Better to Trust Page 9

  “Take a look,” she said turning the viewer to face toward the Back Bay and the river. “This way is the best.”

  At first, Sadie could only look with one eye and then the other, but after a few seconds, she got the hang of it. From this high up, the river looked so shiny it almost seemed fake, like the one Emma had made for her science fair diorama a few years ago. She recognized the salt shakers on the bridge across the river, the one close to where her dad worked. On the streets below, cars passed in complete silence, the lack of traffic noise strangely surreal.

  “This is really cool,” Sadie said, wanting to take back the word the second she said it. “I mean, sic. It’s totally sic.”

  They spent a few more minutes exploring the observatory checking out the views from all sides: the famous red and white Citgo sign, the bright green turf of Fenway park, the mirrored surface of the Hancock tower. When Sadie pressed her face to the glass, it felt like she was flying above the city, like being in an airplane, but better; no distracting engine noise, no flight attendants bumping her elbows with the drink cart, no barriers between her and the sky.

  “This is amazing,” Sadie said, her breath fogging up the glass.

  “Yeah,” Piper said. “One of my favorite spots.”

  Sadie looked over at Piper and smiled, relieved when she smiled back. What would the other girls at school say about them going downtown together? They might never admit it, but Sadie knew they would be jealous of her and wish they were here instead.

  “Let’s go soon,” Piper said. “We have a lot of stuff to do.”

  They spent a few more minutes before making their way back down in the elevator and outside.

  “What’s next?” Sadie asked, wondering what else Piper had planned. As they walked, the sky became more overcast, the afternoon sun now barely peeking through the clouds. Sadie zipped her jacket to keep out the chill.

  “You’ll see.” Just past Fenway Park, Piper turned onto a side street Sadie had never been down before.

  “What’s on this street?” Sadie walked as fast as she could to keep up with Piper.

  “They make memories here,” Piper said. “Indelible ones.”

  Piper stopped at a storefront and pulled open the door. “My brother said this place is the best.”

  A sign over the door read, “Inked.” Inside, the walls were covered from floor to ceiling with designs for tattoos, small and large, simple and intricate, and everything in between.

  “What the hell?” Sadie whispered. She hesitated once she stepped inside, her stomach starting to churn from drinking the vodka on an empty stomach.

  “Why are we here?” She’d seen people with tattoos before—that senior girl with the eyebrow piercing and the sleeve of flowers, the mechanic who fixed her father’s car, even Aunt Alison had a small heart on her ankle—but she had certainly never been to a tattoo parlor.

  “Why do you think?”

  If Piper wanted to get a tattoo, that was her choice. Maybe Piper wanted Sadie there for moral support, to hold her hand through the pain. Sadie felt honored that Piper had chosen her.

  An extra-large man with a nose ring and barely any virgin skin stood behind the counter. “Can I help you ladies?”

  “Yes.” Piper stepped up the counter. The man towered at least a foot over her. “We’d both like to get inked today.”

  “No way,” Sadie said.

  “Why did you think we came in here?”

  “I thought it was for you.”

  “I’m not doing it alone. If I get one, you get one.”

  “I can’t do that. My mom would kill me.” Every time her mom saw someone with a tattoo, she never failed to mention that people with tattoos weren’t allowed to be buried in a Jewish cemetery. Sadie didn’t care where she was buried, but the permanence of it felt scary.

  “Why don’t you stop worrying about your mommy and live a little,” Piper said.

  She hated how Piper said mean things just to make her feel inferior, like she always had to keep Sadie a few rungs below her.

  “Why did you think we came in here, Sadie?” Piper said. “To window shop?”

  “I don’t know. You didn’t give me time to think anything. I need to prepare for something like this.”

  The nose ring guy looked annoyed. “I like a good catfight, but we have a lot of appointments today. Getting inked,” he said, making quotations with his fingers, “is not to be taken lightly.”

  Sadie turned the laminated pages of the book to a section with sports designs—soccer balls, football helmets, ballet slippers.

