her chest. When we were younger, I used to want a bedroom like Cassie’s, with its little-girl
ruffles and lace and ballerina music boxes. Now I couldn’t imagine someone our age choosing to keep her room that way. Maybe Cassie acted younger than me because I had an older sister to
emulate, and she only had a bratty little brother. Or maybe it was because of her ordinary family, and their rules about shoes, and their regular, steady love.
“I can’t stay in that house,” I said.
“Is it your mother?” Cassie asked. She relaxed her grip on the pillow and her eyes softened a bit.
Cassie knew how much my mother had started drinking after Annie left home, but she didn’t know what it was like to live with her. It wasn’t like the movies, where the drunks are
always yelling and throwing vases at other people’s heads. Living with my mother was more like living with a very well-behaved ghost who occasionally woke you up in the middle of the night
rattling the doorknobs or crying softly.
I shook my head.
“I don’t believe you,” Cassie said.
“I’m not lying.”
“But you’re not telling the truth, either.”
“I have to be away for the next couple of days, and they can’t know where I am. I need you to cover for me. You probably won’t even have to lie to them. I doubt they’ll
even check.”
I tried to meet her eyes so she could see how truthful I was being, but she wouldn’t even look at me. There was a brass cup filled with a dozen identical fountain pens on Cassie’s
desktop. I picked one up and pulled off the cap, then put it back on, then I pulled it off again. When Cassie finally spoke, her words were half muffled by her pillow.
“I’m not going to help you disappear, Alice. I’m not going to lie for you if you’re trying to do what Annie did.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” I said.
“Then why can’t you tell me?”
Why couldn’t I? My sister was in the hospital. There was nothing shameful about that fact on its own. It was all the other parts I didn’t want to tell her. Annie might die, and I
hadn’t even told my parents where she was. I couldn’t decide whether that said more about them or me.
I took a deep breath and said, “If you need to reach me, and I mean if you
really
need to reach me, I’ll be at the County Hospital.”
“What are you doing there?”
“I can’t tell you.”
Cassie looked at the clock on her bedside table. “You should probably go. I’ve got chores.”
“Are you going to help me?” I asked.
I’d forgotten that Cassie had a habit of chewing on the inside of her cheek when she was upset about something.
“One day,” Cassie said. “If you’re not home by this time tomorrow, I’ll tell your mom.”
Ordinarily, I would have made a crack about tattling, but Cassie was clearly doing a number on herself with her molars. I was afraid she’d draw blood. I thanked her instead, but she
didn’t say, “You’re welcome.”
“Don’t make me sorry I helped you, Alice.”
I went downstairs, got my shoes, and showed myself out.
W hen I went back to the hospital, the first thing I did was to beg a pan, a sponge, and soap from the nurse’s station. Like most county
hospitals, this one was overcrowded and understaffed, and while Annie’s condition meant that she at least got her own room, the nurses hadn’t been so vigilant about less
life-threatening things like grooming. As gently as I could, I gave Annie a bath, washed her face, and brushed her hair.
For the first time since I’d come here, I tried to think of Annie as my sister. Not just the idea of a sister, not just the questions she raised and the dark, vengeful thoughts in my head
as I plotted against the people who’d hurt her. But my sister. My sister who knew me, understood me, and loved me like nobody else ever had. I couldn’t make her wake up, couldn’t
find the people who’d done this to her and make them pay, but at least I could do this for
ruffles and lace and ballerina music boxes. Now I couldn’t imagine someone our age choosing to keep her room that way. Maybe Cassie acted younger than me because I had an older sister to
emulate, and she only had a bratty little brother. Or maybe it was because of her ordinary family, and their rules about shoes, and their regular, steady love.
“I can’t stay in that house,” I said.
“Is it your mother?” Cassie asked. She relaxed her grip on the pillow and her eyes softened a bit.
Cassie knew how much my mother had started drinking after Annie left home, but she didn’t know what it was like to live with her. It wasn’t like the movies, where the drunks are
always yelling and throwing vases at other people’s heads. Living with my mother was more like living with a very well-behaved ghost who occasionally woke you up in the middle of the night
rattling the doorknobs or crying softly.
I shook my head.
“I don’t believe you,” Cassie said.
“I’m not lying.”
“But you’re not telling the truth, either.”
“I have to be away for the next couple of days, and they can’t know where I am. I need you to cover for me. You probably won’t even have to lie to them. I doubt they’ll
even check.”
I tried to meet her eyes so she could see how truthful I was being, but she wouldn’t even look at me. There was a brass cup filled with a dozen identical fountain pens on Cassie’s
desktop. I picked one up and pulled off the cap, then put it back on, then I pulled it off again. When Cassie finally spoke, her words were half muffled by her pillow.
“I’m not going to help you disappear, Alice. I’m not going to lie for you if you’re trying to do what Annie did.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” I said.
“Then why can’t you tell me?”
Why couldn’t I? My sister was in the hospital. There was nothing shameful about that fact on its own. It was all the other parts I didn’t want to tell her. Annie might die, and I
hadn’t even told my parents where she was. I couldn’t decide whether that said more about them or me.
I took a deep breath and said, “If you need to reach me, and I mean if you
really
need to reach me, I’ll be at the County Hospital.”
“What are you doing there?”
“I can’t tell you.”
Cassie looked at the clock on her bedside table. “You should probably go. I’ve got chores.”
“Are you going to help me?” I asked.
I’d forgotten that Cassie had a habit of chewing on the inside of her cheek when she was upset about something.
“One day,” Cassie said. “If you’re not home by this time tomorrow, I’ll tell your mom.”
Ordinarily, I would have made a crack about tattling, but Cassie was clearly doing a number on herself with her molars. I was afraid she’d draw blood. I thanked her instead, but she
didn’t say, “You’re welcome.”
“Don’t make me sorry I helped you, Alice.”
I went downstairs, got my shoes, and showed myself out.
W hen I went back to the hospital, the first thing I did was to beg a pan, a sponge, and soap from the nurse’s station. Like most county
hospitals, this one was overcrowded and understaffed, and while Annie’s condition meant that she at least got her own room, the nurses hadn’t been so vigilant about less
life-threatening things like grooming. As gently as I could, I gave Annie a bath, washed her face, and brushed her hair.
For the first time since I’d come here, I tried to think of Annie as my sister. Not just the idea of a sister, not just the questions she raised and the dark, vengeful thoughts in my head
as I plotted against the people who’d hurt her. But my sister. My sister who knew me, understood me, and loved me like nobody else ever had. I couldn’t make her wake up, couldn’t
find the people who’d done this to her and make them pay, but at least I could do this for
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