Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The summer I was twelve and Zilla was ten, the house changed. There were strange electric currents all originating from our mother. So Zilla and I spent the summer absolutely wild. The staff attempted to rein us in, make us bathe and feed us meals at the table, but Mom with a negligent wave of her hand, ordained our madness. We practically lived under the willow tree by the pond, returning to the house to get jars of peanut butter and cheese sticks from the fridge. Mom would go days without talking to us or seeing us, and then suddenly we’d be whisked up and taken to the city for dinners at fancy restaurants that had to accommodate us in our grubby summer clothes because of who Mom was. If she noticed how dirty we were, how red from days spent outdoors, our complexions an absolute explosion of freckles, she never said. She said nothing about how small all my clothes were. Or how self-conscious I was of the sudden puffiness of my nipples under my t-shirt.

We, however, noticed how Mom grew thinner and thinner. How she smoked non-stop and seemed to have conversations with people who weren’t there.

Mom had turned off the central air and opened the windows, letting in all the heat and humidity, telling us we needed to actually feel the weather instead of living in zip lock bags. I didn’t know what that meant, but it was really hot in our house. We only knew Dad was home because the air would be back on.

But, on what felt like the hottest day of that summer, after a night the cicadas had kept us up with their noise, I was lying listless and sweating in the living room when Zilla came running past me.

“Come on,” she said and kept running. Through the living room, out the formal dining room, out the sliding doors through the sun room where Mom was sleeping in the shade.

I followed. Of course I followed. I chased my sister across the bright green lawn all the way down to the willow tree at the corner of the property right by the pond.

“What are you doing?” I asked, pushing aside the long snaky branches to find my sister Zilla with two cans of Coke she’d snuck out of the fridge. Mom drank the Coke with rum on nights when Dad was working, which that summer was every night. Sometimes Mom would let us have sips. But whole cans were reserved for special occasions that never seemed to come.

In the house where there were no rules, it was the only rule. The Coke was not for us.

“Oh my gosh, you stole them from the fridge.”

“Stole? We live here too.”

There was an argument to be made against Zilla. And usually I made them. But cold drops of condensation were gliding down the bright red cans, and I was so thirsty. And so tired. And, though I’d never say it out loud, so scared of what was happening in our house.

“No one is going to know,” Zilla said, which really wasn’t true, but for a second I decided to believe her. To let the future worry about itself.

We popped open the tops and drank down half the cans in big, long gulps.

The sugar and the cold and the thrill of it went right to my head. I stood up and kicked off my flip flops and peeled off my shorts.

“What are you doing?” Zilla asked.

“I’m going swimming.”

“Naked?” Zilla cried like it was scandalous and amazing. And it was. I was. We went swimming plenty, but always in our swimsuits. Which hung in the tree we were standing under. It would take nothing to just pull them on. But I wasn’t going to waste a precious minute pulling on last year’s speedo that was too small and left bright red marks on my shoulders and thighs.

“Yep.”

Naked as the day I was born, I pushed out from beneath the willow limbs that swept across the bright purple and white heads of the wild violets and went sprinting to the pond.

At the muddy edge of the black water, I paused. Courage deserting me. There were gardeners. And people around. Mom always said there were snakes in the pond, but that never seemed to bother me when I had my suit on. And then Zilla came sprinting past me into the water. Her naked body an arrow into the deep. She surfaced, hair streaming over her wildly happy face.

“Don’t chicken out now!” she cried, and I raced in after her.

I could count on my hand the number of times I’d been brave. That was one of them. It was hard to remember if marrying the senator had been brave, I’d felt so scared. So desperate to make sure my sister was safe that I would have done anything.

As soon as I got out of the car in front of my house, I could smell the fire my sister had built in the back. And I won’t lie, it gave me a pause. A quick second with my heart in my throat. Four years ago, we’d known Zilla was in trouble for a while, but when the fire happened after Dad died and the truth came out . . . it made her psychosis very real.

But that was four years ago, and she was better.

In the house, I kicked off my shoes, took off my jacket and grabbed my college sweatshirt I’d left in the kitchen. The benefit of no cleaning lady was that everything was exactly where I left it.

I opened the sliding doors to the back, and my sister turned in her seat.

“Finally,” she said.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I didn’t like fighting with you.”

“I don’t like fighting with you either,” I said.

“And since your husband isn’t here to kick me out, I thought I’d come make amends in person.” Zilla smiled at me, and I remembered that girl with the Coke cans beneath the willow tree with an ache so pure it took my breath away. “Are you mad?” Zilla asked in my silence.

“No.” I practically ran across the deck to hug her. “I’m sorry we fought, too. And I’m so glad you’re here. Are you cold?”

“No. This fire is kinda amazing, if I do say so myself,” Zilla said. I felt the heat all along my side and realized she’d pushed the chairs back so she wouldn’t roast. Don’t say anything, I told myself. Every fire doesn’t have to circle back to that fire.

“Are you hungry?”

“No. I’m fine. Just . . . sit with me.”

