Little Sister (21 page)

Francie nodded. “That plane ride took forever.”

It was true. They had been delayed on both takeoffs, and then bad weather had provided a bumpy, nerve-racking trip. But Beth felt unaccountably annoyed at Francie’s remark.

“It couldn’t be helped,” she snapped.

“I didn’t say it could.”

“Well, there’s no point in dwelling on it,” said Beth.

“Who’s dwelling on it?” Francie sighed and rolled her eyes. “I was just saying—”

“I know,” said Beth. “Forget it. I’ll show you your—where you’re going to sleep.”

Beth led Francie through the living room. Despite the impassive look on the girl’s face, Beth felt as if she could read her mind. The flowers on the coffee table were brown at the edges and drooping, but ironically they were the only sign of life in the room. Everything else was perfectly coordinated and neatly placed, as if no one had ever dented a cushion by sitting on it or removed a book from a shelf. Usually when she had visitors, they would exclaim with admiration that her home looked like something out of a magazine, and she would feel pleased and proud. Now she felt as if she were seeing the room through her sister’s eyes, and the room did indeed look magazine-like—glossy and sterile.

Beth stamped up the stairs, turned right, and opened the last door in the narrow hallway. She turned on the bedside lamp in the guest room and pointed to an old woven suitcase stand at the foot of the bed. Francie walked over to it and deposited her backpack on it. Beth looked around the sparsely furnished room, noticing the dust on the bureau top and the thinness of the old quilt she had found for the bed. She had always liked the way the room looked, rather primitive and countrified, but now it suddenly seemed cold and uninviting. “This is it,” she said curtly. Francie looked around the room but didn’t touch anything.

“There’s a bathroom next door, and I’ll put a couple of towels in there for you. I have to get up early and get to the office, but you can sleep late or whatever. Watch TV,” said Beth.

“Should I go with you to your office?”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I’d like to see it,” said Francie.

Beth was taken aback. “You’d have to get up awfully early.”

Francie shrugged. “That’s okay. I’m always up early for school.”

“And we’d probably have to eat breakfast out. I don’t feel like fixing anything at that hour.” She could hear the unfriendliness in her tone and tried to amend it. “I’m usually rushing in the morning, so I have to grab something out.”

“That sounds okay,” said Francie.

“Well, all right,” said Beth. “I’ll wake you up. Is there anything else you need? There’s an extra blanket in that chest over there.”

Francie shook her head and sat down on the bed. “This is a really nice house,” she said. “I can’t believe you have so much pretty stuff”.”

Beth shrugged, but the words made her feel a glow run from head to toe. “Thanks,” she said. “It’s been sort of my pet project these last few years. It was pretty much of a mess when I bought it, but I’ve been fixing it up as I got the money.”

“You did it yourself?”

“Yeah,” said Beth. “Everything I could do. I had an idea of how I wanted it to look, and I figured nobody else would be as careful about it as I would. You can see it’s an old house, and I wanted to restore all the original details of it. Like that curved strip molding,” she said, pointing to the window seat. “It took me three days to strip and refinish that.”

“It’s nice,” said Francie, nodding. Then she yawned.

“Well,” said Beth gruffly, “you’re tired. And I’m rattling on about the house.”

“Well, I can see why you like it,” said Francie. “Thanks for asking me down here.”

“Get some sleep,” said Beth. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She closed Francie’s door behind her and went down the hall to her own room. After closing her door and kicking off her shoes, she lay down on the bedspread with her hands over her eyes. After a few minutes she leaned over, picked up the phone, and dialed. A sleepy voice answered.

“I woke you. I’m sorry,” she said.

Mike rallied gamely. “No problem. When’d you get in?”

“A little while ago. Francie is here with me.”

“Really? How’d that happen?”

“Well, this guy she’s been seeing up there is a bad influence, to say the least. I got wind of the fact that they were planning to take off” together, and I sort of intercepted her. I figured I’d get her away from there for a few days, maybe cool things off”.”

“That was a good idea.”

“I hope so.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

Beth stifled a sigh. “I just wanted to be sure I’d see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow night. Six-thirty sharp. I can’t wait.”

“I’m afraid we’re not going to have much privacy.”

