The Geometry of Sisters (13 page)

The storm had killed her father. Sometimes she wished she had died too. But if she had, Gracie would have as well. Carrie worked all day at the diner, sometimes the dinner shift, counting the minutes before she could get home to her daughter. But the hard, mindless work gave her plenty of time to miss her mother, sister, and brother. Her only comfort came from knowing they had no idea of what had happened between her and her father out on the water.

Her family was in Newport now. Carrie kept track. She'd called home in Columbus a few times over the last year, hung up when her mother answered. The sound of her mother's voice was like a dream from another world. Carrie both wanted it so badly and felt so ashamed to imagine the words she'd have to say, she'd hung up fast, as if the receiver burned her fingers. Then one day in August she called, and got a recording with a new phone number.

A Rhode Island number. Carrie could hardly believe it. She went to the Providence Public Library, used the Internet for reverse lookup. The phone number had a Newport exchange. She Googled everyone's names, found out that Travis would be playing football for Newport Academy. Carrie hardly knew what to think about that: her mother relocating the family near Aunt Katharine and also near J.D. Carrie had been pulled by the same gravity.

Death changed everything. Every single thing. Carrie was young
to know that fact, but she did. Her father had died, and her family had fallen apart. She wiped tables, served coffee, felt as if she was in a nightmare.

She had made her way to Providence after the accident. She had had Gracie, and then Dell had helped her get this job at the diner closest to Rhode Island Hospital. J.D. was being treated there.

His sister Patricia had come into the diner one day when she was working. Carrie had seen her around J.D.'s room, so she kept her coffee cup filled and listened to what she and her friend were saying. She learned more in that single hour than she had haunting the waiting rooms, trying to befriend J.D.'s nurses, even sneaking into his room, standing at the foot of his bed.

For one thing, she found out that medically induced comas were not as dangerous as she might have thought. She learned that dreams went on, deeply and darkly, just as they did during sleep.

She had found out on her own that his doctor at Rhode Island Hospital was a renowned leader in research and healing in traumatic spinal cord injuries. He had isolated a protein that encouraged cells to “communicate” with each other, trying to heal. That's what J.D. was there for.

When it came time to pay the check, the friend tried to grab it, but Patricia pulled out her credit card and beat her to it. The friend argued, saying, “I want to treat you.” But Patricia held tight to the check. Taking the credit card, Carrie ran it. When she returned to the table, she met Patricia's eyes.

“Do you have someone in the hospital?” Carrie asked.

“My brother,” Patricia said.

“I hope he's okay.”

“That's very kind of you,” Patricia said, warmth filling her eyes. She had dark hair with a gray streak, wore a navy blue suit and tall boots of soft black leather. A few minutes later, she went to the rest-room, and Carrie spoke to her friend.

“Will her brother get better?” she asked.

“He had a bad injury,” the friend said.

“What happened?”

“He was paralyzed in a fall a long time ago. They're trying some new things,” she said.

“Is it… helping at all?”

“It doesn't seem so.”

“I'm sorry.”

The friend nodded. Then she smiled a little. “Being so close to the hospital, you must serve lots of people who need comfort.”

“Yes,” she said. “Everyone does.”

And then Patricia returned and the two women left.

That was six months ago. Carrie still worked at the diner. J.D. had long been discharged, but Carrie often thought of that lunch, of serving Patricia Blackstone. And for some reason the phrase she had used floated back to her now.

Everyone does
.

Everyone needs comfort.

Carrie knew she did. Why was she still here? J.D. had gone back to Newport. She had done her best, looked over him the best she could, did for him what she couldn't for her father. She would
never
stop thinking of Andy Shaw as her father. Now she sat in the rocking chair of her small room, holding Gracie. These quiet times were when she missed her mother the most.

What if Carrie took the bus to Newport? She could show up at Travis's game on Saturday. Her family would be so shocked. And happy, right? To meet Gracie? Wouldn't her family be thrilled to know Carrie had a daughter, that they'd come home?

