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Lena wouldn't. She crossed her arms stubbornly over her pajama top.
“Okay, don't,” Effie said. “I know it's true anyway.”
“Well, you're wrong,” Lena snapped babyishly.
Effie sat down on the bed. Her face was serious now. “Lena, listen to me, okay? We don't have much more time here. You are in love. I've never seen anything like this before. You have to be brave, okay? You have to go and tell Kostos how you feel. I swear to God if you don't, you will regret it for the rest of your cowardly life.”
Lena knew this was all true. Effie had hit the mark so blatantly, Lena didn't even bother refuting it. “But, Ef,” she said, her voice belying her raw agony, “what if he doesn't like me back?”
Effie considered this. Lena waited, expecting, hoping for reassurance. She wanted Effie to say that of course Kostos liked her back. How could he not? But Effie didn't say that.
Instead she took Lena's hand in hers. “That's what I mean about being brave.”
Bailey was looking at Tibby when she woke up in the hospital bed. So was the nurse carrying Bailey's breakfast tray. Bailey looked pleased. The nurse looked slightly annoyed.
“I hope you enjoyed your rest,” the nurse said, looking up at Tibby from under her eyebrows and giving her a small half-smile.
Tibby slid off the bed. “Sorry,” she said groggily. She'd left a spot of drool on Bailey's pillow.
The nurse shook her head. Her face wasn't mean. “Mrs. Graffman was quite surprised to find you here last night,” she said to Tibby. “Next time I suggest you try coming during regular visiting hours.” She looked from Tibby to Bailey. “I hear you know this young lady.”
Bailey nodded. She was still lying back, but her eyes were alert.
“Thanks,” Tibby said.
The nurse checked the chart at the bottom of Bailey's bed. “I'll be back in a few minutes in case you need any help with that.” She gestured with her eyes toward the breakfast tray.
“I don't,” Bailey said.
The nurse gave Tibby a stern glance before she left the room. “Don't eat her breakfast.”
“I won't,” Tibby promised.
“Come back,” Bailey said, bouncing her hand slightly on the bed.
Tibby got back on. “Hi,” she said. She almost said, “How are you feeling?” but she managed not to.
“You're wearing the Pants,” Bailey observed.
“I needed help,” Tibby explained.
Bailey nodded.
“Mimi died.” Tibby could not believe she'd said those words. Without warning she started to cry big, sloppy tears.
One delicate tear trailed down Bailey's face. “I knew something was wrong,” she said.
“I'm sorry,” Tibby said.
Bailey shook her head to fend off the apology. “I knew you were here last night. It gave me good dreams.”
“I'm glad.”
Bailey looked at the clock. “You have to go. Your shift is starting in thirteen minutes.”
“What?” Tibby was genuinely confused.
“Wallman's.”
Tibby brushed it aside with her hand. “It doesn't matter.”
Bailey looked serious. “It does too matter. It's your job. Duncan counts on you, you know. Go.”
Tibby looked at her in disbelief. “You really want me to go?”
“Yes.” She softened a little. “I want you to come back, though.”
“I will,” Tibby said.
When she got to the lobby, Carmen was sitting there. She got up when she saw Tibby and hugged her. Tibby hugged back.
“I have to go to work,” Tibby said numbly.
Carmen nodded. “I'll walk you.”
“I have my bike.”
“So I'll walk you and your bike,” Carmen said.
“Oh, wait.” Carmen stopped just inside the automatic doors. “I need the Pants.”
“Right now?”
“I think so,” Carmen said.
“I'm kind of wearing them,” Tibby pointed out.
Carmen took her arm and pulled her into the bathroom. She took off her baby-blue flares and offered them to Tibby.
It was further proof of the magic of the Pants, how fantastic Carmen looked in them and how laughably dumb Tibby looked in Carmen's baby-blue ones.