“We’ll manage,” he said.

“Now that I’ve got her down here, I’ve got to keep her entertained somehow.”

“Nothing to it,” he said.

“You’re always such an optimist,” she said, feeling something between amusement and exasperation.

“It’s all part of my charm.”

“It’s true. And I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so temperamental lately. This has been a rough week.”

“I know it has. Don’t worry.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night,” she said.

She hung up the phone and leaned back, feeling more peaceful than she had in days. After a while she forced herself up off the bed, went and took a shower, and got back into bed with a book. Despite the late hour, she felt the need to unwind a little more before sleeping. After an hour she got up, put her book down, and made a last trip down the hall to the bathroom. As she was returning to her room she noticed that the door to the guest room was ajar. She padded over to it and stood outside. She could hear the sound of Francie’s steady sleep breathing wafting through the door like a soft summer breeze. She lingered there for a few minutes, and then she went back down the hall to her room. She was about to close the door, as she usually did, but then she changed her mind. Leaving the door open about a foot, she climbed into her bed and turned out the bedside light. She lay there in the darkness, listening. She knew it was impossible to hear the girl’s breathing this far down the hall. But as she began to drift she imagined that she could. The soothing sound seemed to rock her, from far away, and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

HE WAS BACK IN SCHOOL AGAIN,
although it was vaguely different from what school had been. All the students were dressed in similar drab gray outfits, and when he looked around, he saw that the windows were barred. The teacher stood at the blackboard, her back to the room, scratching out some indecipherable lesson on the slate. She was wearing the uniform of a guard, and he could hear the jangle of the keys at her thick waist and the squeal of the chalk as she wrote. He wanted to get up and leave, but he could not move, and he knew it, even without trying. She was almost finished writing, and he knew that soon she would turn around. He began to sweat at the thought of seeing her face. Although she still had her back to him, she began to speak to him in that familiar accusing tone. Among the words of gibberish on the board he recognized his own name. His heart constricted at the sound of her voice, although he could not make out the words over the mocking laughter of the other students. He understood that he was being singled out for punishment and that once she had finished writing her message, she intended to come after him. He struggled to free himself from the desk, but he was wedged into it. No matter which way he turned it seemed to close more tightly around him, making it hard for him to breathe. He could see her now, putting down the chalk and slowly rubbing her hands together to rid them of the dust. The noise in the room was growing louder, almost like a chant rising, and it had to do with his punishment. They all knew what she was about to do with him. Terror rose in his throat as she started to turn. He wanted to cover his eyes with his hands, to avoid the sight of her, but they would not move from his sides. There was no escaping what was coming. The despair of his situation, the hopelessness were crushing. Suddenly, like a miracle, he heard it. A bell was ringing. The class was over. Relief and surprise washed over him as he felt himself freed from the seat and rising. The end of the class. He had forgotten all about it, but now that bell was ringing and he was free to go—

Andrew came awake with a start and sat up in the corner of the sofa. Despite the chill in the room, his face felt greasy, and his underarms were sticky with sweat. The TV was still blaring. He could not remember having fallen asleep. The elation he had felt in the dream vanished as he looked down and saw the body of his mother sprawled, face down, on the sooty hearth. He closed his eyes again, wishing he could retrieve the feeling from the dream. Then, suddenly, he realized why the classroom bell had saved him. It was the phone ringing. It had been ringing all along.

Fear and nausea warred for his stomach at the sound. Don’t answer it, he thought. But what if someone got worried and came to look in on them. Answer it He gaze was glued to the revolting fleshy mass on the floor. He forced himself up on wobbly legs and dragged himself out into the hall toward the telephone table. He wondered how his voice would sound, if it would give him away, the way a virgin wonders if she looks different after her first night of love. His heart pounded in his ears as he lifted the receiver. “Hello,” he said numbly.

“Hello, Andrew, is that you? This is Dr. Ridberg.” A picture of the pale, balding dentist, round-shouldered in his white jacket, swam into Andrew’s foggy mind.

“Hello,” he mumbled again.

“Is your mother there?”

Andrew’s heart jumped. He pressed the cold receiver to his ear and stared through the door at the rumpled mass lying on the grate.