But how could Carrie explain why she'd left in the first place? Why her only option, pregnant and in shock after seeing her father die, had been to leave her mother waiting in the ER? Blackout trauma, it was something she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy. Dream, nightmare, dream, nightmare. Shock, the flashback of seeing
her father's white face, seeing him drowning in the storm. And later, trying to make sense of what he'd said about her mother, about her.

Gracie stretched. She clutched Carrie's finger, her tiny daughter who needed her. Carrie stared into her big eyes. She wondered if her mother had loved her this much. Somehow, she knew she had.

Carrie had been raised in a house full of so much love. The story of her parents' proposal was so cool. Carrie had made them tell her over and over when she was little, just because she loved it so much.

Maura O'Donnell and Andy Shaw had seen each other throughout college. The spring of senior year, they'd gone to the Lost Glen bluegrass festival. Lilacs were in bloom, sweet banjo music played, and they strolled the grounds past the antique car show, the quilt exhibit, and the draft horse pull. They picnicked by the river, by a covered bridge, in the shade of old maple trees.

Lying on the blanket, they'd stared up at the rustic bridge. Dark red, ramshackle, about eighty feet long, it crossed the river on private property owned by a family who'd leased their land for the festival, a tradition in Knox County for the past twenty years. Swallows nested inside and flew out through splintered boards.

“How old do you think it is?” Maura asked.

“It was built in 1893,” Andy said.

Maura smiled, surprised and impressed. “How do you know?”

“I came here when I was a kid,” he said. “Sixth grade on a field trip. My teacher, Mrs. Heller, told us about the old bridge, then told us her husband proposed to her right here on the riverbank, during the festival.”

“I love that your teacher told you that! Did she tell you what song the band was playing? Did he get down on one knee?”

“She didn't tell us the song,” Andy said, sitting up, brushing himself off as he raised himself on one knee. Maura laughed, thinking he was imitating his teacher's husband.

“Will you marry me?” he asked.

She stared at him. Everything stopped. Her thoughts, her feelings, the birds, the music, the river. And they both even admitted this, even when they told the story years later to their kids: she wasn't ready to say yes, but she did anyway. Because Andy was such a good man, and after the way her father had been, Maura needed someone like that.

Maura said yes. And at the end of the summer, pregnant with Carrie, she'd married Andy. But their marriage had been based on a lie. Carrie knew that now, and she tried not to blame her mother. But she couldn't help thinking that none of the bad things would have happened if her mother had told him the truth right from the beginning.

Carrie reached for the newspaper and opened to the sports page. She read about the big rivalry between Newport Academy and St. George's. She knew her mother and sister would be in the stands. She wondered if J.D. might too.

If she and Gracie showed up, they could all be one big happy family. Or at least she could catch a glimpse of the people she loved and missed so much… maybe she could take a picture of them.

7
THE DAY OF THE ST. GEORGE'S GAME DAWNED bright and clear, the sun blasting out of the ocean, throwing down the gauntlet on one of the great prep school football rivalries. St. George's was located on a hill just a few miles from Newport Academy, its square bell tower dominating the inland landscape across the bay from Cliff Walk. Each year the Newport Cuppers built a replica of the tower, stormed it, and tore it down, symbolic of what they hoped to do to the St. George Dragons on the playing field later.

Travis and the team had game-day obligations and traditions, so Maura and Beck went to the airport to get Ally. They headed north to T. F. Green Airport, just south of Providence. They got there early, and waited in the restaurant with the big windows overlooking the runways.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Maura said.

“Mmm,” Beck said, her head in her book.

“More math?”

“Mmm,” Beck said.

“Are we okay on what we talked about the other day?”

“We're fine.”

“Dr. Mallory ….”

“No, Mom. I know what I have to do.”

“You're quiet.”

“I don't really want to see Ally,” Beck said, finally looking up.

“I know, honey,” Maura said. “But I wanted us to be together. I've been working too hard, and I know you've been stressed. I don't want us to get off track. You've been doing so well, and—”

“I just don't feel like picking up Ally,” Beck said. “She hates me.”

“Oh, Beck. She doesn't,” Maura said.

“She looks down on me,” Beck said.

Maura sipped her coffee, staying calm. She knew that Ally had said some things when Beck had first gotten caught stealing. Maura leaned across the table, closer to her daughter. “I love you,” she said. “And I'll send Ally away in ten seconds if she even starts to do that.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Beck said, holding her math book.

