"Okay," said Maggie. "Places, everyone!" Mrs. Lefkowitz stood to the left of the boarding gate. Lewis stood in the center. Ella was next to him. Maggie rolled back and forth in Mrs. Lefkowitz's motorized scooter, looking them over closely. "Signs!" she said. The three of them lifted their handmade posterboard signs into the air. Mrs. Lefkowitz's read, "Welcome," in pink. Lewis's sign said, "to Florida." Ella's sign, which Maggie had supervised herself, said, "Rose," and Maggie herself carried a poster with a collage of roses on it made of pictures she'd cut from Mrs. Lefkowitz's gardening magazines. "Now arriving, flight five-twelve from Philadelphia," said the voice on the PA system. Maggie stomped on the brake so hard she almost fell off the scooter. "You know what?" she said. "I think it would be better if you guys waited by baggage claim." "What?" asked Ella. "What'd she say?" asked Mrs. Lefkowitz. Maggie twisted her sign in her hands and talked fast. "It's just that . . . before I left . . . Rose and I kind of had a fight. And maybe it would be better if I just talked to her first. Alone." "Okay," said Ella, leading Lewis and Mrs. Lefkowitz off toward
378 Jennifer weiner
baggage claim. Maggie took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and lifting her sign, scrutinizing the passengers making their way off the plane. Old lady . . . old lady . . . Mom and toddler, inching down the walkway . . . Where was Rose? Maggie set her sign down, wiped her hands against her shorts. When she stood up, Rose was walking through the door, looking taller than Maggie remembered, and tan, with her hair loose and flowing over her shoulders, held off her face with two cloisonne barrettes. She wore a long-sleeved pink T-shirt and khaki shorts, and Maggie could see muscles moving in her sister's legs as she made her way across the lounge. "Hey," Rose said. "Nice sign." She peered over her sister's head. "So where the mysterious grandmother?" Maggie felt a pang of hurt. Didn't Rose want to know how she was? Didn't she care? "Ella's in baggage claim. Let me take your backpack," she said. "Is that all you brought? You look really good. Have you been working out?" "Riding a bike," Rose said. She walked down the hall, moving so fast that Maggie had to break into a half-trot to keep up. "Hey, slow down!" "I want to see the grandmother," Rose said without looking at her sister. "She's not going anywhere," Maggie said. She looked down to check out Rose's footwear and saw something glinting on her sister's left hand—a platinum band with a square cut diamond. "Oh, my God. Is that an engagement ring?" "It is," said Rose, still staring straight ahead. Maggie felt her heart stop. So much had happened since she'd been gone, and she didn't know about any of it! "Is it . . ." "Different guy," said Rose. They reached the baggage terminal. Ella and Lewis and Mrs. Lefkowitz stared at Maggie uncertainly. Lewis raised his sign. "There she is!" Ella called, and she hurried toward her granddaughters, with Lewis and Mrs. Lefkowitz trailing after her.
In Her Shoes 379
Rose stepped forward and nodded, studying Ella's face carefully. "Hi," she said. "It's been so long. Too long," said Ella. She stepped forward and Rose awkwardly allowed herself to be hugged, standing stiffly in Ella's embrace. "Welcome, dear. I'm so glad you're here!" Rose nodded. "Thanks. This is all kind of strange . . ." Ella looked her granddaughter over carefully. Maggie, meanwhile, had resumed her spot on Mrs. Lefkowitz's scooter, and was driving it in small circles, looking like the world's smallest Shriner as she peppered her sister with questions and comments. "Who are you marrying?" she asked. "Where'd you get those barrettes? I like your hair!" She pulled right up to Rose's feet and looked down at her sister's sneakers. "Hey," she said, "aren't those mine?" Rose looked down and smiled faintly. "You left them in the apartment," she said. "I didn't think you'd need them. And I wouldn't have known where to send them. And they fit." "Come on," said Maggie, getting off the scooter and leading her sister out of the airport. "And tell me what's new. Who's the lucky guy?" "His name is Simon Stein," said Rose. She stepped beside Ella, leaning her head in close, leaving Maggie and Lewis and Mrs. Lefkowitz following the two of them, trying to overhear scraps of their conversation. Rose looked so different! She didn't look pale; she didn't look prissy; she didn't look as if someone had stuffed a bug up her butt and she was in a hurry to find the nearest rest room in order to remove it. Her clothes were items that Maggie might have selected, and her stride was fast but relaxed. Rose didn't look thinner, but she did look firmer, as if her mass had been redistributed and rearranged. She seemed totally at ease in her own body, for perhaps the first time in her life, and Maggie wondered what had caused such a transformation. Simon Stein, perhaps? The name sounded familiar. Maggie wracked her brain and finally came up with a picture from their night at Dave and Buster's, a snapshot of a frizzy-haired guy in a
380 Jennifer weiner
suit and tie, trying to interest her sister in the firm's softball team. "Hey, Rose!" she called, catching up. Rose and Ella's heads were close together, and they were talking softly. Maggie felt a fast stab of jealousy. She swallowed hard. "So this guy you're marrying. He's in your law firm, right?" "My former law firm," said Rose. "What? Did you change firms?" "Oh, I changed more than that," said Rose, and then turned her back and walked away, with Ella at her side. Maggie watched them go, feeling sad and frustrated . . . and feeling like this was no more than what she deserved. After what she'd done to Rose, did she really think her sister would come running back, ready to forgive and forget? She sighed, hefted her sister's backpack, and started off down the hall.
