Heart's Desire (16 page)

Chapter Thirty

THE NEXT MORNING I AWAKE TO THE SOUND OF A LARGE THUD against the door to the summerhouse, as if someone has hurled a basketball or a dead woodchuck at it. The good news is that even though the sun says it’s only about 7 A.M., I don’t have a hangover, like after keg parties at school. About the most damage you can do at one of Gwen’s heavily chaperoned soirees is a sherbet-stained tongue or else a sprained wrist from too much tetherball.

When I first open the door I don’t see anything but grass and gardens. However, a loud sniffle directs my attention to the area next to the steps. Squeezed between the small cement porch and a forsythia bush is what appears to be the top of my sister Louise, hunched over and with shoulders shaking as if she’s crying.

“Louise?”

She stumbles inside and curls up into a ball on the couch. It’s obvious I’m the first stop after one heck of an all-night party, since her makeup is smeared, her hair is a mess and reeks of beer and smoke, and she’s decked out in a skimpy top and Lycra hip-hugger pants. Though I suppose there’s no need to be jealous, since my T-shirt still smells of horse manure and burnt marshmallows and I have a hunk of peanut stuck in one of my molars.

“Louise,
what
is going on?” I sit down on the couch next to the bed. “Are you drunk?”

But Louise only curls up tighter around herself and continues to weep.

“Are you hurt?” I walk over and gently pull at her limbs, checking for broken bones and other signs of an accident. Everything appears to be working, though she’s definitely way too thin. Maybe she
is
into drugs.

Still no reply.

“If you don’t stop crying and tell me what’s wrong I’m going to have to call Mom and Dad.”

“No!” She appears to panic.

I start to feel panicked as well. Where is the despicable wiseass sister who I know and love to hate? What could have possibly happened? I stand over her and go for the worst-case scenario. “Louise, were you raped?”

“No . . .” She turns her head away. “I mean, I don’t think so.”

Oh boy. Maybe I should call the police. No, she’d just take off. “Okay, you got drunk and something happened.”

She nods her head yes.

“Something bad?”

“I don’t know.” She wipes her nose on her sleeve and I retrieve the tissue box from the end table and hand it to her. She blows her nose and then says, “I think I had sex with Tim.”

“What do you mean, you
think
? Did he drug you or something?”

“Jell-O shots,” she says, as if that explains everything. And if you’ve ever had the sweet-tasting vodka-loaded cubes, it does. Downing a dozen is like eating dessert. And throwing them up leaves a cool smooth aftertaste like gargling with shaving gel.

“We were fooling around and then it gets all blurry and I woke up feeling really sick. And kind of sore.”

“Well, you were a virgin, right?” I say this hopefully. And thankfully she nods her head yes. “Was there any blood? Does it feel as if you had sex?” As if I would know how it felt. Because now it’s clear I’m destined to become the spinster aunt, sewing dowries for all my younger and more desirable female siblings.

“I don’t know.” Louise resumes sobbing. “It happened in his dorm room. And the next thing I knew, Karen was dragging me out to the car because her brother needed it to go to work in the morning.”

Louise goes into extra-strength distress. “
Hallie,
what if I’m
pregnant
?”

Oh shit, I hadn’t even thought of that.

“Mom and Dad will
kill
me!”

Putting my arm around her, I say, “No they won’t.” However, I know that of course they will kill her. Actually, Dad will be torn between which to do first, murder the guy who did it or murder Louise for underage drinking and dressing like a tramp. But only if they find out.

“They
won’t
find out,” I say. “We’ll figure something out. I’ll help you, I promise.”

“I don’t want to get an abortion!” she howls through a cascade of tears.

“Louise, stop getting ahead of yourself. We don’t know for sure whether or not you even had sex.”

Then I suddenly make a connection—Olivia and her morning-after pills. This is exactly what they’re for! “Louise, this happened late last night, right?”

“Yes.” The waterworks are slowing to a trickle.

“Have you ever heard of the morning-after pill?”

Louise shakes her head to indicate that she hasn’t. It’s no wonder Olivia is always complaining about the lack of information given to young women.

“It’s a pill that you take after you’ve had sex and it works the same as a contraceptive,” I explain. “We have them here. I mean, Olivia does.” It doesn’t seem the right moment to go into details about Olivia’s back-door pharmacy—how she imports the pills from Europe and makes them available locally because doctors around here won’t prescribe them. Only it’s not illegal because she gives the pills away to anyone who asks and doesn’t sell them.

“But I can’t tell
her
what happened.” It’s apparent from the way Louise’s words are crumbling that she’s about to start wailing again.

“Sure you can,” I try to assure her. “She’s very understanding.”

“Hallie, she’s the same age as our grandmother! Besides . . .” Louise looks down at the carpet. “It’s embarrassing. And she’ll yell at me.”

I know from experience that Olivia isn’t in the habit of berating her customers. If anything, it’s just the opposite. She says it’s a waste of time telling people things they aren’t ready to hear, because “knowledge is of little use without wisdom.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll get it,” I finally say. “Wait here.”

Chapter Thirty-one

OUTSIDE THE SPARROWS ARE COMPLAINING IN HIGH-PITCHED voices and a blue enamel sky blazes overhead. The trees are thick with new leaves that throw complicated patterns onto the ground. Nature appears to have reached a simultaneous peak of beauty and chaos right alongside my sister.

I find Olivia and Ottavio finishing their tea in the dining room while Bernard is preparing to head off to the shop.

