The Weird Sisters - Eleanor Brown [111]
“And how’s Cordy . . . progressing?”
Rose pulled her hands from his and took a sip of her drink. In some ways she hated talking about us with Jonathan. He was so damn level-headed.
He saw her hesitation. “Be fair, now.”
“Physically, she’s fine. I took her to the doctor and she’s healthy and everything’s as it should be. She’s actually managed to keep the job. But . . .” She took another sip. Jonathan curled his hands around his own glass, and she marveled at the beauty of his fingers, loved him anew. “But I worry about her. She asked so few questions at the doctor’s, she doesn’t know who the father is, and doesn’t really seem to care, and the job at the coffee shop is fine for now, but she can’t live on that with a baby, and it’s totally unfair to ask our parents to support her when they’ve got their own problems.”
Jonathan nodded, said nothing.
“She’s not ready to have a baby,” Rose said.
“She’s not ready to have the baby the way you would,” he said.
“Ouch.”
“No, I mean it. You know one of the things I love the most about you is your ability to marshal everything—tangible and intangible—into some semblance of order. But that’s the Rose way. That’s not the Cordy way.”
“I’m afraid the Cordy way won’t be enough.”
“Cordy’s survived this long, in circumstances that would have had you running for the hills long ago. Obviously she’s figured out some kind of way to take care of herself.”
“But we’re not talking about taking care of herself. We’re talking about taking care of the baby. I’m scared for her. I don’t want it to be hard for her.”
“Exactly,” he said, smiling. She found him maddening that way, serene in the face of the storm. His peace made it impossible for her to have anything to rail against. She shook her head. “And what of fair Bianca?”
When Bean had confessed her sins to us, she had begged for our secrecy, but Rose had been unable not to tell Jonathan. So he knew the whole sordid story, or as much as Bean had told us, at least. “She’s better. She’s gotten quite involved at Saint Mark’s. Going to do service projects, hanging out with Father Aidan. It’s like a conversion.”
“There are no atheists in foxholes,” Jonathan said.
Rose considered that, looking around. “I’d like to think that’s all it is. But Father Aidan is handsome. . . .”
“Bean?” He clutched his heart in mock horror. “Getting involved with something for a man? I’m shocked you would suggest such a thing.”
“Believe it,” she said. “Though I have the feeling she’s going to be tremendously disappointed when she discovers he probably adheres to that whole no-sex-outside-of-marriage thing.”
“Ah, it’ll be good for her,” Jonathan said.
“She’s working on paying it back, too. I don’t know—I thought she might just go into hiding, but she’s really working to make amends.”
“So maybe she is genuinely repentant,” Jonathan said.
“Maybe. I hope so.”
He reached out, covered her hand with his own, smiled at her in that way she never could resist. Oh, she knew he was not the most handsome man in the world, not the one whom women would pause on the street to watch walking by, but to her, he was the only light in the sky. “See, I told you people can change. It’s not so hard.”
If Rose had not been so busy leaning in to kiss him, to taste the ale on his lips, to luxuriate in the fact of being able to touch him rather than holding herself as his voice whispered across the ocean, she might have questioned that idea. Change was the hardest thing of all.
EIGHTEEN
It was all Bean’s idea. We were fifteen, twelve, nine. None of us, obviously, had a driver’s license. Occasionally, if it was a clear day and we were in no hurry, our father would pull over by the side of the road and let Rose drive on one of the wide country roads surrounding Barney, spreading out in ropes of black licorice away from the town. On all sides lay pastures, cows looking balefully at us as we sped by. Though “sped” would be the wrong term, as Rose never wanted to take the car above twenty-five miles