Sisterhood Everlasting - Ann Brashares [66]
“No, he’s not here. He doesn’t come back until the middle of February.” The voice was rough and deep, that of an older woman, probably large in stature.
“I’m Lena Kaligaris, an old friend.”
“You have an American accent.”
“Yes. I’m American. My family is Greek.”
“I am Aleta. I take care of the house. You should call him in London.”
“Okay.” Would Nancy Drew ask for the number?
“Lena, right? If I talk to him should I tell him you called?”
“No, no, that’s okay,” she answered quickly and fearfully, one hundred percent Lena and zero percent Nancy Drew.
When she hung up, her heart was pounding. Her heart wasn’t buying the persona yet.
Now what? She couldn’t wait that long to leave for Greece. She couldn’t go all the way across the Atlantic and not deliver Tibby’s letter. She woke up her computer and checked the cheap travel sites. There were about as many flights to Santorini stopping in London as any other way. It was less expensive than trying to fly nonstop to Athens, and it broke the trip up a little.
From the back of her underwear drawer she retrieved the letter of condolence Kostos had sent about Valia. The return address was London. She confirmed it on the Internet, but the phone number wasn’t listed.
It would be better to call first, before she went ahead and bought the ticket through London. When she pictured herself picking up the phone and calling him, though, she was frankly relieved that neither she nor any of her new personas had his number.
She had his address. She’d get his number in some way or other, even if she had to call Aleta again. Being a plucky risk-taker in her Maria–from–The Sound of Music persona, she bought her ticket on the strength of that.
Bridget watched in pure wonder as Brian fed Bailey the last of her dinner. She watched as he cleaned her up.
Bailey sat on the edge of the kitchen sink, her feet in the basin and her hands stuck under the flowing faucet. She shouted when the water felt hot and laughed when it felt too cold. When the water was right, Brian plugged the drain.
Bailey stood on the counter and Brian pulled her dress over her head and took off her diaper. She was tiny enough to fit in the sink. Brian turned off the water and pushed the faucet aside so she wouldn’t hit her head.
Occasionally Bailey turned her curious, somewhat suspicious eyes on Bridget. Bridget stared back without a gesture or a word.
Brian told Bridget she should go ahead and put her pack in the guest room. He showed her the closet where the extra sheets and towels were. When he invited Bridget to join them for Bailey’s pajamas and bedtime story, she followed them up the stairs mutely. She lay on the floor of Bailey’s room, her mind a whirl of incoherence, listening to Goodnight Moon twice.
Bridget didn’t try to talk to Bailey or touch her. When Brian kissed Bailey goodnight, Bridget stood shyly in the doorway. She could hardly say anything. It wasn’t Bailey’s baby diffidence that was the problem; it was her own.
Bridget went to the kitchen and mindlessly tidied up from Bailey’s dinner. She couldn’t find her voice. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d passed through a time portal and found Tibby in the midst of their joint childhood. She couldn’t help feeling that this tiny former Tibby was her peer.
She was on the underside of the world and she couldn’t remember where she was in the time line of her own life. She felt like she could close her eyes and open them and be in any part of it.
She drifted out to the front porch and sat on the steps. She watched the dark. They had lightning bugs here too. No matter where you went in time or space you could find them.
Brian came out and joined her. She thought of when he had entered the story, an oddball character in Tibby’s “suckumentary” the summer they turned sixteen. You don’t come into the story just yet, she felt like telling him. We are still small.
They sat in silence as Bridget tried to remember how the story went, how to put all the parts back in the right order.
“How old is