The Red Garden - Alice Hoffman [73]
The high school girls were gathered on the steps of the library when she passed by. “Hey, Carla,” one of them called. It was Jennifer Starr. “Don’t forget the movies next Saturday.”
Carla wished those girls would disappear into thin air. They were so small-town in their shorts and T-shirts, their hair braided or pushed back with headbands. They’d never been anywhere at all, let alone seen Manhattan. They probably didn’t even know who Jack Kerouac was. And they certainly didn’t have Tessa Cooper as their best friend.
As it turned out, Tessa seemed to need Carla just as much as Carla needed her. She had confided that she was frightened of crowds. She grew uneasy on buses and in theaters. Sometimes she couldn’t speak in class. She became totally tongue-tied. She was smart and beautiful and there was no reason for her to be shy, but she was.
“Don’t worry,” Carla had assured her. “We’ll be in all the same classes. If you can’t speak, I’ll just say you have laryngitis.”
Tessa had thrown her new friend a grateful look.
CARLA CUT THROUGH the woods after work. She followed along the marsh where there were cattails and the ground turned spongy. There were little frogs in the puddles and white butterflies with green specks on paper-thin wings circling the purple thistle. The sun was like honey, falling in splashes. It was a relief not to be on Main Street, in her father’s gas station, where everyone knew her and everything about her. Carla hadn’t imagined the ways in which her life might follow a different path until the Coopers moved into the museum cottage. Since then she’d been seized with the impulse to create a more intriguing persona for herself. Lately, everything seemed brand-new, including Blackwell, even though Carla knew every street and lane.
She heard the murmur of voices as she approached the river. There was Tessa sitting on her beach towel, laughing in the dappled sunlight, wearing her white slip with the red blouse thrown over it like a jacket. Next to her in the grass were Frank and Jesse Mott, both sixteen. They’d seen Tessa and Carla walking through the woods day after day, arms thrown around each other, beach towels over their shoulders. It was Tessa they were interested in. Once she was alone, without the pesky Kelly girl hovering, they’d been bold enough to introduce themselves. As Carla drew near, the Mott brothers stopped talking.
“Hey!” Tessa signaled her over. “Where’ve you been? Come on,” she called to Carla. She patted the picnic basket beside her. “My mother sent a treat.” Tessa turned to the boys. “We’ll share if you’re good.”
“I will be,” Frank offered. The boys were twins, but Frank was the tenderhearted one who played by the rules. “I can’t speak for my brother.”
Jesse was already opening the basket. He had his eyes on Tessa’s tanned legs.
“Quit it,” she said, pushing him aside. They looked at each other after they’d touched. Then, as quickly, they looked away. Carla had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Jesse was the boy everyone in town was in love with. “Oh,” Tessa said, bringing forth a half of a cake. “It’s Gluttony Cake! Devil’s food with chocolate pudding and chocolate chips inside.”
They cut the cake into pieces and wolfed it down—at least the Mott brothers and Tessa did. Carla took a neat bite, then tossed her portion into the woods when no one was looking. She felt sick. She was quiet that afternoon, more audience than participant, and she was glad when the day was over. When the girls left, the boys followed until they had to split up at the road and go their separate ways.
“See you tomorrow,” the Mott brothers called.
“Maybe,” Tessa called back. “Maybe not.”
For a shy girl she seemed entirely comfortable with the boys’ attentions.
“Are you madly in love with Jesse?” Carla asked once they were alone. “Be honest.”
“Of course not!” Tessa laughed.
“That’s good,” Carla lowered her