she has in ages; there's a closeness and a tenderness that sure weren't there before. She doesn't want to leave him all alone in the cold earth. She wants to be near and tell him about her day and hear the jokes he used to tell when he was in a good mood. He hated lawyers, since none had ever saved him from serving jail time, and he collected attorney jokes. He had a million of them, and nothing could stop him from telling one when he had a mind to. Just before they'd pulled into the rest area in New Jersey, Jimmy had asked her what was brown and black and looked good on a lawyer. 'A rottweiler,' he'd told her. He seemed so happy at that moment, as if he'd had his whole life ahead of him. 'Think about it,' he'd said. 'You get it?'
Sometimes, when Gillian sits on the grass and closes her eyes, she could swear Jimmy is beside her. She can almost sense him reaching for her, the way he used to when he was drunk and mad and wanted to hit her or fuck her—she never quite knew which it would be until the very last moment. But as soon as he'd start to twist that silver ring on his finger, she knew she'd better watch out. When he feels too substantial out in the yard, and Gillian begins thinking about the way things used to be—really—Jimmy's presence doesn't feel friendly anymore. When that happens, Gillian runs inside and locks the back door and looks at the lilacs from behind the safety of the glass. He used to scare her pretty good; he used to make her do things she wouldn't even say aloud.
Truthfully, she's glad that she's been sharing a room with her niece; she's scared to sleep alone, so she's happy to make the trade-off of not having much privacy. This morning, for example, when Gillian opens her eyes, Kylie is already sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at her. It's only seven o'clock, and Gillian doesn't have to report to work until lunchtime. She groans and pulls the quilt over her head.
'I'm thirteen,' Kylie says with surprise, as though she herself were mystified that this has happened to her. It's the one thing she's wanted her whole life long, and now she's actually got it.
Gillian immediately sits up in bed and hugs her niece. She remembers exactly what a surprise it was to grow up, how disturbing and thrilling it was, how all-of-a-sudden.
'I feel different,' Kylie whispers.
'Of course you do,' Gillian says. 'You are.'
Her niece has been confiding in her more and more, maybe because they share a room and can whisper to each other, late at night, after the lights are out. Gillian is touched by the way Kylie studies her, as though she were a textbook on how to be a woman. She can't remember anybody ever looking up to her before, and the experience is intoxicating and puzzling at the same time.
'Happy birthday,' Gillian announces. 'It will be the best one yet.'
The scent of those damn lilacs has mixed in with the breakfast Sally is already cooking in the kitchen. But there's coffee, too, so Gillian crawls out of bed and gathers the clothes she left scattered on the floor last night. ,
'Wait till later,' Gillian tells her niece. 'When you get your present from me, you'll be completely transformed. One hundred and fifty percent. People will see you on the street and they'll flip.'
In honor of Kylie's birthday, Sally has fixed pancakes and fresh orange juice and fruit salad topped with coconut and raisins. Earlier in the morning, before the birds were awake, she went out to the rear of the yard and cut some of the lilacs, which she's arranged in a crystal vase. The flowers seem to glow, as if each petal emitted a plum-colored ray of light. They're hypnotizing, if you look too long. Sally sat at the table staring at them, and before she knew it she had tears in her eyes and her first batch of pancakes had burned on the griddle.
Last night, Sally dreamed the ground beneath the lilacs turned red as blood, and the grass made a crying sound when the wind rose. She dreamed that the swans that haunt her on restless nights were pulling out their white feathers, one by one; they were building a nest large enough for a man. Sally awoke to find that her sheets were damp with sweat; her forehead felt as though it had been locked in a vise. But that was nothing compared to the night before, when she dreamed there was a dead man here at her table, and he wasn't pleased with what she'd served him for dinner, which was vegetarian lasagna. With one fierce breath he blew every dish off the table; in an instant there was broken china everywhere, a sharp and savage carpet, strewn across the floor.
