aware of how Arden was changing, but living with her in the Nantucket house was a whole new experience. Meg expected Arden to favor her over Jenny; after all, Meg and Arden were half sisters, not stepsisters. But Arden treated Meg with the same disdain as she treated Jenny. It was confusing, and it hurt.
When they first arrived on the island, as they lugged their duffel bags up the stairs, Arden said to Meg, “I’m taking the back bedroom this year.”
“But I choose the back bedroom,” Meg protested. “I can pretend I’m a writer there.”
“Tough. I’m taking it.”
Meg changed tack. “Your bedroom is so much prettier, with all the mermaids. You’ve got so much more space.”
Arden had whipped around and hissed at Meg, “Yeah, and I can lie there and hear Dad and Justine talking and laughing. The happy married couple. They always make me turn down my music.” She stormed past Meg, dragging her luggage, down the hall, into the back bedroom, and slammed the door.
Unhappily, Meg had moved into the mermaid bedroom, which was pleasant, she had to admit. She didn’t know why Arden had been so upset, but she didn’t have a portable CD player, and she didn’t listen to Nirvana. She was twelve, but a young, unformed twelve, continuing her lifelong obsession with reading. More and more aware of her weight, she didn’t want to go to the beach as often, or out for an ice cream cone. Jenny got cranky because Megwas always reading. Arden was either out of the house or locked in her room, and she refused to play any board games, ever, which limited what Meg and Jenny could play. Meg could overhear her father and Justine arguing about the girls: Justine wanted Rory to make Arden be polite and Meg stop being such an introvert. Rory reminded Justine she was talking about teenagers.
By July, the atmosphere in the house was radioactive. Arguments erupted. Doors were slammed.
Since Justine cooked for all five in the family, she insisted that the three girls take turns cleaning the kitchen after dinner. One night Arden wandered into the house shortly after seven, when the others had just finished their evening meal and were still sitting around the dining room table.
“Where have you been?” Rory demanded.
“Walking.” Arden shrugged, reaching over to pick up a carrot from Meg’s plate.
Justine said, “We’ve finished dinner.”
Arden tossed her head. “Fine. I’m not hungry.”
“It’s your night to do the dishes,” Jenny reminded her.
“Since I didn’t eat, I shouldn’t have to do the dishes,” Arden countered.
A silence fell, the calm before the storm.
“I cooked enough food for you. I set a place for you. It is your turn to do the dishes.” Justine spoke calmly, but anger made her voice tremble.
“I don’t agree,” Arden responded, cool as ice.
Justine made a small gasp. She shot Rory a black look. When he didn’t speak, Justine shoved back her chair, rose from the table, and approached Arden. “While you’re living in this house, you’ll do as you’re told.”
Meg rushed to intervene. “I’ll do the dishes tonight. Really, I don’t mind.”
Arden gave a fake bitter snorting laugh. “Oh, Christ, Meg, you’re such a pussy!”
Justine slapped Arden’s face. “Don’t you use that language in my house.”
Arden went white, tears shimmering at the edges of her eyes, lips trembling. Meg jumped up from the table and rushed to put her arms around her.
“Don’t you hit my sister!” she spat at Justine.
Eventually, Rory had resolved the argument by laying down the law: Whether or not Arden ate with them, she had to do the dishes on her night.
From then on, Arden’s presence in the house created tension. Meg went to the library more or hid in her room, reading. She began to sneak candy bars into her room to nibble. She felt a void deep inside she couldn’t seem to fill.
Meg lay on the beach in the sunshine, a grown woman shaken to her core by memories. She warned
When they first arrived on the island, as they lugged their duffel bags up the stairs, Arden said to Meg, “I’m taking the back bedroom this year.”
“But I choose the back bedroom,” Meg protested. “I can pretend I’m a writer there.”
“Tough. I’m taking it.”
Meg changed tack. “Your bedroom is so much prettier, with all the mermaids. You’ve got so much more space.”
Arden had whipped around and hissed at Meg, “Yeah, and I can lie there and hear Dad and Justine talking and laughing. The happy married couple. They always make me turn down my music.” She stormed past Meg, dragging her luggage, down the hall, into the back bedroom, and slammed the door.
Unhappily, Meg had moved into the mermaid bedroom, which was pleasant, she had to admit. She didn’t know why Arden had been so upset, but she didn’t have a portable CD player, and she didn’t listen to Nirvana. She was twelve, but a young, unformed twelve, continuing her lifelong obsession with reading. More and more aware of her weight, she didn’t want to go to the beach as often, or out for an ice cream cone. Jenny got cranky because Megwas always reading. Arden was either out of the house or locked in her room, and she refused to play any board games, ever, which limited what Meg and Jenny could play. Meg could overhear her father and Justine arguing about the girls: Justine wanted Rory to make Arden be polite and Meg stop being such an introvert. Rory reminded Justine she was talking about teenagers.
By July, the atmosphere in the house was radioactive. Arguments erupted. Doors were slammed.
Since Justine cooked for all five in the family, she insisted that the three girls take turns cleaning the kitchen after dinner. One night Arden wandered into the house shortly after seven, when the others had just finished their evening meal and were still sitting around the dining room table.
“Where have you been?” Rory demanded.
“Walking.” Arden shrugged, reaching over to pick up a carrot from Meg’s plate.
Justine said, “We’ve finished dinner.”
Arden tossed her head. “Fine. I’m not hungry.”
“It’s your night to do the dishes,” Jenny reminded her.
“Since I didn’t eat, I shouldn’t have to do the dishes,” Arden countered.
A silence fell, the calm before the storm.
“I cooked enough food for you. I set a place for you. It is your turn to do the dishes.” Justine spoke calmly, but anger made her voice tremble.
“I don’t agree,” Arden responded, cool as ice.
Justine made a small gasp. She shot Rory a black look. When he didn’t speak, Justine shoved back her chair, rose from the table, and approached Arden. “While you’re living in this house, you’ll do as you’re told.”
Meg rushed to intervene. “I’ll do the dishes tonight. Really, I don’t mind.”
Arden gave a fake bitter snorting laugh. “Oh, Christ, Meg, you’re such a pussy!”
Justine slapped Arden’s face. “Don’t you use that language in my house.”
Arden went white, tears shimmering at the edges of her eyes, lips trembling. Meg jumped up from the table and rushed to put her arms around her.
“Don’t you hit my sister!” she spat at Justine.
Eventually, Rory had resolved the argument by laying down the law: Whether or not Arden ate with them, she had to do the dishes on her night.
From then on, Arden’s presence in the house created tension. Meg went to the library more or hid in her room, reading. She began to sneak candy bars into her room to nibble. She felt a void deep inside she couldn’t seem to fill.
Meg lay on the beach in the sunshine, a grown woman shaken to her core by memories. She warned
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