  “We need a few minutes,” Piper said. “Right, Sadie?”

  “I’ve got a guy coming in for a long session,” he said. “Why don’t you ladies come back when you’ve had time to think this through?”

  “What’s he getting?” Piper asked.

  “A tiger covering his whole back. The teeth are my favorite part,” he said. “If you girls are stalling, I’ll go set up.”

  “No, Sadie will go first,” Piper pushed Sadie forward so firmly that the counter dug into her chest. “I’m still deciding.” Piper walked over to the side wall and pretended to be enthralled by the display of astronomical designs—Saturn encircled by its ring, shooting stars, and phases of the moon.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Sadie said, looking down at a book of designs on the counter to avoid making eye contact with the large man.

  “It’s time to make a statement, Sadie Kaplan,” Piper said over her shoulder. “Now or never.”

  Sadie could tell by the tone of Piper’s voice that if she didn’t do this, their friendship would be over before it had really begun. Suddenly Piper seemed larger than life and Sadie felt small. The nose ring guy tapped his fingers on the counter. Sadie pictured walking down the hall at school on Monday, the other girls gasping at her tattoo, Piper by her side. For once, she’d be the one with the exciting weekend story and she wouldn’t have to exaggerate.

  “Okay,” Sadie said firmly, pointing to a design in the book. “I’ll get this one.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Alison

  September 6, 2019

  OVER A WEEK SINCE BECCA’S VISIT, Alison was strangely excited to be taking a trip to the craft store of all places, anything to get her out of the house and away from her circular thoughts. As they got out of the car, she insisted on walking on her own. With practice, she’d gotten much smoother with the cane, more accustomed to moving her body in rhythm with it. When they reached the curb, Rhea held her right arm to help her step up. Nate opened the door and Alison leaned and thumped her way through.

  Nate had come off the bus all excited about a new social studies assignment: pick a country and research the culture, food, and dress. For his masterpiece, he needed a piece of green poster board, construction paper, and markers.

  “What made you choose Ireland?” Rhea asked as they walked down the first aisle.

  “I wanted to pick a country I’d heard of. Cooper chose Bhutan and that sounds more like a piece of furniture than a country, and I also wanted to choose one that had some interesting stuff to research. Canada or Mexico are too boring since we hear about them all the time.”

  “I’m sure there’s a lot you could learn about those countries, too,” Rhea said. “Don’t be such a big shot.”

  “I remembered Ms. Corrie told me her family was from Ireland,” Nate said. “So that was an easy choice.”

  “Okay,” Alison said. Since Nate had walked in on them last week, he’d been talking about Becca non-stop—Ms. Corrie this, and Ms. Corrie that. It was probably just a harmless crush, but Alison couldn’t help wondering if it was a sign of something more ominous. Maybe talking about her was his way of processing what he’d seen. She hoped he hadn’t mentioned anything to Rhea. It was mortifying enough that Alison needed her help with showering and using the toilet. She didn’t need Rhea involved in her relationships as well.

  “What kinds of things will you put on your poster?” Rhea asked. “
Do you have any ideas?”

  “Of course, I do,” he said. Nate never ran short on ideas. “For foods, I want to find pictures of Irish stew, potatoes, and of course, Guinness.”

  “How do you know about Guinness?”

  “I’m in the world, Mom.” He rolled his eyes and kept walking.

  Because even a small incline or irregularity could trip Alison up, she looked down as they walked to the next aisle. As they did, she noticed a pair of silver Birkenstocks and a familiar birthmark on the calf. It was Cynthia, Sadie standing behind her, her hair back to its normal brown color. As Alison tried to turn around, her right leg caught on Nate’s sneaker and she started to fall. Rhea grabbed her arm before she completely lost her balance.

  “Alison, are you okay?” Cynthia rushed down the aisle and took her other arm.

  “I’m fine.” She did her best to right herself. She hadn’t seen Cynthia for months, since she’d come to visit her at the rehab place. Alison didn’t have patience for her hysterics right now, or ever for that matter.

