“He’s gotten terrifically handsome,” she said. “And either you’re blind or you’re faking it.”
I laughed. “There’s no need for you to be shopping guys for me, Aunt Jule. I stopped by to see Holly and was drafted to go to the prom with some jock-one that’s terrifically handsome, as you’d say.”
“You were always such cute little pals, you and Nick,” Aunt Jule went on. “I loved watching you play together. You were friends from the start.”
“It’s nice to see that Holly and he are good friends now,” I replied, reminding her of Holly’s interest.
She nodded without enthusiasm, then picked up a basket of fresh strawberries and poured them into a colander.
“Listen, Aunt Jule, we really do need to talk about Nora.
She needs psychiatric help.”
My godmother carried the colander to the sink, turning her back on me.
“She needs it now.”
“That’s your opinion,” Aunt Jule replied as she washed the berries.
“And Holly’s, and Frank’s. Frank says Nora is out of touch with reality and that it’s dangerous. He said one of these days she’s going to—”
“If you ask me, people out of touch with reality aren’t nearly as dangerous as lawyers like him who manipulate it.”
“At least have her evaluated by a professional,” I pleaded, “then we can decide from there.”
“We? You’ve become quite the grown-up, Lauren,” she observed.
“I meant you. But I’ll pay for it.”
“How nice of you!” she replied sarcastically.
I was baffled by her attitude.
She shook the water hard from the colander of berries.
“You stay away for seven years, Lauren, and after one day back, you start telling me how to fix things. You’re here for twenty-four hours and you’re cocksure you know what Nora needs.”
“All I’m saying is get her checked out. If a doctor says she needs treatment, I’ll pay for it, all of it.”
“Will you now? Sometimes, Lauren, you act just like Sondra, believing your money makes you superior, using your money to make other people do what you think they should do.”
“I care about Nora! I’m trying to help her!”
“You’re just like Sondra,” Aunt Jule went on, “deciding how other people should lead their lives, deciding what’s normal, what isn’t, what’s to be admired, what’s to be scorned. There are more ways to do it than your way.”
“But—”
“You walk like Sondra. You talk like Sondra. I hate it when you act like her.”
The bitterness I heard in Aunt Jule’s voice amazed me. I felt torn between insisting that I wasn’t like my mother — I had tried hard not to be — and defending her.
“Well, there is one thing my mother and I share,” I told her.
“Nora’s intense dislike for us.”
My godmother twisted plastic bags in her hands, then balled them up.
“Aunt Jule, have you ever thought about the fact that it was Nora who summoned us, Nora who said she found my mother floating in the water?”
I steeled myself, figuring my godmother would be furious at what I was suggesting, but she answered with a flick of her hand. “Of course I have. Sondra’s reckless death traumatized Nora as well as you, and I still haven’t forgiven her for that.”
I realized then that Aunt Jule would never consider the possibility that her daughter was responsible in some way.
Pressing the issue wouldn’t bring my mother back or get Nora the help she needed.
“Last night, after I was asleep, I thought I heard someone calling my name, calling it the same way my mother did. The door to the room where my mother had stayed was ajar and I went in. I found old tabloid pictures of her in the dresser, photos from that summer, her earrings, and her scarf, mixed in with items that belonged to Nora. Why would Nora have these things? Why would she think my mother is in the river or asleep in the boathouse? Don’t you see? She is obsessed with her. She needs—”
“Perhaps you’re the one obsessed,” Aunt Jule countered icily, “hearing Sondra’s voice calling you, reading into insignificant comments. It’s time to move on, Lauren, and clearly you haven’t.”
I wouldn’t give up. “Nora and I used to play together. We used to be friends. Why does she hate me now?”
“She doesn’t hate you.”
“Why does she act the way she does?” I persisted.
“Because you’ve grown into Sondra,” Aunt Jule replied, tight-lipped.
I looked her straight in the eye. “I don’t think so.”
We turned away from each other and worked silently for a minute.
“Aunt Jule, why did you stop the police from doing a full investigation?”
“I’m sorry,” she replied, setting down a bag of sugar, “I don’t think I heard you right, Lauren.”
I knew she had. “It would have been better to let them investigate my mother’s death so we could rule out everything but an accident.”
“You ungrateful brat! I was protecting you!”
She stalked out the porch door and slammed it shut. I stood quietly for several minutes, staring down at the cans I held, then continued to put things away. The tears were there again, burning my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall.
I spent an hour in my room, untying the tiny knots in my necklace, polishing the silver links and tarnished heart. I had seen Aunt Jule angry before — furious the summer my mother came — but her anger had never been directed at me, not until now. I felt as if I were reliving my mother’s stay here seven years ago.
I didn’t see Nora that afternoon, but I didn’t look for her, either. About five o’clock I took a walk and watched storm clouds mounting over the bay. Dinner was a sandwich alone in the kitchen. I didn’t know if Aunt Jule was still angry at me or simply wary after the argument. Returning to my room, I heard the radio in hers, but I didn’t stop by.
About six-thirty Holly knocked on my door, then entered, wiggling her fingers.