The Weird Sisters - Eleanor Brown [97]
“You might even make more than you owe. You could keep what’s left over,” Cordy said.
Bean and Rose looked at each other, and both shook their heads. “I don’t want the money,” Bean said, and Rose smiled—surprised, but proud.
“I just want to pay it back,” Bean said. “This is a good idea, Rose. Thanks.”
Rose, flattered, blushed slightly.
“And thanks, by the way, for talking to Mrs. Landrige about hiring me. That was really nice. You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to help,” Rose said. “I still do. If you need anything.”
“Naughty, naughty, Beany,” Cordy said, her ticking finger wagging like a metronome again. She had produced a silver cigarette case from the depths of the purse and was holding it open like a locket. When she turned her hands to reveal the contents, Rose blinked.
“You carry your marijuana in that?” Rose asked, nodding at the case, smudged with careless fingerprints but clearly antique, and clearly expensive.
“Well, you have to carry it somewhere,” Bean said.
“That is so true,” Cordy said, mock-serious, as though Bean had just shared the secret of perfect happiness.
“I’d forgotten about it, actually,” Bean said, reaching out to Cordy, who had pushed the pashmina off her head, leaving her looking turtle-like inside the folds of fabric. Our baby sister sniffed one of the joints like a fine cigar.
“Obviously,” Cordy said. “This is some stale crap.” She passed the case to Bean.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Bean said.
We cannot believe Rose had never gotten stoned before, but she definitely was now. After all, if she ever would have been, it would have been with us, and by the time Bean and Cordy discovered pot, Rose was in college, and refused to have anything to do with us anyway. The only disappointment here was that Cordy couldn’t indulge along with us. We lay on the roof, watching the clouds weave in and out of the blue. Rose rested, fully supine, her feet, broad and pale, dangling off the edge. She felt sleepy and disconnected, and the effort of keeping her eyelids open was too much, so she had let them fall shut, a heavy thud that shut out the world but still left her feeling strangely open.
“Are you going to move to England?” Bean asked Rose.
Rose’s jaw felt unbelievably heavy, as though she were moving through sand, and there was a long pause before she responded. “England is very far away,” she said, her words dreamy and smoky against the push of her lips. “Very far away.”
“But you’re the only one who hasn’t been far away,” Cordy pointed out. “You’ve never even lived outside of the state.”
This was true. Rose clung to Barnwell, climbing it like a vine on a trellis, tendrils reaching the top before winding their way down again.
“I think it’s good to live somewhere else,” Bean said. “It changes your perspective. I mean, it even changes the way I see Barney now.”
“I like the way I see Barney,” Rose said petulantly, and her lower lip moved into a pout, causing Cordy to giggle. “Barney is my friend.” This made Cordy giggle even harder.
“But Jonathan’s your friend, and he’s going to be in England,” Bean pointed out, as though she were talking to a small child, which was precisely the effect the drug seemed to have had on Rose. “Don’t you want to be with Jonathan?”
With a tremendous, languid push, Rose sat up, her eyes still closed. She crossed her legs, yogi-style, her back stiff and straight. She had always had such good posture, which we forgot sometimes, as she hid her body under folds of fabric that made her look prematurely matronly. “I want to be with Jonathan. I miss him,” she said, and her voice held heavy sadness. “But I don’t want to be in England.”
“You loved England when we went to Stratford,” Cordy said.
“We were on vacation,” Rose said. “This would be living there. British people all the time.”
“With their funny accents,” Bean said supportively.
“And their weird food,” Cordy added.
“Iago said England was sweet,” Bean said, flicking ashes from her feet, her arms wound tight around her calves.
“I