  “I didn’t know you were going to, I mean I wouldn’t have come if I …” Cynthia released Alison’s arm and fumbled with the buttons on her shirt. “I’m not trying to stalk you or anything.”

  Alison wasn’t ready to see her again, not even remotely ready to deal with the rift in their relationship and the horrible missteps that had brought them to this point. This would be the perfect moment for Nate to start chattering again about his ideas for the school project.

  Alison looked down at the basket Cynthia was holding, full of an assortment of bands for her Rainbow Loom. She never wore her creations, but she spent hours on YouTube learning how to weave ever more complex patterns, claiming it kept her from going to the fridge when she was bored.

  “Still?” Alison asked, motioning her chin toward the basket.

  “I know,” she said. “It’s the only thing that helps with my anxiety. I have a law degree and I spend hours braiding rubber bands.”

  “I love those bracelets,” Rhea said.

  “Really?” Cynthia said. “Sadie won’t wear them anymore.”

  “Not a chance,” Sadie said.

  “I will.” Nate raised his hand. “As long as the colors aren’t too girly.”

  “What are you shopping for today?” Cynthia asked.

  “Nate has a class project about Ireland, so we’re here for supplies,” Rhea said.

  “Ireland’s beautiful,” Cynthia said.

  “Ms. Corrie is Irish,” Nate said. “A lot of the boys at school think she’s pretty, and sometimes we make bets on who she’ll pick to do cleanup duty after lunch. I don’t mind clearing tables with her.”

  “Really?” Rhea said. “You don’t seem to like cleaning up around the house.”

  “Yeah, and some of the sixth-grade boys made a bet about which one of them could get her to kiss them first. It doesn’t have to be on the lips. It can be on the cheek or something, but I think Dylan Hoenig will win. He’s the sneakiest.” Alison closed her eyes and hoped that Rhea would change the subject. All this discussion about Becca and kissing was making her nervous.

  “That’s quite a bet,” Cynthia said. “She’s the friend who visited you in the hospital, right?”

  “I guess it doesn’t matter who wins. I can just ask Mrs. Jacobs. I know two girls can like each other and get married and everything, if they want. I mean Elise Cohen has two moms, the fat one had her and the skinny one had her little brother.”

  Holding her breath, Alison prayed Cynthia wouldn’t pick up on his quick comment.

  “Nathaniel,” Rhea scolded. “Be appropriate.”

  Cynthia’s face didn’t seem to register anything. She seemed to have missed Nate’s revelation.

  “Nathaniel,” Rhea said, “let’s go collect the rest of your supplies and leave Mrs. Jacobs to talk with her sister.” Alison watched them disappear into the next aisle, wishing they would have stayed. Even Nate’s babbling would be better than dealing with her sister.

  “Wow,” Cynthia said. “He really seems to be keen on your friend Becca.”

  Alison looked at the shelf, feigning interest in a paper mâché kit.

  “How are you?” Cynthia asked. “It’s been a long time.”

  She shrugged. Cynthia was acting like she was unaware of why they were estranged, as if it had nothing to do with her.

  “A lot has happened since we last saw each other,” Cynthia said. “I think about you every day, Alison, about how things could have turned out differently between us.”

  Alison refused to look at her. She blamed her sister for their estrangement, but she still felt the loss of their relationship acutely. Cynthia knew her better than anyone else, and she missed their closeness, being able to pick up the phone and just chat or ask her opinion on the news or goings on at school or even on whether to buy a pair of earrings. She missed being together for birthdays and holidays. She missed having a sister.

  “I am not my husband,” Cynthia said. “He messed up in ways that are bigger than I could have imagined, but I can’t rewind and correct what happened. I can’t erase the past or make myself more observant than I was. When I think about all the signs I didn’t see, I want to slap myself.”

  Sadie stared at the floor, seemingly embarrassed by her mother’s emotional outburst.

  What signs was she referring to? Alison didn’t know what Cynthia was talking about, but she knew it didn’t sound good.

  “I don’t even know where to begin,” Cynthia said. “There’s so much to catch you up on.”

