The Weird Sisters - Eleanor Brown [99]
“Open the window,” Rose demanded. Cordy dropped the bread back in the batter and reached for the window. “Wash your hands first!”
“Jeezo Pete,” Cordy said. “Some people sure are bossy.” Our father retreated, a vision in flapping pajama bottoms. We worked in silence for a moment, fanning the invisible scent out the window. Rose took a plate of cooked slices off the counter and dumped it into the trash can. She closed the lid, then reopened it, tied the bag, and took it outside. “So we can’t eat anything with a smell?” Cordy asked.
“Cordy, the woman has cancer. You’re upset because you can’t have French toast?”
“Who said I was upset? I just want to make sure I understand the rules now.” She headed for the refrigerator and rummaged around, pulling out fresh berries and yogurt.
“Don’t be selfish,” Rose said. Cordy paused in the act of mixing the berries into the yogurt, splashes of blue and rose in the white, and stared at our sister. Her mouth gaped open and then closed, sealing the thought inside.
“I’m sorry,” Cordy said finally.
Dan needed his car, so it was Rose who drove Cordy to her doctor’s appointment. “Cordelia Andreas, four o’clock,” Rose barked at the receptionist. The waiting room was filled with women in varying stages of pregnancy, from the long-suffering swollen-anklers to the bright-faced newbies still bothering with makeup. Cordy stood behind Rose. Her pants were too long, and the hems by her heels had gone to threads trailing on the carpet.
“License and insurance?” the receptionist countered, unfazed. We suppose if you are surrounded by hormonal women all day, even Rose is not much of a threat. Rose turned back to Cordy and held out her hand.
Now, Rose would tell you that normal people would know these things were expected, that you might even have the documents in your hand when you approach. Cordy will tell you nothing about her is normal, haw haw haw, so why start here? The other women in the office had proper handbags, sensible black, playful silver. Leather. Cordy had draped her woven bag over one shoulder like a bandolier, and she reached inside, emerging with a book, a tampon that had seen better days, an empty pack of gum, a plastic spoon (in case of a spoon emergency?), the crumpled stub from her last paycheck, and finally, a tiny case functioning as a wallet.
“She doesn’t have insurance,” Rose said. “You brought money, right?” she asked, turning to Cordy. Cordy nodded.
“Okay, she can pay when we schedule her next appointment,” the receptionist said, and bartered Cordy’s driver’s license for a pile of forms. Rose sailed over to a chair in the corner, Cordy trailing behind, feeling very much like the third wheel. When she sat down, Rose had already clicked her pen officiously and begun filling out the form in her tiny, precise script.
“Are you going to have the exam for me, too?” Cordy asked, more out of curiosity than sarcasm.
Rose, chastened, stopped, and then shoved the clipboard and the pen at Cordy. “Do it yourself, then. I was just trying to help.” She reached into her own (grown-up) handbag and pulled out a book. Cordy stared hard at her and then completed the form, jamming the pen so hard against the paper that it scratched against the board underneath. The truth was, she was more than a little worried that she couldn’t do it without Rose. That she couldn’t do any of it without Rose—not the labor or the diaper changing or the cutting off of peanut butter and jelly sandwich crusts. The wanderlust crept up again inside her like a shooting star, a sudden, violent urge to escape disappearing into darkness again. She pushed down the afterglow and focused.
When the nurse called her name, Cordy reached for Rose’s hand. “Come with me,” she said, and her fingers slipped clammy against Rose’s.
To say Rose disapproved of Cordy’s decision to have this baby would be an understatement. Everything about the idea