What My Sister Remembered (12 page)

BOOK: What My Sister Remembered

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“Uh-huh, and she told Beth that she was lucky to have parents who loved her and that she had to stop being angry.”

“Are you sure Lisa said all that?”

“Oh yes. Then, later, she started talking about her heartburn again.”

My mother smiled. “Well, I guess maybe even she has a few good points. I tell you what, though. I really liked Ginger. She’s about the first friend of Jeff’s I’ve ever liked.”

“She’s crazy about him,” I said.

“Jeff?” My mother rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. “Well, I must say she’s a nice, polite girl. And her clothes were very neat. Maybe she’ll have a good influence on him.”

“What a voice!” said my father. “She can really blast you out of your seat with a voice like that.”

“And I was surprised at those cute songs Jeff was singing with Beth. He really can come up with some nice songs—some nice, clean songs—if he tries.”

“He’s going to California for Christmas,” I told my parents. “Aunt Helene invited him and Ginger, and they said yes. They invited me too.”

“Well, that’s okay.” My father lit another cigarette.

My mother didn’t say anything.

“I don’t think I’ll go.”

“You can go if you want to,” said my mom, “She’s a nice person, I guess, Mrs. Lattimore, and Beth
...
well
...
Beth is your sister.”

“She doesn’t feel like my sister,” I said. I didn’t say that we both feel awkward when we’re together or that Beth really doesn’t like me. It’s not a good feeling knowing somebody doesn’t like you, even if you know why. I would like to see her house, though, and check out those bathrooms. But not for a while. “Besides, I’d rather stay home. We had a lot of fun last year.”

“Jeff won’t be here,” my mother said. “I hope he doesn’t stay too long with the Lattimores. Sometimes that boy doesn’t have any sense at all.”

“We’ll have Alex and Lisa—and the new little guy,” said my dad.

“I hope they don’t call him Stuart,” I said. “That’s a terrible name for a boy.” I leaned back against my mother, and I felt such a rush of happiness that I had to close my eyes to keep it all inside of me.

“You know something?” my father said. “It’s crazy, but I’m actually hungry.”

“Me too.” I opened my eyes. “And we’ve got lots of lasagna left and salad and French bread.”

My father waved impatiently. “I don’t want any bread or salad—but a little piece of that lasagna— cold lasagna ... How about you, Karen?”

“No, I’m not hungry. But I am thirsty.”

“They drank up all the lemonade,” I said. “But there’s 7-up and Diet Coke.”

“Funny how she remembered that I used to make lemonade.” My mother smoothed my hair. “Kathy used to love it, too, the way Beth does, but you”—she smiled at me—”you always hated it, and the boys didn’t care one way or the other. I guess I stopped making it after Kathy died, and Beth ... Beth went away. I forgot how I used to make it all the time.”

“She’s a good kid, basically, that Beth,” said my father. “She’s smart and talented, and I have to hand it to her how she’s interested in the world. She’ll make something of herself, you can be sure of that. But the things she remembers make her angry. And she has some memory. Maybe it’s not so good having such a memory.”

“She forgot about the baby doll with the pink dress,” I said.

“I hope she’ll begin to forget other things too,” said my mother, easing me off her lap.

“What are you doing?” I complained.

“I’m going to get some food for you and Daddy.”

“I’ll help,” said my father, beginning to rise.

“No, Walter. I think I’d like a few minutes by myself.” My mother walked out of the room, and my father and I looked at each other.

“She’s still upset,” my father whispered.

“I know.”

“It’s too bad.” My father shook his head and took a deep puff at his cigarette. “She’s a wonderful woman, your mother, and I gave her a terrible time of it.”

“It’s all over, Daddy,” I said, moving over to him. “You heard what Lisa said. We have to forgive and forget.”

I sat down on his lap and rested my head against his chest. I knew he was feeling bad, and I loved him so much, I wanted to do something to make him feel better. The smell of his cigarette was caught up by the fan and circulated around me. “Daddy,” I said, “you have to stop smoking or you’ll get cancer. It was in the newspaper today, Beth said.” The paper was lying, neatly folded, over on the ledge in front of the window. I jumped off his lap, picked it up, and began leafing through it. “I’ll find it for you, Daddy. I want you to live a long, long time. I want my children—"

“Molly!” My father’s face was twisted up in horror. “Molly, you’re sounding just like Beth. Don’t tell me you’re going to turn out like her.”

I giggled and continued sifting through the paper. I knew I wasn’t going to turn out like Beth. I didn’t know who or what I was going to turn out like, but I knew I was happy and I knew I wasn’t afraid.

With love to my daughter-in-law,

Ann Rendahl

Originally published by Dutton Juvenile [0525449531]

Electronically published in 2012 by Belgrave House

No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part,

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information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San

Francisco, CA 94117-4228

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are