FIFTY'THREE
Rose Feller felt the way she imagined an astronaut would feel after crash-landing on a strange new unexplored planet. Planet Grandma, she thought, and swiped at her forehead. It had to be more than ninety degrees out here. How could anyone stand it? She sighed, readjusted the visor that Ella had lent her, and followed Maggie out the door. "Don't forget your sunblock!" Ella called. "We won't!" Maggie yelled back, and reached into her pocket to show Rose the tube she was carrying. It was bizarre, Rose thought, as they started off down the baking sidewalk that ran along the perfectly manicured (if somewhat small) green lawns of Golden Acres. But in the months since she'd last seen her, her little sister had somehow transformed herself into a reasonable facsimile of a responsible young adult. And, more mystifying yet, she'd befriended old people. Rose didn't understand that at all. Her own experience with the sixty-five-and-over set was limited to the occasional Golden Girls rerun, and her newly found grandmother made her a little uncomfortable, the way she stared, and sniffled, and seemed perpetually on the verge of tears when she wasn't peppering Rose with a million questions about her life. What was her apartment-like? How had she and Simon met? What were her favorite foods? Did she like cats, or dogs, or both, or neither? What movies
382 Jennifer weiner
had she enjoyed recently? What books had she read? It was like being on a blind date with no promise of romance, Rose thought. It was exciting, and exhausting, too. A little old lady on an oversized tricycle pedaled up to them. "Maggie!" she said. "Hi, Mrs. Norton," said her sister. "How's your hip?" "Oh, fine, fine," the old woman said. Rose blinked in the sunshine and tried to make sense of what she was hearing and seeing, but the best explanation she could come up with involved her sister being brainwashed, or body-snatched. And how had she managed to survive out here without a steady stream of men who didn't have pacemakers and great-grandchildren? Who was flirting with her, who was buying her drinks and giving her money for her manicures and generally confirming Maggie's own opinion of her worth and beauty? Rose shook her head in disbelief, nodded at Mrs. Norton and her hip, and followed her sister toward the swimming pool. She'd planned on being furious with Maggie, but now she just felt confused, as if the girl she'd been ready to kill didn't even exist anymore. "Okay, so explain this to me again?" she said. "These are my pool friends," said Maggie. "Now, Dora's easy, because she's the only woman, and she talks basically nonstop." "Dora," Rose repeated. "She was one of my first clients," Maggie continued. "Clients?" asked Rose. "What are you doing, massage?" "No, no," said Maggie. "Personal shopping." She dug into her pocket and produced one of the business cards that Mrs. Lefkowitz had whipped up on her computer. "Maggie Feller, Personal Shopper, Your Favorite Things," it read. "That's my catch phrase," said Maggie. "With all of my clients, I ask them what their favorite item of clothing was, and then when I shop for them, I try to reproduce the feeling of whatever that was. Like, if your favorite thing was a blue linen sundress, I don't necessarily buy you a blue linen sundress, but I try to find something that makes you feel the way you felt when you wore it."
