, but my grandmother said there’s nothing we can really do. So I’m writing every day.

Joel and I walked on the beach last night and talked about A WRINKLE IN TIME. He’s a really nice person and I am glad he’s your friend. I invited him over to do some art in Amma’s studio today and it was really fun. He’s a good artist! He drew a picture of you and both of us miss you so much.

Truth-I do like him, like him, and I think he likes me, too. He asked for my phone number and I thought it was probably okay since I asked you if he was your boyfriend but you said no way, that he was just your friend. I wish we could talk about this on the phone or face-to-face because I don’t want to get it wrong.

But now that you’re on restriction, there’s nothing to do. I feel so lonely without you.

I drew some comics for you. Suze and Phoebe go to NYC.

Love,

Phoebe

Phoebe

Joel came over for dinner with me and Amma. I could tell she liked him. She leaned in to listen when he talked, and filled up his plate three times. Unobtrusively, asking questions to keep him chatting.

After dinner, we walked down to the arcade, a building in the main part of town that’s old and musty but still kind of fun. “Want to play pinball?” he asked, and I was glad to do whatever, but it turned out I was pretty good at this machine called Eight Ball. When Joel ran out of quarters, I cashed in another three dollars and we played for ages, winning replays until finally those quarters were done, too.

“You want something to eat?” Joel asked, pointing to a snack bar. “Candy bar or some fries or something?”

“No, thanks,” I said, thinking I didn’t want anything on my teeth in case he kissed me again.

“How about we split a Coke?”

“Okay.”

He ordered it and I looked around the room, wondering what it would be like if this was where I lived and I got to hang out here. Kids were playing air hockey and foosball, which I was good at because we had one in the game room at home and I’d been practicing. “You play?” I asked, pointing.

“Yeah.” He offered me the Coke and I took a sip, thinking that his lips had been right on that straw a second ago. His expression was quizzical when he tilted his head. “You do?”

“Yes. My dad taught me. He’s into all kinds of games.”

“Cool.” He eyed the table, where a row of quarters waited. “It looks like a lot of people are in line to play. Let’s go outside. If you won’t be too cold.”

“Nope.” I had my rain jacket over a sweater. Even if it poured, I’d be fine. Joel, on the other hand, only had a jean jacket. “You’re the one.”

He took my hand, right in front of everybody in the room, and led me toward the door. “I’ll be fine.”

I wondered if everyone saw it, that a boy liked me, that he was holding my hand. I felt every inch of it acutely, the flatness of his palm, his long fingers. We walked without speaking down the covered pavement by the shops. Rain poured overhead, and I could hear the ocean.

My blood seemed hot, and under my hair, my neck was burning up. I wondered if we would kiss again, if he wanted to. And just then, he looked over his shoulder and drew me into an alcove that led to the stormy beach. It was empty.

He tucked me up against the wall and, with his eyes dark and liquid, asked, “Can I kiss you again?”

I nodded, and he lowered his head and our lips locked. We kissed for a long time, just our lips, and then sometimes Joel kissed my neck, which turned me on so much that I even made a sound. When he was doing that, he slid his hand under my sweater until he touched bare skin and kept kissing my neck. Everything in my body felt alive, wild, free, and I put my hands under his shirt, too, opening my palms to feel his waist. It was hot and silky.

He found my lips again and pressed our bodies together. “You okay?”

I swallowed, already missing the taste of his mouth. “Yeah.”

He smiled. “Me too. You taste good.”

“So do you.”

I lifted up on my toes and kissed him again, pressing our chests together. He held his hands on my waist. “I think I need to walk you back home.”

“Okay.”

We held hands all the way, talking about color and light and things I never dreamed I’d talk about with a boy. At my grandma’s driveway, he kissed me again, lightly. “See you soon, Phoebe.”

I nodded, and watched him walk away, lean and loose limbed, and I thought I would never feel so alight again in my life.

In fact, it was a very long time.

Wednesday before Thanksgiving