She needs psychiatric help.”
My godmother carried the colander to the sink, turning her back on me.
“She needs it now.”
“That’s your opinion,” Aunt Jule replied as she washed the berries.
“And Holly’s, and Frank’s. Frank says Nora is out of touch with reality and that it’s dangerous. He said one of these days she’s going to—”
“If you ask me, people out of touch with reality aren’t nearly as dangerous as lawyers like him who manipulate it.”
“At least have her evaluated by a professional,” I pleaded, “then we can decide from there.”
“We? You’ve become quite the grown-up, Lauren,” she observed.
“I meant you. But I’ll pay for it.”
“How nice of you!” she replied sarcastically.
I was baffled by her attitude.
She shook the water hard from the colander of berries.
“You stay away for seven years, Lauren, and after one day back, you start telling me how to fix things. You’re here for twenty-four hours and you’re cocksure you know what Nora needs.”
“All I’m saying is get her checked out. If a doctor says she needs treatment, I’ll pay for it, all of it.”
“Will you now? Sometimes, Lauren, you act just like Sondra, believing your money makes you superior, using your money to make other people do what you think they should do.”
“I care about Nora! I’m trying to help her!”
“You’re just like Sondra,” Aunt Jule went on, “deciding how other people should lead their lives, deciding what’s normal, what isn’t, what’s to be admired, what’s to be scorned. There are more ways to do it than your way.”
“But—”
“You walk like Sondra. You talk like Sondra. I hate it when you act like her.”
The bitterness I heard in Aunt Jule’s voice amazed me. I felt torn between insisting that I wasn’t like my mother — I had tried hard not to be — and defending her.
“Well, there is one thing my mother and I share,” I told her.
“Nora’s intense dislike for us.”
My godmother twisted plastic bags in her hands, then balled them up.
“Aunt Jule, have you ever thought about the fact that it was Nora who summoned us, Nora who said she found my mother floating in the water?”
I steeled myself, figuring my godmother would be furious at what I was suggesting, but she answered with a flick of her hand. “Of course I have. Sondra’s reckless death traumatized Nora as well as you, and I still haven’t forgiven her for that.”
I realized then that Aunt Jule would never consider the possibility that her daughter was responsible in some way.
Pressing the issue wouldn’t bring my mother back or get Nora the help she needed.
“Last night, after I was asleep, I thought I heard someone calling my name, calling it the same way my mother did. The door to the room where my mother had stayed was ajar and I went in. I found old tabloid pictures of her in the dresser, photos from that summer, her earrings, and her scarf, mixed in with items that belonged to Nora. Why would Nora have these things? Why would she think my mother is in the river or asleep in the boathouse? Don’t you see? She is obsessed with her. She needs—”
“Perhaps you’re the one obsessed,” Aunt Jule countered icily, “hearing Sondra’s voice calling you, reading into insignificant comments. It’s time to move on, Lauren, and clearly you haven’t.”
I wouldn’t give up. “Nora and I used to play together. We used to be friends. Why does she hate me now?”
“She doesn’t hate you.”
“Why does she act the way she does?” I persisted.
“Because you’ve grown into Sondra,” Aunt Jule replied, tight-lipped.
I looked her straight in the eye. “I don’t think so.”
We turned away from each other and worked silently for a minute.
“Aunt Jule, why did you stop the police from doing a full investigation?”
“I’m sorry,” she replied, setting down a bag of sugar, “I don’t think I heard you right, Lauren.”
I knew she had. “It would have been better to let them investigate my mother’s death so we could rule out everything but an accident.”
“You ungrateful brat! I was protecting you!”
She stalked out the porch door and slammed it shut. I stood quietly for several minutes, staring down at the cans I held, then continued to put things away. The tears were there again, burning my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall.
I spent an hour in my room, untying the tiny knots in my necklace, polishing the silver links and tarnished heart. I had seen Aunt Jule angry before — furious the summer my mother came — but her anger had never been directed at me, not until now. I felt as if I were reliving my mother’s stay here seven years ago.
I didn’t see Nora that afternoon, but I didn’t look for her, either. About five o’clock I took a walk and watched storm clouds mounting over the bay. Dinner was a sandwich alone in the kitchen. I didn’t know if Aunt Jule was still angry at me or simply wary after the argument. Returning to my room, I heard the radio in hers, but I didn’t stop by.
About six-thirty Holly knocked on my door, then entered, wiggling her fingers.
I admired her nails. “Fabulous!” I said.
“Fake,” she replied, “but what the heck. I put the boutonnieres in the fridge. Do you know how many girls would like to go to the prom with Jason?”
“Well, if anyone wants to take my place…” I began.
“Cut it out. You want the bathroom first? I’ve got to make sure these are dry.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll hang your dress on the closet door. You’ve got a pile of shoes to choose from.”
“Thanks for getting all that together.”
“Glad to,” she replied. “This is going to be great!”
When I returned from the bathroom twenty minutes later, I found the shoe boxes piled neatly and the dress hanging on the door. One look told me the gown wouldn’t fit, though it would have been perfect for Holly with her tall model-like frame. I figured it was hers-its blue matched her eyes.
“Jason had better not be picky about his last-minute dates,” I muttered as I unzipped the back.
When I put on the dress, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry; a sleeping bag would have been as flattering. I gathered the waist with my fingers, trying to shorten the dress and give it some shape, then padded down the hall toward Aunt Jule’s room to find something I could tie around me as a belt. I hoped she was in a better mood.
“Good Lord!” she exclaimed before I could say a word.
“Are you trying to be nominated for wallflower of the year?”
“I thought a belt might help.”
She clucked and came toward me. “It’s going to need more than that,” she said, grasping the fabric, lifting the dress up from my shoulders. “Perhaps your date can bring football pads.”
“I think he plays basketball.”
“Then we’ll have to use his shoes.”
I laughed, glad to know she was back to her old self.
With her hands still on my shoulders, she turned me around, then shook her head. “I don’t know why Holly thought her dress would fit you. Let’s see what I’ve got I may have to do some fast sewing.”
I followed her into the walk-in closet, a pleasantly chaotic room, where Nora, Holly, and I used to play. Aunt Jule suddenly seized on something. “This is it! Perfect. Halter tops never go out of style, not when you have pretty shoulders.”
She pulled out a rather slinky red dress.
“Wow.”
