But another day goes by.
I stay in my room.
I want to talk it all out with my sisters, have them be righteous on my behalf, have them hate forever the person who betrayed me, have them hate forever the person who accused me of being selfish, have them make me laugh and distract me.
But maybe we were never that kind of sisters.
And they are the ones who have done me wrong.
So I return to thinking about Pfeff. He must want to talk. How could he tell me his secrets and undress in front of me and hold my hand and tell me how much he wants me—and feel no remorse for his betrayal? It is impossible. We are enmeshed.
Time after time, I put blush on my cheeks, comb my hair, and walk out my door to go talk to him. I feel I can’t rest until I hear what he has to say about it all.
Time after time, I stop at the top of the stairs and return to my room.
It doesn’t matter, I tell myself.
But it does.
I spend my time reading novels and talking to Rosemary. She wants to paint her nails, try Bess’s curling iron. She makes up a song about scones.
Scones are worse than muffins Scones are worse than English muffins Scones are blobs of dough
Let’s make a law against scones
She teaches me a “famous dance” that she claims cheerleaders do. I pretend to be joyful for her, through my fog of misery over Pfeff and Penny, Yardley and Uncle Dean, my father and Buddy Kopelnick. I want to show my sister how much I love her. Help her be at peace. I love that she is here, but it doesn’t seem right that she should haunt me forever. She must be searching for a way to rest. And yet I don’t know that I really want her to go, even if that’s what’s best for her. Right now, she is all I have.
* * *
—
THREE DAYS AFTER Yardley’s departure, I have had enough. It is afternoon and I am cooped up in this hot room, sweltering and festering while Lor Pfefferman lives free and easy. There is a clambake tonight, down on the beach. There will be corn on the cob and potatoes cooked in the fire. Clams and lobsters, melted butter. Strawberry shortcake up at the house afterward.
This is my home. Pfeff doesn’t get to eat my strawberry shortcake without facing up to what he’s done.
I go downstairs, my hands shaking. I will not hide any longer. I’ll talk to him, and then I will hold my head high and take my place in the world of this island.
52.
THE KITCHEN IS empty except for Luda, who is wiping down the inside of the fridge.
No one is in the living room.
Outside, Bess shucks corn on the steps. I ignore her as I go past.
From the walkway, I can see Penny and my parents down on the Big Beach, building the fire for the clambake.
I head to Goose.
I want an explanation. I deserve one.
I want Pfeff to understand—really understand—how much he hurt me. I want to see his regret and his shame.
The boys aren’t at Goose, they’re at the Tiny Beach. Major is lying on his abdomen in the sand, reading the Armistead Maupin book Pfeff bought for him. George and Pfeff are in the water.
I stand at the bottom of the steps, looking at the scene. I feel righteous and shy.
They do not notice me at first. There are sizable waves today, which is unusual in the cove. George and Pfeff are throwing themselves onto boogie boards like little boys.
Major looks up from reading. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and dark blue swim shorts. His forehead and nose are white with sunblock. “Hi, Carrie.”
“Hi.”
“Do you want a sandwich?” he asks. “We have tuna with that crispy lettuce and also roast beef and Havarti on Portuguese sweet dough.”
“No thanks.”
“Tipper said you had a wicked headache.”
“It’s gone now.”
In the water, Pfeff sees me. He looks directly at me, picks up his boogie board, and heads back out to find another wave. He calls something to George I can’t hear.
“I thought I’d talk to Pfeff,” I say.
“Good luck with that,” says Major. “I mean, the guy will talk your ear off, but I’m guessing you want him to listen.”
I walk past Major and down to the water.
Pfeff sees a wave he wants to ride—and turns in my direction. He looks surprised to see me, as if he’d already forgotten I was standing on the beach.
He turns away again. Says something to George.
George waves at me. “You feeling better?” he yells. His square white teeth form a smile.
“Pfeff,” I call. “Can we talk?”
Pfeff doesn’t turn around.
“Pfeff!” I call again.