Though Carmen had slept in every morning until at least ten o'clock for the past two weeks, on the morning of August 19, she sprang out of bed with the sun. She knew what she was going to do. She pulled on the Pants, loving the snug, perfect fit around her hips. It felt like they loved her. She pushed her feet into leopard-print slides and quickly fastened the pearl buttons of a black collared shirt. She shook out her voluminous hair, still clean from being washed last night. She jabbed silver hoops through her earlobes.
She left a note for her mom on the kitchen table and heard the phone ringing as she sailed toward the door. It was Mr. Brattle, she could see from the caller ID. She let him ring himself out. She wouldn't torture him today.
She took a bus to the airport, where she picked up an expensive round-trip ticket that she'd reserved last night with her father's “emergencies and books” credit card.
She slept peacefully across three seats on the two-hour flight to Charleston, waking only for the snack. Today, she ate the apple.
She used up some time reading magazines in the Charleston International Airport; then she took a cab to the Episcopal church on Meeting Street. This time the live oaks and beard-trailing pecan trees looked nicely familiar.
She arrived a few minutes before the ceremony was to begin. The ushers had finished ushering, and the congregation was assembled among giant bouquets of purple and white blossoms. She tucked herself anonymously into the shadowed back row. She could recognize two of her aunts in the second row. Her stepgrandmother, whom nobody liked, sat next to her aunts. Otherwise Carmen didn't know a single guest on her father's side of the aisle. It was sad how couples only seemed to have couple friends and lost them all once they stopped being a couple.
Suddenly her father appeared at the side door, tall and distinguished in a tuxedo, with Paul in an identical tuxedo standing by. Paul was his best man, she realized. She waited to feel the bile leak through her, but it didn't. Paul looked so serious about his job as best man. Albert and Paul looked right together with their light hair and matching heights. Her father was lucky, she knew.
The bride music started. First to emerge was Krista, looking like a piece of candy in her dress. She looked nice, Carmen decided. Her skin was so pale it looked blue underneath. The music seemed to notch up in volume, a dramatic pause elapsed, and Lydia appeared.
There was something about a wedding. It didn't matter that Lydia was in her forties and wore a silly dress. She was transformed by grace as she walked up the aisle, and Carmen felt just as moved as she was supposed to. Lydia's smile was the perfect bride's smile, shy but sure. Her father's eyes feasted upon his bride's perfection. Once she arrived beside him, the four family members made a crowded half circle beneath the altar.
Carmen felt a momentary pang, seeing the family arranged like that. They wanted you there too. You were supposed to be there.
Carmen let herself be hypnotized by the sawing of the cellist, the smell of the candles, and the drone of the minister. She forgot that she was the daughter of the groom and that she was dressed inappropriately. She left her body and traveled high up into the arches, where she could see everything, the big picture.
It wasn't until they were marching back down the aisle that her father found her eyes and pulled her from the ceiling and into her body. The look on his face made her want to stay there.
Diana somehow managed to make her brownies in the camp kitchen. Ollie tried to give her a back rub. Emily offered to lend Bridget her Discman.
They were all worried about her. She heard them whispering when they thought she was asleep.
She went to dinner with them the next night, just because she was sick of them clucking around her and bringing back care packages. There was a pile of rotting food under her bed.
After dinner, Eric came over and asked her to take a walk with him. It surprised her, coming from the man who would not be caught. She said yes.
They walked over the headlands to the main part of the Coyote beach. In silence they walked past the RVs to a secluded place at the end, where palm trees and cacti took over the sand. The sunset was fiery behind their backs.
“I was worried about you. After the game yesterday and everything . . .” His eyes told her he meant it.
She nodded. “I don't always play well.”
“But you've got a spectacular talent, Bridget. You must know that. You know that everybody thinks you're a star.”
Bridget liked compliments as well as the next person, but she didn't need this one. She knew how she was.
He dug into the sand. He smoothed the walls of the hole he'd made. “I was worried that what happened between us . . . I was worried that you were hurt by it. Maybe more than I understood at the time.”
She nodded again.
“You haven't had much experience with guys, have you?” he asked. His voice was gentle. There was nothing demanding. He was trying to help.
