they told each other in flowery notes they wrote back and forth. Friends forever. They made up codes and secret languages. They’d pricked their fingers and solemnly smeared their blood together. There, they’d declared. Sisters.
They loved the same boys from TV shows and kissed posters and cried when the Bay City Rollers broke up and The Hardy Boys was canceled.
All this she told Gamache and Beauvoir.
“What happened?” the Chief asked quietly.
“How do you know anything happened?”
“Because you didn’t recognize her.”
Clara shook her head. What happened? How to explain it.
“Lillian was my best friend,” Clara repeated, as though needing to hear it again herself. “She saved my childhood. It would’ve been miserable without her. I still don’t know why she chose me as a friend. She could’ve had anyone. Everyone wanted to be Lillian’s friend. At least, at first.”
The men waited. The midday sun beat down on them, making it increasingly uncomfortable. But still they waited.
“But there was a price for being Lillian’s friend,” said Clara at last. “It was a wonderful world she created. Fun and safe. But she always had to be right, and she always had to be first. That was the price. It seemed fair at first. She set the rules and I followed. I was pretty pathetic anyway, so it was never an issue. It never seemed to matter.”
Clara took a deep breath. And exhaled.
“And then, it did seem to matter. In high school things began to change. I didn’t see it at first, but I’d call Lillian on Saturday night to see if she’d like to go out, to a movie or something, and she’d say she’d get back to me, but didn’t. I’d call again, to find she’d gone out.”
Clara looked at the three men. She could see that while they were following the words they weren’t necessarily following the emotions. How it felt. Especially that first time. To be left behind.
It sounded so small, so petty. But it was the first hairline fracture.
Clara hadn’t realized it at the time. She thought maybe Lillian’d forgotten. And besides, she had a right to go out with other friends.
Then, one weekend, Clara had arranged to go out with a new friend herself.
And Lillian had gone ballistic.
“It took months for her to forgive me.”
Now she saw it in Jean Guy’s face. A look of revulsion. For the way Lillian had treated her, or the way she’d taken it? How to explain it to him? How did she explain it to herself?
At the time it had seemed normal. She loved Lillian. Lillian loved her. Had saved her from the bullies. She’d never hurt Clara. Not on purpose.
If there was bad blood it must have been Clara’s fault.
Then everything would shift. All was forgiven and Lillian and Clara would be best friends again. Clara was invited back into the shelter that was Lillian.
“When did you first suspect?” Gamache asked.
“Suspect what?”
“That Lillian was not your friend.”
It was the first time she’d heard the words out loud. Said so clearly, so simply. Their relationship had always seemed so complex, fraught. Clara the needy, clumsy one. Dropping their friendship, breaking it. Lillian the strong, self-reliant one. Forgiving her. Picking up the pieces.
Until, one day.
“It was near the end of high school. Most girls fell out over boys or cliques, or just misunderstandings. Hurt feelings. Teachers and parents think those classrooms and hallways are filled with students but they’re not. They’re filled with feelings. Bumping into each other. Hurting each other. It’s horrible.”
Clara moved her arms off the Adirondack chair. They were baking in the sun. Now she folded them across her stomach.
“Things were going well for Lillian and me. There didn’t seem the wild ups and downs anymore. Then one day in art class our favorite teacher complimented me on a piece I’d done. It was the only class I was any good in, the only one I really cared about, though I did quite well in English and
They loved the same boys from TV shows and kissed posters and cried when the Bay City Rollers broke up and The Hardy Boys was canceled.
All this she told Gamache and Beauvoir.
“What happened?” the Chief asked quietly.
“How do you know anything happened?”
“Because you didn’t recognize her.”
Clara shook her head. What happened? How to explain it.
“Lillian was my best friend,” Clara repeated, as though needing to hear it again herself. “She saved my childhood. It would’ve been miserable without her. I still don’t know why she chose me as a friend. She could’ve had anyone. Everyone wanted to be Lillian’s friend. At least, at first.”
The men waited. The midday sun beat down on them, making it increasingly uncomfortable. But still they waited.
“But there was a price for being Lillian’s friend,” said Clara at last. “It was a wonderful world she created. Fun and safe. But she always had to be right, and she always had to be first. That was the price. It seemed fair at first. She set the rules and I followed. I was pretty pathetic anyway, so it was never an issue. It never seemed to matter.”
Clara took a deep breath. And exhaled.
“And then, it did seem to matter. In high school things began to change. I didn’t see it at first, but I’d call Lillian on Saturday night to see if she’d like to go out, to a movie or something, and she’d say she’d get back to me, but didn’t. I’d call again, to find she’d gone out.”
Clara looked at the three men. She could see that while they were following the words they weren’t necessarily following the emotions. How it felt. Especially that first time. To be left behind.
It sounded so small, so petty. But it was the first hairline fracture.
Clara hadn’t realized it at the time. She thought maybe Lillian’d forgotten. And besides, she had a right to go out with other friends.
Then, one weekend, Clara had arranged to go out with a new friend herself.
And Lillian had gone ballistic.
“It took months for her to forgive me.”
Now she saw it in Jean Guy’s face. A look of revulsion. For the way Lillian had treated her, or the way she’d taken it? How to explain it to him? How did she explain it to herself?
At the time it had seemed normal. She loved Lillian. Lillian loved her. Had saved her from the bullies. She’d never hurt Clara. Not on purpose.
If there was bad blood it must have been Clara’s fault.
Then everything would shift. All was forgiven and Lillian and Clara would be best friends again. Clara was invited back into the shelter that was Lillian.
“When did you first suspect?” Gamache asked.
“Suspect what?”
“That Lillian was not your friend.”
It was the first time she’d heard the words out loud. Said so clearly, so simply. Their relationship had always seemed so complex, fraught. Clara the needy, clumsy one. Dropping their friendship, breaking it. Lillian the strong, self-reliant one. Forgiving her. Picking up the pieces.
Until, one day.
“It was near the end of high school. Most girls fell out over boys or cliques, or just misunderstandings. Hurt feelings. Teachers and parents think those classrooms and hallways are filled with students but they’re not. They’re filled with feelings. Bumping into each other. Hurting each other. It’s horrible.”
Clara moved her arms off the Adirondack chair. They were baking in the sun. Now she folded them across her stomach.
“Things were going well for Lillian and me. There didn’t seem the wild ups and downs anymore. Then one day in art class our favorite teacher complimented me on a piece I’d done. It was the only class I was any good in, the only one I really cared about, though I did quite well in English and
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