Sitting at the studio table with classical music playing, I take out a sheaf of paper and begin to write.
Dear Suze,
I have spent so much time thinking about our friendship in the past few weeks, about my bad behavior and the ways I’ve let you down, and if things were reversed, I don’t know if I could forgive you.
But I miss you so much it’s like someone has chopped off my left arm. I think I can manage okay without it, and then I need to drain the pasta, and it’s obvious that I really do need that arm.
I miss you.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hiding the letter. I’m sorry for always being so jealous and hostile. I’m sorry that I fought with you at our grandmother’s funeral. It was my fault. I don’t know why I got so mad.
That’s a lie. I wanted to keep Amma to myself. I didn’t want to admit that she loved you every single bit as much as she loved me. I wanted to keep you to myself, too, and not share you with Amma, or my dad, or Joel, and even worse, the entire world. The whole world knows you and that made me protective and jealous. Like, they don’t know you. Not like I do. They don’t know that you love sauerkraut even though it’s the worst food in the world. They don’t know that your favorite shirt is a sloppy T-shirt from the ’90s. They don’t know all the things you’ve had to get through in your life, your horrible father, the loss of your baby and Joel.
If I think of your shaved head, even now, I will cry.
I am so sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me—so many times, but mainly when you were alone in that awful unwed mothers’ home and I only went to see you one time. I don’t know what I was thinking, and it actually doesn’t matter. I let you down when you needed me most. I can’t fix that, but I can tell you I know it was wrong, and I am so sorry. I hope I can make it up to you someday.
I’m most sorry for keeping the letter, and for all the ramifications of that. There is no possible way to make up for it, but I want you to know that I’m going to spend my life trying if you’ll let me.
I don’t know if our friendship is broken completely. If you feel like you can’t be friends with me anymore, I will understand. This is all on me. I will never blame you for one second.
But if you think you can eventually forgive me, I will be down at the Starfish Sisters at 10 am on Tuesday the 12th, no matter what the weather. If you want to work on this, meet me there.
No matter what happens, Suze, know that I love you. You’re one of the best people I know, loving and supportive and good. So much like Amma. She would be so proud of you. I’m proud of you.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
Your sister,
Phoebe
Chapter Thirty
Suze
Predictably, it’s raining on the morning of the twelfth, but I don my wet-weather gear like the true Oregonian I am and head down the steps to the beach. I can see Phoebe down by the rocks, wearing red boots and a hooded rain jacket. She’s peering into the tide pools, and as I come down, I see her stick a finger into the water. I know her touch is gentle. She’s only moving something around, not bothering nature.
I thought long and hard about her letter. I didn’t rush. I talked to Beryl in my mind, and Joel in real life, and we all came to the same conclusion—that Phoebe needs me. I also need her. My life would be so much thinner without her.
As I approach, she straightens. “Hi,” she says.
“Hi. Anything interesting?”
“Yeah.” Her face lights up. “A purple sea star. He’s big.”
I bend in to look, feeling water splatter against my hood. The sea star truly is enormous, a foot across and chunky. “Wow.”
We stand at the same moment. She waits, and I’m grateful, because I need to choose my words. “Phoebe,” I say, hands in my pockets. “I was so mad at you over the letter you hid that I didn’t trust myself to have a conversation, but I’ve worked through it now. It was a terrible thing you did.”
She bows her head. “I know. I’m so sorry.”
“It was wrong of me to hide my relationship with Joel, too, and I’m sorry for that.”
“I was complicit. I never admitted it to myself, but I did know you two were in love. It was so obvious sometimes.”
I incline my head. “It was? What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure.” She looks toward the top of the sea stacks, back to me. “Like you moved in tandem, as if you knew what the other person would do. It started at the beginning.”