Sisterhood Everlasting - Ann Brashares [112]
Bridget clutched her trembling hands. The trembling spread down to her feet and up to her shoulders and jaw, and she clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.
“Then it took some time to get doctors and treatment set up here in the U.S. It took a while for us to find a place to settle here.”
“She knew she was going to die,” Bridget said slowly.
“But she didn’t think it would be so soon. Not in the middle of your trip in Greece. You must know that. I was worried about her, but she was convinced she was strong enough to make the trip. She didn’t think it would be then. After Greece, after she told you all, she was flying back home to D.C. to tell her family. Bailey and I were going to meet her there. She wanted us to get married in front of all of you. We’d bought this house. We thought she would see it, at least. She was going to go into hospice after that. She was going downhill. We knew it would happen. We didn’t think it could happen so fast.” When he stopped talking he undid his fists. Bridget could see the nail marks dug into his hands.
Bridget took his hands.
He took his hands away. “You can’t imagine the time she spent making the plans and writing you the letters. I figured you knew all this.” He took a swig of beer. He let out a long breath. He seemed to will the tears back in. The standoff was starting again and she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t keep her face still. She couldn’t keep breathing right. She barely understood anything. She didn’t feel like telling him how far awry Tibby’s plans had gone, that they hadn’t even seen her alive.
He glared at her, like he didn’t want to suffer with her anymore. She didn’t know anything worth sharing. He could do it better alone. “What did you think happened?”
She thought of all the things she had thought, and all the thoughts that those thoughts engendered. It was hard to unwind them all, to unthink them.
Tibby hadn’t gone into the Caldera to end her life. Maybe she’d gone in to relive their magical swim in Ammoudi, ten years before. Maybe she’d wanted to experience that feeling, that loveliness once more. Tibby was sick and probably weaker than she knew, but she didn’t mean to die.
She looked up at Brian, finding it hard to pull his face into focus. She wasn’t going to tell him what they had thought. What they assumed. What they all thought they knew and suffered but wouldn’t say. She felt her chin trembling and pressed her lips together. “We didn’t know.”
The final chapter of Roberto’s story unwound as the children slept and the sun eased its way up out of Lake Pontchartrain. There were still the final swells, the codas to sing, before you could call it done.
He’d gotten a job managing a garage in Queens. They were living with his uncle, his mother’s brother, who was old, and Roberto was taking English classes at night. He couldn’t afford a place for them. He couldn’t afford child care. Teresa’s sister lived with her husband in Metairie and had offered to take the children until September so he’d have five months to save enough money to get on his feet.
“That’s where you’re taking them?” She was slowly absorbing the horror that he felt.
“I think it’s the worst part of all of this.”
She tried to think it through. How far a world this was from worrying about stiffing the Shaws at a benefit pre-party. This was a world that needed a few grown-ups around.
They were quiet for a while. They waited for the train to finish the long crossing of the lake and for the children to wake up. There was no night to cover them and make a space for them anymore. They might as well hasten on to the conclusion.
“And so what happened to Jones?” Roberto asked