She's been dreaming about Jimmy so much, seeing his cold, clear eyes, that sometimes she can't think of anything else. She's carrying this guy around with her, when she never even knew him in the first place, and it just doesn't seem fair. The awful thing is, her relationship with this dead man is deeper than anything she's had with any other man in the past ten years, and that's frightening.
This morning Sally isn't certain if she's shaky from her dreams of Jimmy, or if it's the coffee she's already had that's affecting her, or if it's simply because her baby has now turned thirteen. It may be the potency of all three factors combined. Well, thirteen is still young, it doesn't mean Kylie is all grown. At least that's what Sally's telling herself. But when Kylie and Gillian come in for breakfast, their arms looped around each other, Sally bursts into tears. There's one factor she forgot to figure into her anxiety equation, and that's jealousy.
'Well, good morning to you, too,' Gillian says.
'Happy birthday,' Sally says to Kylie, but she sounds downright gloomy.
'Emphasis on the 'happy',' Gillian reminds Sally as she pours herself a huge cup of coffee.
Gillian spies her reflection in the toaster; this is not a good hour for her. She smooths out the skin near her eyes. From now on she will not get out of bed until nine or ten at the earliest, although sometime after noon would be preferable.
Sally hands Kylie a small box, wrapped with pink ribbon. Sally has been especially careful, monitoring her grocery spending and avoiding restaurants in order to afford this gold heart on a chain. She can't help but notice that before Kylie allows herself a reaction, she looks over at Gillian.
'Nice.' Gillian nods. 'Real gold?' she asks.
Sally can feel something hot and red begin to move across her chest and her throat. What if Gillian had said the locket was a piece of junk; what would Kylie have done then?
'Thanks, Mom,' Kylie says. 'It's really nice.'
'Which is amazing, since your mom usually has no taste when it comes to jewelry. But this is really good.' Gillian holds the chain up to her neck and lets the heart dangle above her breasts. Kylie has begun to pile pancakes onto a plate. 'You're going to eat those?' Gillian asks. 'All those carbohydrates?'
'She's thirteen. A pancake won't kill her.' Sally would like to strangle her sister. 'She's much too young to be thinking about carbohydrates.'
'Fine,' Gillian says. 'She can think about it when she's thirty. After it's too late.'
Kylie goes for the fruit salad. Unless Sally is mistaken, she's wearing Gillian's blue pencil streaked beneath her eyes. Kylie carefully scoops two measly spoonfuls of fruit into a bowl and takes teeny, tiny bites, even though she's nearly six feet tall and weighs only a hundred and eighteen pounds.
Gillian takes a bowl of fruit for herself. 'Come by the Hamburger Shack at six. That will give us some time before dinner.'
'Great,' Kylie says.
Sally's back is way up. 'Time for what?'
'Nothing,' Kylie says, sullen as a full-fledged teenager.
'Girl talk.' Gillian shrugs. 'Hey,' she says, reaching into the pocket of her jeans. 'I almost forgot.'
Gillian brings forth a silver bracelet that she picked up in a pawnshop east of Tucson for only twelve bucks, in spite of the impressive chunk of turquoise in its center. Someone must have been down-and-out to give this up so easily. She must have had no luck left at all.
'Oh, my gosh,' Kylie says when Gillian hands her the bracelet. 'It's totally fabulous. I'll never take it off.'
'I need to see you outside,' Sally informs Gillian.
Sally's face is flushed to the hairline, and she's twisted into jealous knots, but Gillian doesn't notice anything is wrong. She slowly refills her coffee cup, adds half-and-half, then ambles into the yard after Sally.
'I want you to butt out,' Sally says. 'Do you understand what I'm saying? Is it getting through to you?'
It rained last night and the grass is squishy and filled with worms. Neither of the sisters is wearing shoes, but it's too late to turn back and go into the house.
'Don't yell at me,' Gillian says. 'I can't take it. I'll flip out, Sally. I'm way too fragile for this.'
'I'm not yelling. All right? I'm just simply stating that Kylie is my daughter.'
'Do you think I'm not aware of that?' Gillian sounds icy now, except for the tremble in her voice, which gives her away.