  “I …” Alison wished she could ask questions, but at the same time she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answers.

  When Cynthia stepped forward to give her a hug, Alison held her cane out to stop her from coming any closer. Cynthia’s face fell and she started to scrunch up her eyes. She was about to cry, the same martyr act she’d relied on since their mother died in a car accident when Alison was eight, the car careening on black ice into a ravine. Only four years older, Cynthia had been forced to step up. Their father could barely get himself to work and back, so Cynthia had no choice but to take care of her little sister. She had to wake Alison up in the morning, help her pick out her clothes, and cook dinner which mostly consisted of pasta with sauce from a jar. Cynthia rarely did it with grace, turning every task into a martyred act without embracing the responsibility.

  “Maybe we could talk sometime,” Cynthia said, her eyes welling with tears. “Just you and me.”

  “Enough,” Alison said. She’d always hated this silly act, and she certainly couldn’t stomach it right now.

  Cynthia started to sniffle.

  “It’s okay, Mom,” Sadie said.

  “Enough,” Alison said again. “It your …” She wanted to say that her act wasn’t going to work this time, that she needed more time to heal and figure things out.

  “Fault, your fault,” Alison stammered, her fingers twitching on her cane.

  “How could you say that?” She wiped her nose with her wrist. “I’ve always looked out for you and this is the thanks I get?”

  “No.” Alison banged her cane on the floor. With a ticking time-bomb in her head, she hadn’t been thinking straight. Cynthia was supposed to steer her in the right direction and she had failed.

  The noise of her cane hitting the floor jarred Cynthia. Her face froze and then twisted with anger. “You act like you’re completely innocent in all this, but you’re not,” Cynthia hissed, a spray of spit spewing from her mouth. “You decided to let Grant do your surgery. I didn’t tie you down or handcuff you to the operating table. That was your decision, Alison. And now that it went south, you blame me. This is just like you. Always acting like you’re better than everyone else. Well, this whole thing sucks. For everyone involved. And this time, you can’t claim to be perfect. Because you’re not.”

  Cynthia turned around and was out the door before Alison could respond. An employee in a green apron looked over to see what the commotion was a
bout. Sadie came to Alison’s side and placed a hand on her back.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “My mom’s having a hard time with all of this.”

  “I … know.”

  “She misses you a lot. And I miss you, too. They never let me visit.” Alison figured that was the case, but it seemed unnecessarily cruel to punish a child just because the adults couldn’t find a way to reconcile.

  “I’ve decided that’s stupid,” Sadie said. “Just because you two are fighting doesn’t mean I can’t see you. I’ll figure out a way to get to your house.”

  As Alison watched her go, she realized how far she’d fallen. Not only was she an invalid, but a fifth-grader had nearly outed her and her only sister had just spewed poisonous venom at her in public. And to make matters worse, her teenage niece was the most mature of them all.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Grant

  February 25, 2019

  “THIS LOOKS DELICIOUS,” Grant said, helping himself to a piece of meatloaf and a spoonful of mashed potatoes. This weekly Monday night menu had lost its appeal long ago, but he didn’t feel like arguing about food right now. Things had been tense between Cynthia and him since Alison had shown up last week for a consultation. One false move could set her off.

  “It’s the same thing we always have,” Sadie said.

  “I don’t know what I would do without Whole Foods,” Cynthia said. “It’s a life saver.”

  When Cynthia had decided to leave the law, Grant had imagined she would be at home cooking and taking care of the house. He would walk in the door after a long day at work to the smell of homemade pasta sauce bubbling on the stove, Cynthia tossing a salad in the wooden bowl they’d picked up in Montepulciano on their honeymoon. In reality, they ate a lot of prepared takeout and Cynthia hired a cleaning girl to come once a week. He wasn’t sure what Cynthia did with her time, but taking care of her family didn’t seem to be her top priority.

  He took a bite of mashed potatoes and washed it down with a sip of red wine. “Yeah, maybe someone would have to cook,” he said, the dig too tempting to pass up.