“Good morning, Hallie!” Bernard practically sings. “Was that Louise I saw going into the summerhouse earlier?”

Heaven help the person who tries to sneak something past Special Agent Bernard Stockton.

“I made a Spanish omelet that’s big enough for the both of you. I’m keeping it warm on the top rack. Just be sure to turn off the oven.” He nods toward Olivia as if she’ll never remember, which she probably won’t.

“Okay, thanks.”

“There’s freshly squeezed pineapple-orange juice and my own special sunflower-seed bread.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Hallie, you appear to be a bit out of sorts,” observes Bernard, who possesses the only known copy of the map of my nerves. “Rather like our old dog, Buster, after he ate an entire devil’s food cake that I’d set out to cool. Is something the matter?”

“No, no. I mean, I think I need to talk to Olivia for a minute.”

“Oh,” Bernard’s eyes widen with magnified understanding, as if it’s a feminine situation in which he and Ottavio are
most
grateful not to be included.

“Why don’t we go into my den?” Olivia gracefully rises and smoothes the folds of her skirts. With its accordion privacy doors, her den happens to be the only room on the first floor where you can’t be overheard. At least unless Bernard is pressing his ear to the door, which isn’t an unknown occurrence. He claims to be “naturally curious” the way others are natural athletes, thereby implying that the condition is an attribute or even a birthright.

Olivia sits down at the mahogany writing desk and smiles, as if I ask to have a private word with her every day. Meantime I stand near the door, like an anxious kindergartener down at the principal’s office for the first time.

I’d planned on saying the pill was for a friend, but since Bernard has already spotted Louise, that would be pretty dumb. “I was wondering . . . I mean, if I could borrow some of those pills . . . because I think my sister . . .” Why did I say “borrow”? What is Louise supposed to do, swallow one and puke it back up so I can return it?

“Yes, I see,” says Olivia, and the pleasant expression on her face remains unchanged. She opens the bottom desk drawer and hands me a little plastic packet with Italian lettering on the outside.

“She was afraid you’d give her a speech,” I continue, without firm direction, “and . . . she’s already feeling sort of bad. . . .”

“I don’t traffic in lectures, just remedies that
should
be available locally. Besides, it’s safe to say that when the old preach to the young we meet with the same amount of success as when the dead talk to the living.” She hands me the typed piece of paper I’d seen her pass out with the pills so many times, but that I’d never before bothered to read. “The most important thing is that just like any other contraceptive, this is not a hundred percent,” she says. “So please remind Louise to follow up with a pregnancy test.”

“We’re not completely certain that she even . . . you know . . .”

Olivia appears momentarily perplexed, but if she’s curious she doesn’t ask. And I’m sure Louise isn’t the first girl to get drunk, have sex, and not remember it.

“Thanks for understanding,” I say. “Louise is, uh, pretty embarrassed, and she’ll be relieved that you don’t want to tell her she was stupid and all that.”

“Isn’t that what big sisters are for?” There’s a twinkle in her celestial blue eyes.

In the kitchen I pour two big glasses of juice to take back with me. It’s a long walk to the summerhouse. I hate to sound like my parents but Louise truly does have to straighten out or she really
is
going to end up in a home for unwed mothers. And what is she doing hanging out with college guys? They’re sex fiends. I think I would know.

Louise is lying on the daybed in the fetal position, quietly weeping. Unsure if I can pull this off, I take a deep breath and ignore her crying.

“Okay, I’ve got it.” My voice is stern and I’m acting slightly plucky, like a British heroine, stiff upper lip and all that. “This should take care of everything. However, these are my conditions.”

When Louise turns to look at me I’m amazed at how she resembles a little girl again, with her tearstained face, and her doelike eyes wide with fear. But I refuse to melt. “Every day after summer school you come over
here
and do your homework. If you don’t want to baby-sit for Mom then you can make some money weeding the gardens.” I sound just like all the grown-ups I hated so much in high school. “I need to spend some time finishing a design project for a contest that could get me a scholarship I
desperately
need.” Honestly, I think, my sister has
no
idea how good she has it with Mom and Dad still paying for everything.

Louise appears relieved. Only she doesn’t realize that I haven’t finished with her yet.

“And I’m sick of these so-called
friends
of yours. For the rest of the summer if you want to hang out with people then I meet them first.”

Louise rallies at this final injustice, which I take as a good sign. “Like hell you do! You’re not my mother!”

“No, I’m not. But if you’d rather, we can call her right now and ask her what she thinks about all this.”

“Oh, all right.” She furiously pounds a fist into the pillow. And I’m relieved to see a glimpse of the petulant old Louise who once crazy-glued all my drawers shut.

I hand her a pill and she quickly swallows it, followed by a big gulp of juice. When she removes the glass from her lips the sun hits her full in the face. Now she appears totally wrecked, with dark circles under her eyes and her normally lustrous dark hair a stringy mess.

“Why don’t you sleep here for a while,” I offer. “I won’t mow the grass until this afternoon.”

She puts her head in her hands. “Okay, but would anyone mind if I take a shower first?”

“Not at all. Go ahead.” And I truly wish that washing away this entire experience were only as simple as standing under a hot shower. She looks as if a chapter of girlhood has been closed by an unseen hand.

Suddenly Louise doubles over and clutches her stomach. “I think I have morning sickness.”

“I think you have a hangover,” I say. “Don’t you dare barf on my bed. Those are Egyptian cotton sheets with a
very
high thread count!”