Spiral (8 page)

Because when we emerge from the supermarket, we are swarmed by humans with cameras for heads. There are all types – fans holding up cell-phones, professional photographers, and news reporters with video cameras and microphones that they immediately thrust in her face.

“Cherie! Cherie how are you?”

“We love you Cherie!”

“We’re praying for you, Cherie!”

“Stop wearing furs! Do you know how many defenseless animals are killed for your stupid fur coats?”

“Cherie, will you still be hosting the New Year’s Ball with Caz?”

My head is spinning. We take a step left, and they step in our path. We swerve right, and there they are again, blocking our path. I look down at Cherie, who keeps her sunglasses down to hide her eyes. I can tell by her stiff, unsmiling mouth that she is unnerved. Her head hangs low, her shoulders curve inward, and she tucks her arms against her body. She is shrinking inside of herself.

But they don’t seem to notice. Or care.

“Cherie, are you going back to work on
Choc it Up?”

“Cherie, is it true you were drinking at a nightclub the evening your parents died?”

“Cherie, is Jack your new boyfriend?”

Britney cries out, “Jackie!” before I have a chance to digest that last question. I look down and see she is engulfed by the photographers.

I’ve tried to keep my cool up until now, but these people have crossed a line. Frustrated, I command, “Move!” They part immediately. I lean down and hoist my sister up in one arm. I reach out with my free hand and grab Cherie’s. Gritting my teeth, I lower my head and plow through the crowd like we’re one yard short of a first down, and I have been given the ball. Surprisingly, they get out of my way.

But it doesn’t stop the questions.

“Jack – Jack, are you and Cherie dating?”

“Cherie, how does it feel to be an orphan? Can you give us a statement?”

The barking continues to swirl and swim around my head as we walk hastily forward. I do my best to tune them out and protect the girls. They both look like they’re about to cry, and I’m not sure who needs more shielding. I quickly deposit Cherie into the front seat.

“Buckle Britney in when I put her in the car seat,” I command, and she nods. I swing around to my side and drop Britney, who has started to cry from all of the commotion, into the back. It’s the first time I have ever set her down in the car without checking that she was safely buckled, but I trust Cherie to take care of it. I jump inside, start the engine, and throw the stick shift into reverse.

The cameras are everywhere. I honk my horn and gesture for them to move. I can get in trouble if I hit someone, and I would definitely lose my license. Frustrated, I shout, “Get out of the way!” I’m almost ready to hit someone anyway. They seem to sense I’ve reached my limit of patience and start to back away from my bumpers.

“Thank you! Geez! How the hell did all those people know we were there?” I mutter, more to myself than to Cherie. “Only two guys were outside when we first got there!”

“Those two guys tell two guys, and pretty soon you have a gaggle of them at your door,” she replies.

I’m baffled. “Tell me that this is not every day of your life.”

She shakes her head. “It wasn’t this bad before.” That is a little sobering. I can barely believe that this attention is all due to her family tragedy.

Vans and cameras follow us back to the house. I’m lucky to be able to pull into the garage since Jim and Mom are still out. As the door folds down to hide us from their prying eyes, I turn off the engine and stare forward.

Cherie notices my trembling fingers, my wide,
what-the-hell-just-happened? eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. I see her eyes shine with looming tears.

I look over to her and shake my head. “It’s not your fault. I’ve just never seen something like that before.” I try to let the adrenaline melt away.

Her eyes gloss over, like tears are making their way out of hiding. I don’t want her to be upset. I’ll do anything to keep her from crying.

“Let’s go inside. Britney wants you to put makeup on her.”

“Yay!” Britney squeals from the back, and Cherie shakes her head.

But she’s smiling.

“I
just don’t get it; why does she sleep with him every night?”

I wake up, but I don’t open my eyes. I fell asleep on the couch after eating my pizza, and now I can’t be sure what’s going on around me. I feel Britney curled up on top of my chest, and she doesn’t stir. The conversation is behind me, spoken in hushed whispers.

I can definitely make out Claudia’s voice. “Oh, I know, it’s so weird,” she moans.

Someone replies, “I think it’s cute actually. But why does she do that? Is she just super-attached to him?”

It’s Cherie. My heartbeat stills.

Claudia’s quiet for a moment. She lowers her voice even more, but I can make out most of what she’s saying. “They’re… all messed up. Dad said… their dad left…she went on sleeping pills…couldn’t hear Britney crying at night. Jack had to take care of her.”

Rage ignites in my chest. I could kill Claudia right now. How dare she tell Cherie that? Even worse, how could Jim tell his daughters all of that? I want to jump up and scream at her, but I stay put, waiting to hear what else the little weasel has to say about my family’s secrets.

“So she just neglected them?”

Claudia’s quick to say, “No, it’s not like that. She was just really, really depressed, and she needed the meds to sleep at night.”

“Does she still take them?”

“I don’t think so.”

“So Jack had to take care of Britney? What about Brenton?”

Claudia snickers. “He made an imaginary friend, remember? They’re the total textbook example of dysfunctional products of divorce.”

Leave my brother alone. Leave all of us alone.

Cherie says, “I don’t know; Jack seems pretty normal to me.” Her words come just in time to keep the steam that is building inside of me from whistling out of my ears.

Claudia continues on her mean marathon. “He’s not. He’s a super narcissist; always hogging the mirror and fixing his hair and stuff.
Loves
his hair.”