“I know she wasn’t feeling good yesterday, and I wanted to know if she was planning on coming in today. It’s after nine.” There was a faintly injured tone in the doctor’s voice. “If she’s sleeping, of course, she might not be feeling good still. I wouldn’t want you to wake her, but I would appreciate knowing—”

“Just a minute,” Andrew mumbled.

He dropped the receiver and buried his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes violently. Then he raked his fingers through his hair, pulling at his scalp. For one moment he felt frantic tears welling up in his eyes. He thought of picking up the phone and saying, “No, she’s not coming in. She’s dead. I killed her last night.” He forced himself to take deep breaths, to squash the fearful impulse to confess. With trembling hands he fumbled for the receiver at the end of the cord and held it to his ear.

“Hello,” he said. “She’s still sick. She said to tell you she can’t come in today.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” said the dentist with forced sincerity. “Well, all right. Tell her I hope she feels better. Will she be in tomorrow, do you think?”

“Tomorrow,” said Andrew. The absurdity of the idea was amusing, in a ghoulish way. “I don’t know,” he said. “It depends on how she feels.”

“Maybe she should see a doctor,” said Dr. Ridberg.

“No, no,” said Andrew. “It’s just a bad cold.” Then he had an idea, his first clear idea of the day. “She doesn’t want to give it to any of the patients.”

Andrew could picture the alarm in the dentist’s eyes as he hurriedly agreed. “I’ll just have to do the best I can without her. Maybe Mrs. Ridberg can fill in for her a little, at least get the phone and such. You tell your mother not to worry. Tell her to get plenty of rest. And to gargle.”

“I will.”

“Good-bye,” said the dentist.

“Bye.” Andrew hung up the phone and walked slowly back into the parlor. He walked up to the body and gingerly shoved it with his toe. The flesh just sank back to the floor. “You’re supposed to gargle,” he said aloud. At the sound of the words he was overcome with a fit of giggling. He tried to suppress the sound, as if he were in a library. Tears welled in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.

Gasping for breath, he headed for the couch. He missed the cushions as if he were drunk, slid down the front, and landed on the floor with a thud. He wiped his eyes as the giggles subsided into hiccups. He sat and stared, his body jerking intermittently, as if he were riding on a bouncy road. On the TV set a pair of women with fluffy hair were talking animatedly, a bowl of flowers propped on the table between them. Andrew watched uninterestedly.

Suddenly he heard the sound of footsteps outside, the heavy tread climbing the porch steps. At once he was alive with fright. Dr. Ridberg had been suspicious and called the police. They were here already, to check out the nosy dentist’s complaint. There was no way to pretend he was not home. They would be able to hear the shrill voices of those two bitches yapping on the television. It was too late to move, too late to hide her.

He stared at the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest to combat the shudders that shook him. He listened for the gruff demand to open up, the huddled decision to break the door in when he did not respond. Suddenly he envisioned the scene as they would see it when they broke in: his mother’s body in a heap on the floor and him, sitting there beside her, the guilt naked in his eyes. At the thought of it, he felt the urine leak from him and run down his leg, the wet stain gluing his pants to his thigh.

The lid of the metal mailbox clanged shut out on the porch, and then the footsteps receded down the steps and out, across the yard. Andrew sank back into the couch seat, allowed himself to breathe, and tried to quiet his pounding heart. He noticed then that his hiccups were gone. Scared away.

No one knows, he thought. No one will even miss her. She has no friends. The doctor thinks she’s sick. There was no scream, no loud struggle, nothing to arouse suspicion. You are perfectly safe.

A smile of blissful relief spread over his face, and his heart seemed to float lightly inside him. Suddenly he felt hungry. He decided to go see what was in the kitchen. After stripping off his wet pants, he left them in a heap beside her body. Wearing only his shirt and socks, he padded into the kitchen. He helped himself to whatever he could find. He ate cookies and canned sardines and drank soda for his breakfast, spreading crumbs, wrappers, and cans on every sanitary surface. Nothing had ever tasted so good. She was gone. He didn’t have to listen to her ever again. The chill of the house did not bother him. He felt warm inside and free. He could do anything he wanted. He could have Francie if he liked.