I sat beside her in the cushioned love seat. We sat facing each other. Both of us with our legs tucked up, an arm stretched across the back of the cushions.

“Hey,” I said, not wanting to think about my sister and fires. “Remember that summer we practically lived under the willow tree?”

“Of course. We were feral.”

I laughed. “Do you remember the day with the Cokes?”

“And the skinny-dipping?” Zilla laughed, her face lit up by the fire. “I’ll never forget your bare butt running out to that pond. I could not believe you were doing it.”

“Me neither, frankly. I blame the pop.”

“Whatever lets you sleep at night.” Zilla laughed. “But I always thought you were a little more wild than you let on. You just needed a reason.”

I thought of Ronan and the way he made me feel. Like I was touching a part of myself that I never knew existed. Like a lost moon.

“Dad was pissed,” Zilla said.

“What are you talking about? Dad never found out.”

Zilla looked at me, earnest and serious, clear and focused. “Of course he did, Poppy,” she said almost like she pitied me. “The housekeeper told him everything we did that summer.”

“What? Why didn’t he say anything? Or do anything?”

“To stop Mom? To take care of us? I have no idea. But the skinny dipping got placed firmly on my shoulders, and I got spanked. For real.”

I blinked, searching through my memory for some proof of this. But there was none. We swam. Went inside and ate turkey sandwiches. I finished reading Twilight. Zilla fell asleep in the recliner, snoring in the heat.

“That night,” Zilla said. “When Dad came home. He called me into his office.”

“But why didn’t I get in trouble too?”

“Because I said it was only me. And he believed me.”

“But it was both of us.”

“Yeah, I know, dummy. I was protecting you. I know that seems inconceivable, but I’ve done things too, you know. To take care of you. To make sure you were okay.”

The fierce edge in her voice made me sit up straight. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh don’t look so scared, Poppy. Nothing dramatic. I’m just saying some things are worth the consequences.”

I thought of Ronan and had to agree.

“Where have you been?” Zilla asked.

“In the city,” I said with a sigh. “I’m taking the executive director position at the foundation.”

Zilla’s eyebrows hit her hairline.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing. It’s just . . . do you want to do that?”

“Why is that suddenly what everyone is asking me? No one has ever cared so much about what I do with my life.”

“That’s not true,” Zilla said with her fierceness. “It’s just been a while since you had a choice.”

“Do you think I can’t do it?”

“I think you can do whatever you want, but you’ve been making decisions based on the opinions of other people for a while now. You should get to decide for yourself.”

How politely everyone said it. It was like we were all speaking code.

“It’s nice to have something to do,” I said. “To be useful.”

“You could be useful in a million ways,” Zilla said. “Not just in the ways she allows you to be.”

“She being Caroline?”

Zilla shrugged.

What would it be like, I wondered, to live like Zilla. To not see or not care about all the strings that attached us to other people. All the ways our actions had consequences and those consequences had consequences. To do whatever I wanted was not an option I’d ever had.

“You’ve never liked her,” I said.

“I never liked how much you liked her. She isn’t our mom.”

“I know that. But she helped us when—”

Zilla turned to face me, the fire flickering in her eyes. “Did she though? She’s richer than god, but instead of, I don’t know, loaning you money for school. Loaning me money for Belhaven. Instead of—”

I tried. I really did try not to scoff, but a sound came out of my throat anyway.

“She married you off.” She spat the words at me.

“That’s not true,” I said. “And you can’t be angry because she didn’t just give us money. We had no right to expect that.”

“She married you off,” Zilla said again. Each word a bullet, and I tried not to flinch. “To a guy who hurt you. And she knew he was doing it, didn’t she?”

I felt myself go still. The lie too slow to my lips.

“I knew it,” she said and stood up. “She knew and let me guess . . . She sent you back to him? Tell me, Poppy. How exactly did she help you?”

“She helped you!” I cried, getting to my feet.

Yes. Of course, I’d wondered when Caroline suggested it, why I had to marry the senator. Why she couldn’t help me get a job. Or yes, even loan us the money. But those weren’t solutions to the problem of Belhaven and the banks.

“Don’t,” Zilla said. “Don’t do that. Don’t hide behind me. She manipulated you.”

“Manipulated?” I cried. “You’re safe. I’m safe. We’re . . . fucking rich, Zilla.”

“Don’t pretend like you care about the money.”

“Don’t pretend like the money doesn’t help us!”

Maybe it was the reflection of the fire, but my sister’s eyes were wild. “The money. This—” she looked over my head at the house behind me, “—it’s a fucking jail. And you know it. She put you in jail.”

“Why? Why would she do that? Do you hear yourself, Zilla?”

She sighed heavily through her nose. “I’m clear. I’m on my meds. I’m fine. I’m just finally telling you what I’ve thought for a long time. Which is . . . Caroline is using you for something. I don’t know what.”

Paranoid delusions. Zilla’s specialty.

I stood up. “I’m exhausted, and I’m going to bed. You’re welcome to stay. But put the fire out before you come to bed.”