In Her Shoes 383
"Great," said Rose. And she had to admit that it did sound good. If there was one thing Maggie had always been good at, it was picking out clothes. "So who else are we going to see?" "Okay, there's Jack, who I think has kind of a crush on Dora, because he insults her all the time. He's the one who used to be the accountant, so he's going to help me with Your Favorite Things. Then there's Herman," Maggie continued. "He doesn't say much, but he's very nice . . . and he's obsessed with tattoos." "Does he have any?" asked Rose. "I don't think so," said Maggie. "I haven't exactly made a study. But they know all about you." Rose wondered exactly what that meant. What would Maggie say about her? "Like what?" "You know, where you live, what you do. I would have told them you were engaged," she said, "but that was news to me, too. When's the wedding?" "May," said Rose. "And how's the planning going? Everything under control?" Rose felt herself stiffen. "It's fine," she said shortly. Maggie looked hurt, but instead of throwing a tantrum, marching off in a huff, or pouting, she just gave a small shrug. "Well, if you need any help," she said. "I'm a professional, you know." "I'll take that under advisement," said Rose. And then they were at the pool, and Jack, who was tall, with a sunburn, was squinting at them, and Dora, who was short and and round and talking a mile a minute, was waving frantically, and Herman was carefully studying Rose's bare arms and legs, no doubt prospecting for body modification. Maggie waved and headed toward them. Rose shook her head in disbelief and spread a towel over one of the creaky metal lounge chairs. Relax, she told herself sternly, arranging her face into a smile and crossing the hot concrete to meet Maggie's new friends.
"Are-you two going to be all right in here?" asked Ella. The pullut couch, which had been sufficient for Maggie, suddenly seemed
384 Jennifer weiner
too small now that two young women would be sharing it. "We'll be fine," said Rose, flicking a fresh sheet out over the bed. She was still feeling dazed and groggy (and slightly sunburnt) from her first day in Florida. She and Maggie had hung out at the pool, then gone out for an early dinner with Lewis, who was very nice, and Ella, who'd kept staring at Rose in a most disconcerting way. After dinner they'd watched an hour of television, and were now in the small back bedroom. Rose saw that Maggie had taken over, the same way she'd invaded Rose's apartment, transforming both bedroom and porch into a makeshift ofnce-ca#z-boudoir. There was a card table covered with sketches and notebooks and guides to starting and running a small business. There was a dressmaker's dummy that Maggie had bought at a tag sale and had draped with swatches of different fabrics—a length of fringed ivory satin, a piece of plum-colored chiffon. And there were familiar piles of clothes and cosmetics joined by unfamiliar stacks of books. Rose picked one up. Travels, by . . Merwin. She remembered it from college, and flicked through the dogeared pages, many of them decorated with Maggie's careless scrawl. "You're reading poetry?" she asked. Maggie nodded proudly. "I enjoy it," she said. She pulled a book out of the stack. "This is by Rilkee." "Rilk 4" Rose corrected. Maggie waved her hand. "Whatever." She cleared her throat. "A good night poem," she said, and began to recite:
"I'd like to sing someone to sleep, By someone sit, and be still. I'd like to rock you and murmur a song Be with you on the fringes of sleep Be the one and only awake in the house Who would know that the night is cold. I'd like to listen both inside and out, Into you, and the world, and the woods. The clocks call out with their toiling bells,
In Her Shoes 385
And you can see to the bottom of time. Down in the street a stranger goes by And bothers a passing dog. Behind come silence, I've laid my eyes On you like an open hand, And they hold you lightly and let you go, When something moves in the dark."
She nodded, pleased with herself, as Rose stared at her, openmouthed. "How did you . . . Where did you ..." She blinked at her sister. Body-snatched, she thought again. Somehow, Maggie's greedy, obsessive, shoe-stealing, fame-seeking soul had been sucked out and replaced by Rilke. "I particularly enjoy the line about the passing dog," Maggie said. "It reminds me of Honey Bun." "It reminds me of Petunia," said Rose. "That little pug you left in my apartment." "Oh, right right right," said Maggie. "How is she?" "She's fine," Rose said shortly, remembering how Maggie had stuck her with the dog, and the mess, and the unerasable mental image of her fornicating with Jim Danvers. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and got into bed, clinging to the edge of the pullut mattress, her back to her sister. "Now don't kick me," Maggie warned. "In fact, try not to make any physical contact with me at all." "Not a problem." Rose said. "Good night," she said. "Good night," said Maggie. Silence, except for the croaking of the frogs. Rose closed her eyes. "So!" said Maggie cheerfully. "You're marrying Simon Stein!" Rose groaned. She'd forgotten this about Maggie, how she'd say she was going to sleep, how she'd get into bed, turn out the lights, yawn, stretch, say good night, and give every impression of meaning it, and then, just when you were right about to drop off, start up a conversation.