“He doesn’t strike me as that at all. I’ve met lots of conceited guys before, ones with way less to be conceited about than him.”

“Well, trust me, he is the most screwed up of all three. Chloe says he has to keep the outside looking perfect because the inside is so effed up. He would never sit and just talk like we are now. He’s always locked up in his room like a hermit, and God help you if you invade his space.”

Cherie seems to laugh at this. “That’s just ‘cause he’s closed off.”

“Closed off?” I’m glad Claudia’s asking because I don’t know what that means, either. I strain my ear muscles and try not to breathe to hear what she says.

“He probably has a hard time with trust, and that’s why he doesn’t open up to anyone,” she says. “I’ll bet if you try to talk to him about his dad – ”

“Oh, no, don’t do that,” Claudia says quickly.
Good girl
, I think, feeling the steam rising into my ears again.

“What? Why not?”

Claudia’s voice goes real low again, and this time it’s harder to make out what she’s saying. “He does not…his... That’s one…things our Dad…promise not to do…got a serious temper…in school… therapist …he runs…” There’s a long pause.

“Really?” Cherie whispers, sounding shocked.

“Yes,” Claudia hisses. “He doesn’t talk about it. Like I said, textbook example.”

Cherie seems unconvinced. “I don’t know; I bet I could get him to open up.”

Nope. No way.

Claudia scoffs. “Your funeral.” They’re quiet for a moment as she realizes her poor choice of words.
What a dummy.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Cherie lowers her voice. “It’s okay.” But she drops the conversation and clams up completely. I lay as still as I can, listening as they sit in deafening silence. There is some pounding on the steps and someone swishes by. Based on the heavy cupcake-smelling perfume that follows, I am positive it’s Chloe.

“Hey,” she says as she enters the kitchen.

“Hi,” Claudia replies. Cherie says nothing.

“What time are people going to start coming over for Shiva?” Chloe asks. I hear the refrigerator door open behind me.

Claudia sighs and continues to be insensitive. “Six. It’s always six.”

“Right.” She pulls out a chair and sits down. “What’re you guys up to?”

“Nothing. I was just telling her about…” I don’t hear her say my name, but I can only imagine she’s pointing in my direction when Chloe groans, “Oh.”

Finally, Cherie excuses herself from the table, murmuring, “I’m gonna go lay down,” and she retreats downstairs.

Chloe whispers, “What’s her problem?”

“Who knows?” Then Claudia snickers, “I think she likes him.”

“Ugh, serious?”

Wait – what?!

“Yeah,” her twin laughs. “She was saying how he’s such a nice guy and all. Idiot.”

Chloe dismisses her. “Grief makes you say lots of crazy things, trust me. Plus there’s not much else to look at in this town.”

I don’t have a chance to be offended; their words echo in my mind and almost make me start to believe them.
Cherie likes me? Is that really possible?

Claudia “Mmm-hmm”s her. “You see the article on
Dirterazzi.com
?”

Chloe is the one to “Mmm-hmm” this time.

“Do you think it’s true?”

Chloe guffaws. “No, but it would be hilarious if it was. That’s a train wreck waiting to happen.”

What is
? I’m irritated they’re speaking in code. Even more, they’re openly defying my mom’s orders of not going on gossip sites.

Claudia snickers then sighs again. “We’d better wake them up and clean the living room before Eva gets home. You know how she gets when people are coming over.”

“Yep, nothing can be out of place,” Chloe chortles.

“I’ll get Britney,” Claudia mutters. Suddenly, she pushes her chair backward on the floor noisily and approaches the couch. I can feel her bear down on the top cushions as she leans over the side.

“Britney, wake up,” Claudia sings softly, and I feel my sister’s weight lift off of my chest. “We have to get you ready, sunshine.”

I hear Britney whimper and whine a little, her sounds growing softer and distant as Claudia carries her toward the stairs.

“WAKE UP!” Chloe shouts in my ear. I’m startled but expected it. She squeals with laughter and races toward the staircase after her sister, who cackles maniacally with her.

I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, my brain so on fire that I’m numb.

“Cherie?” Mom calls, poking her head around the living room wall into the kitchen and looks right at me, blessedly interrupting an all-too-long conversation I’ve been having with Jim’s second cousin about choosing the right college.

“Jack, honey, do you think you could find Cherie? Rabbi wants to do the Kaddish.” I nod, knowing exactly what she means even though the words she’s saying still sound so foreign to me. I shrug and smile half-heartedly at my captor as he relinquishes his hold on me so I can fulfill my duty.

“After Kaddish, I’ll tell you about my time at BU,” he says with a wink, like I should be impressed. I shake my head and withhold the groan I want to release as I walk away. If one more person tries to talk me out of going south for college, I’m going to hit something.

I search the basement first, since Cherie has been notoriously retreating downstairs this week when she wants to escape others. The basement is empty except for a few shopping bags of new clothes and the remnants of wrappers for some toiletries my mom picked up at Target a few days ago. In the corner sits an open, oversized suitcase with clothes splaying out over its sides haphazardly. By the looks of her suitcase, I’m not sure why she needs all the new clothes, but then again she may not have packed the amount of black dresses and shoes and tights and sweaters and scarves she has been actually wearing this week.

I climb the stairs, taking them two at a time, and search the crowded first floor for her again. It’s then that I realize Britney is also gone. I take a chance and head up to the bedrooms, stalking through the hallway straight for Britney’s room, which is tidy but empty. My chest tightens a little.