Envy

they’d seen Mrs. Berkley outside of the family’s restaurant, the Timberline, a breakfast and burger place with good food and a sign over the counter:

Neither could be sure when the last time was they’d come over to visit. It might have been back in middle school. Katelyn had sort of slipped away insofar as their friendship was concerned. For most of Port Gamble Elementary, they had been in the same circle of happy little girls that once filled the front row of Ms. Paulson’s second-grade class. Mrs. Berkley had been their Daisy troop leader. She was different then, prettier, more serene. Watching her and the other moms of Port Gamble, Hayley and Taylor understood as well as any young girl that with beauty came power. This was before Disney princesses could get what they wanted without having to resort to kicking serious butt.

And yet, kicking butt, the Ryans knew from experience, definitely had its own set of empowering charms.

Mrs. Berkley, on the other hand, had let her strong points fade since the crash. Gossip all over town had it that she was a big drinker, and there was little in the way of excuses one could conjure to suggest otherwise.

When she opened the door, she didn’t speak for a moment. Her hair was a black octopus, her makeup was raccoon-smudged, and her bird legs shook under her crumbling frame. She was the sum of animal parts, like a mutant cross-breeding experiment gone completely haywire.

Hayley and Taylor, shivering on the doorstep, proffered the cookies.

“Come inside,” Sandra said, a sharp waft of booze emitting with her breath.

Hayley looked at Taylor, then back at Mrs. Berkley.

“We don’t want to be in the way,” she said, pushing the cookies at the dead girl’s mother once more.

Mrs. Berkley took the container and smiled faintly.

Was it wistful? A sad smile? A reaction to the kindness of Valerie Ryan?

“I was hoping some of her good friends would come by. Katelyn’s friends meant so much to her.”

The twins stepped into the house, and before they could say something about the fact that they hadn’t seen much of Katelyn lately, they were in the middle of a swarm of relatives and friends who had convened to support the family during the most difficult of circumstances.

“These are two of Katelyn’s best friends,” Sandra Berkley said to an older woman with thin lips and a wattle-neck whom the girls presumed to be Katelyn’s grandmother, Nancy.

“Hayley?” the grieving mom asked, pointing tentatively. “And Taylor, right?”

She was wrong, but it didn’t matter. After all, they were suddenly “best friends” of the girl they no longer really knew.

“They’ve brought some treats,” Sandra said.

“This isn’t a party.” The older woman sniffed.

Hayley didn’t know what to say. Even though she had agreed to bring them over, she had thought the cookies were a crappy idea in the first place.

“My mom made them,” Taylor said. “They were Katelyn’s favorite whenever she hung out at our place. Always had at least two.”

It was a good save. Taylor was like that. She could always be counted on to think fast on her feet. If Mrs. Berkley was so deluded as to think that she and her sister and Katelyn were the best of friends, she could go along with it.

“Katelyn never knew when to quit. If she hadn’t been eating all the time she would have made cheer,” the grandmother said.

“That’s enough, Mom,” Sandra said, shooting what had to have been a practiced glare in the direction of a woman who’d clearly been more interested in bitching about something than grieving.

And yes, both girls thought, Katelyn had put on a few pounds. She wasn’t mom-jeans fat, but she was a few cookie trays short of it.

“Really sorry about Katelyn,” Taylor said.

“Sorry doesn’t do much for a broken heart,” the grandmother said.

Hayley didn’t take the bait. Instead, she smiled at the older woman, took her sister by the arm, and mumbled something about wanting to talk to Mr. Berkley.

Hayley led her sister into the living room, where most of the people belonging to the cars with out-of-state license plates were talking in quiet, anguished tones. The dining room chairs had been pulled from the big mahogany table and were arranged along the wall to provide necessary, but awkward, seating. The table itself was covered with an array of bowls of pretzels, chips, and platters of pinwheel sandwiches Hayley recognized as a Costco deli product.

Costco? Wow, that’s really sad, she thought. She hoped if she died her parents would at least have Subway cater a gathering in her memory.

Harper Berkley, it was clear, had been crying. He was a tall, balding man with caterpillar brows that could use a good waxing. His eyes were red-rimmed and his formidable presence had been Shrinky-Dinked by the circumstances. He looked so small, so sad. A woman neither girl recognized patted his shoulder.

“We’re very sorry about Katelyn,” Hayley said.

“We’re all in shock,” the woman said. “I’m Harper’s sister, Twyla. Katelyn’s aunt.”

As identical twins, the girls were genetic anomalies, not idiots. They knew that the dad’s sister would be Katelyn’s aunt. But now was probably not the time to point it out.

“These cookies were Katelyn’s faves. Just wanted to drop them off,” Taylor said.

“Yeah, she really liked our mom’s cooking,” Hayley echoed.

Harper thanked them with a quiet nod. To say anything was probably too painful. Sometimes one word can lead to a dam burst.

“Thank you for coming,” he finally choked out.

Taylor and Hayley stood there a second in uncomfortable silence before retreating toward the front door. Both wondered how it was that with the inevitability of death, no one really had anything to say about it. It was as if one of life’s pivotal moments—the final moment—was devoid of potential small talk. Death was a big, fat period to most people. Over and out. Dark and cold. A void.

By the staircase, Haley felt a tug.

Taylor whispered, “Gotta go up there.” She looked up the stairway’s too-narrow risers toward Katelyn’s bedroom.

Hayley shook her head emphatically. “No, we are most certainly not going up there. Aren’t you as creeped out by all of this as I am?”

“You mean the Costco sandwiches? Or that our supposed BFF is dead?”

Taylor started up the stairs, turning to her sister with one last look. “Hay, either you can come up with me, or you can make small talk with them.” She pointed back at the living area. “Remember the tugboat on the water? We’re supposed to ‘look.’ Well, we’re here. We might as well.”

“You win. I’m coming,” Hayley acquiesced as they crept up the uncarpeted wooden risers, careful not to make much noise. Old houses like that one did a fine job in the noise department all on their own. Downstairs, they could hear Katelyn’s grandmother complaining about something. A harsh, mean voice always travels like a slingshot.

Katelyn’s door was open a sliver. Taylor didn’t remark on it, but she noticed a faint black rectangle, an indicator of old adhesive residue on the door. She remembered how they’d made nameplates after touring a signage shop in Daisies. Katelyn’s, she remembered, was the standard issue of any preteen—KATIE’S ROOM: BOY-FREE ZONE!

Things had changed big-time since then.

They went inside, and Taylor closed the door behind them.

“What are we doing in here, anyway?” Hayley asked.

“Not sure,” Taylor said. “Why do you need a reason for everything?

Reason is something people say to make sense of things that don’t make sense.”

“Okay,” Hayley said, with a slight smile, “now that doesn’t make any sense.”

Taylor didn’t care. “Bite yourself,” she said.

The posters and color scheme had changed dramatically since they’d last stepped foot in Katelyn’s bedroom.