Yardley calls me the next day.
“George came crawling back after Pfeff died, but I wouldn’t have him,” Yardley says. “It took like three days of arguing and tears to basically be still broken up.”
“My god.”
“Now he’s off being a camp counselor for August.” She sighs. “I love that stupid butthole, but if he’s not going to back me up and believe in me, I honestly don’t want him. Plus, what are we going to do, go out long-distance at college? I’m just done. I want the whole thing to go away.” A pause. “Anyway,” says Yardley. “Lor Pfefferman. Rest in peace. Did you really not see him go down?”
“I really didn’t.”
“No shark fin or anything?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“And why were you out early with him?” asks Yardley. “I can’t help thinking about that, honestly, Carrie. After he and Penny…”
I knew this question might come. It is why I haven’t called Yardley. She was with me when I saw Pfeff with my sister.
I tell her the same lie I’ve told the police. And Tipper. “I wouldn’t call him my boyfriend. It was a summer fling, and I mean, I like this guy at North Forest anyway. So after he apologized, I had to just get over it. It wasn’t worth the drama.”
“No,” says Yardley sharply.
“What?”
“You were together. You and Pfeff. You were holding hands while we watched TV and lying in the hammock together and sneaking off to be alone all the time. It went on for weeks, Carrie, and I know you never had anybody before that. At least, you told me you didn’t, right?”
“Right.”
“And after being totally into you for weeks, that dirtbag, I’m sorry he’s dead and all, but that dirtbag weenie made out with your slimeball sister without even bothering to go somewhere private. It was one of the worst things I’ve ever seen anyone do to anyone. And I don’t think you should have to pretend—not to me, at least—that Lor Pfefferman was a saint or even a decent guy, just because he died, Carrie. He was a messed-up whoring dirtbag of a person, and I will never forgive him, never, for what he did to you, when your heart is so open. You would never, ever hurt anybody like that.”
“I know,” I say.
I love Yardley.
I ask again about George, and the memorial service, and shopping for college, and manage to end our conversation without ever explaining why I chose to go boating with Pfeff and Penny.
Your heart is so open （she said）。
You would never, ever hurt anybody （she said）。
That dirtbag made out with your slimeball sister one of the worst things I’ve ever seen anyone do to anyone a messed-up, whoring dirtbag of a person I will never forgive him you were together
you never had anybody before that I don’t think you should have to pretend you would never, ever hurt anybody I don’t think you should have to pretend you would never, ever hurt anybody.
All those words of Yardley’s, they ring in my ears now. They jumble and tangle as I tell this story to my son Johnny.
Johnny sits in my Beechwood kitchen, asking me to help him understand our family, asking me to help him understand what it’s like between me and my sisters, asking me to help him understand his own life and his death. Did you ever get in trouble?…Tell me. What’s the worst thing you did? Come on, spill it. The absolute worst thing you ever did, back then.
I owe him the truth. I owe him everything.
If I do not stop lying, I worry that he and his friends will never be able to rest.
Yardley’s words spill out of me as I tell Johnny about the call I had with her. Then I am saying them over and over, jumbling them without stopping, talking nonsense to myself, mixing them up, giving them new shapes. I cannot stop until I find the meaning I need.
And when I do, they become
words I need to live by.
71.
I DON’T THINK you should
pretend
don’t pretend
don’t pretend
don’t pretend
Don’t pretend you would never hurt anybody.
* * *
—
DON’T PRETEND YOU would never hurt anybody.
PART SEVEN
The Bonfire
72.
I HAVE NOT been truthful here.
I have, until now, done what I always do—which is to tell a story about our family in which I, the eldest, am the savior of two needy younger sisters.
But really, it was they who saved me.
I did say at the start of this story that I am a liar.
And I did explain that it is hard, nearly impossible, for me to tell this story honestly.