Practical Magic - Alice Hoffman [54]
“That’s it,” Sally says. “I want you out. I’ve wanted you out from the moment you arrived. I never asked you to stay. I never invited you. You take whatever you want, just the way you always have.”
“I’m desperate to go. I’m counting the seconds. But it would be faster if you didn’t tear up my checks.”
“Listen,” Sally says. “If you need to steal my earrings to pay for your departure, well, then good. Fine.” She opens her fist and the diamonds fall onto the kitchen table. “Just don’t think you’re fooling me.”
“Why the hell would I want them?” Gillian says. “How stupid can you be? The aunts gave you those earrings because no one else would ever wear such horrible things.”
“Fuck you,” Sally says. She tosses the words off, easy as butter in her mouth, but in fact she doesn’t think she’s ever cursed out loud in her own house before.
“Fuck you twice,” Gillian says. “You need it more.”
That’s when Kylie comes down from her bedroom. Her face is pale and her hair is sticking straight up. If Gillian stood before a mirror that was stretched to present someone younger and taller and more beautiful, she’d be looking at Kylie. When you’re thirty-six and you’re confronted with this, so very early in the morning, your mouth can suddenly feel parched, your skin can feel prickly and worn out, no matter how much moisturizer you’ve been using.
“You have to stop fighting.” Kylie’s voice is matter-of-fact, and much deeper than that of most girls her age. She used to think about scoring goals and being too tall; now she’s thinking about life and death and men you’d better not dare to turn your back on.
“Says who?” Gillian counters haughtily, having decided, perhaps a little too late, that it might actually be best if Kylie were to remain a child, at least for another few years.
“This is none of your business,” Sally tells her daughter.
“Don’t you understand? You make him happy when you fight. It’s just what he wants.”
Sally and Gillian immediately shut up. They exchange a worried look. The kitchen window has been left open all night, and the curtain flaps back and forth, drenched from last night’s downpour.
“Who are you talking about?” Sally asks in a calm and steady tone, as though she were not speaking with someone who might have just flipped her lid.
“The man under the lilacs,” Kylie says.
Gillian nudges Sally with her bare foot. She doesn’t like the sound of this. Plus, Kylie’s got a funny look about her, as if she’s seen something, and she’s not telling, and they’re just going to have to play this guessing game with her until they get it right.
“This man who wants us to fight—is he someone bad?” Sally asks.
Kylie snorts, then takes out the coffeepot and a filter. “He’s vile,” she says—a vocabulary word from last semester that she’s putting to good use for the very first time.
Gillian turns to Sally. “Sounds like someone we know.”
Sally doesn’t bother to remind her sister that only Gillian knows this man. She’s the one who dragged him into their lives simply because she had nowhere else to go. Sally can’t begin to guess how far her sister’s bad judgment will go. Since she’s been sharing a room with Kylie, who knows what she’s confided?
“You told her about Jimmy, didn’t you?” Sally’s skin feels much too hot; before long her face will be flushed and red, her throat will be dry with fury. “You just couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”
“Thanks a lot for trusting me.” Gillian is really insulted. “For your information, I didn’t tell her anything. Not a word,” Gillian insists, although at this moment she’s not sure. She can’t be angered by Sally’s suspicions, because she doesn’t even trust herself. Maybe she’s been talking in her sleep, maybe she’s been telling all while in the very next bed Kylie listens to every word.
“Are you talking about a real man?” Sally asks Kylie. “Someone who’s sneaking around our house?”
“I don’t know if he’s real or not. He’s just there.”
Sally watches her daughter spoon decaf into the white paper filter. At this moment, Kylie seems like a stranger, a grown woman with secrets to keep.