Just then Ally's plane arrived, and they went down to security to wait. People jostled through the gate, heading toward baggage claim. Five five, blonde, blue-eyed, pink-cheeked, Ally wore jeans and a red jacket over a raspberry top and could barely hide her disappointment when she spotted Maura and Beck. Maura's back went up on Beck's behalf.

“Hi, Mrs. Shaw,” Ally said. “I know Travis said he had to stay with the team, but I thought maybe that was just so he could surprise me….”

“He would if he could have,” Maura said. “Beck came, though!”

“Hi, Beck,” Ally said.

“How's Columbus?” Beck asked.

“It's just not the same without you,” Ally said, giving Beck a hug. As Maura watched, Beck broke into a surprised smile and hugged back. Maura led them to the garage, listening to Ally chatter about school, some of Beck's friends. Out to the main road, heading south, the conversation continued with Ally including Beck and Beck actually engaging.

“How do you like it here?” Ally asked from the back seat.

“We're adjusting,” Maura said.

“How about you, Beck?”

“I miss Ohio and all my friends,” she said. “I guess people still think I'm kind of a jerk, though, right?” Maura watched in the rear view mirror for Ally's reaction.

“People know everyone makes mistakes,” Ally said, sounding understanding and kind. Maura tried to catch Beck's eye, but she had turned to look back at Ally.

By the time they got to Newport, Beck was completely warmed up and relaxed. Maura loved her daughter's quirky way of seeing places, and smiled as Beck pointed out the graveyards on Farewell Street, the Point section where Newport Academy's founder had come from, the bus station where Beck admitted that she had intended to catch the next Greyhound to Ohio.

“I'm sure your mother and brother are really glad you decided to stay here,” Ally said, after the briefest pause.

Maura glanced across the front seat at Beck; it pricked her heart to realize how little it took to make her daughter glow, and she realized with a small jolt how long it had been since she'd seen that happen.

They pulled in through the gates of Newport Academy, and Maura checked the mirror just in time to see Ally's eyes widen as she looked around. The limestone mansion gleamed in the clear autumn light, and sun trickled silver onto the bay. Leaves had been raked, but more fell slowly and constantly, drifts of orange and gold on the wide, perfect lawn. Imposing hedges, impeccably trimmed, ringed the property. Students hurried past, on their way to the game.

Maura parked, and Beck and Ally ran ahead to the field. The bleachers were packed. Energy crackled, electric and wild. Maura heard cheers from both sides, boisterous and getting louder as kick-off time approached. She scanned the stands—Beck and Ally had found a place six rows up and right behind the team. Travis had spotted them, and climbed straight up to hug Ally before the coach yelled at him to get back on the bench.

“Maura!”

Hearing her name, Maura squinted into the sun. Several teachers were sitting off to the side, at the very end of the bleachers. Amy was waving, and Stephen had jumped up to make sure she saw. Waving, she walked over.

“We saved you a seat,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said, squeezing in between him and Lonnie Delisle, a history teacher she didn't know well yet.

“Travis looks happy,” Stephen said, nodding at Travis and Ally.

“He is,” Maura said. “He's been waiting for this ever since we got here. His girlfriend is visiting….”

“She flew in from Ohio?”

“Yes,” Maura said.

“There seems to be a pipeline between Newport and the Midwest,” he said.

“A pipeline?”

“Of people falling in love.”

Maura snapped her head around to look at him, but just then Newport won the toss and elected to receive. The crowd went wild even before the kick, and Maura pushed Stephen's words from her mind and was on her feet cheering for her son and the team. Ty Cooper received just out of the end zone; Travis blocked for the first down. The Dragons were fierce, pushing them back on the next play, but then Chris Pollack threw to Travis, and he ran straight down the middle for a touchdown.

Maura cheered—all the teachers did, leaning over to slap her back and congratulate her on Travis's play. Beck and Ally were a few rows away. Turning to see them, she felt a sharp stab. Carrie had always gone to see Travis play. And when Carrie was a baby, Maura and Andy had taken her to see the high school games.