Then someone taps my shoulder.
I look up, startled. Alex is towering over me. “We need to talk.”
Chapter
Fifteen
Now? Alex wants to talk now?
“It’s about your sister,” he clarifies, and I search the shadows behind him for Iz. She’s huddled a few yards away with Claire. Leaning against Claire half-mast, like her head is too heavy to hold up.
I jump to my feet. “Did you get Isobel drunk?”
“I am not responsible.” Alex holds his hands out. “She poured her own drinks. She said she was okay!”
“She’s fifteen!” I turn to Connor and his friends. “It was really nice to meet you all. I’m sorry. I have to go take care of my sister.”
“We’ve all been there. Water and Advil. And carbs. Lots of carbs,” Nia advises.
Connor stands. “Let me come with you. I’ll walk you two home.”
“I’ve got this.” Alex is white-knuckling his beer.
“Clearly you don’t or my little sister wouldn’t be trashed.” I stalk over to Claire and Isobel. “What happened?”
“I don’t feel good,” Iz whines.
I check my phone. We’ve got forty-five minutes till curfew. “How much did you have to drink?”
“Three beers. Four?” She looks to Alex.
“I didn’t know I had to keep track,” he says tightly.
“I’m sorry, Ivy. I got a little distracted gossiping about Jenna and Coop,” Claire apologizes.
“It’s okay.” Iz is my sister, not hers. It was my job to keep an eye on her.
If Granddad is waiting up for us, he is going to be pissed.
“Would you get her a hot dog, please?” I ask Connor, and he heads for the bonfire.
“What can I do?” Alex asks. “Let me do something.”
“You’ve done enough. We’ve got it from here.”
“‘We,’ huh? Thought you weren’t dating him.”
I count to ten. “Yes, we’re dating. I like Connor, and I’m dating him, and you’re going to have to deal with it, okay?”
“Or what? We can’t be friends anymore if I don’t like the guy?” Alex asks.
“I thought you didn’t want to be friends anymore.” I whirl on him. “Go away, Alex.”
He looks at me for a long minute, and then he leaves.
“Hot dogs are like a million calories,” Iz is protesting. “Where’s Alex going? He’s nice. Mama made him bring me, but he was nice about it.”
“What have you had to eat today?” I ask. “Please tell me it was more than a grapefruit and some lettuce.”
“None of your damn business.” She tries to get in my face and almost falls over. Claire steadies her. “I like you. You’re nice. Nicer than her.”
Claire cackles. “Oh, that is so not true. Ivy’s the nicest.”
“Nuh-uh. She’s a liar.” Iz hiccups. “Everybody’s a fucking liar. Kyle. Granddad. Ivy. Mama… Mama’s the worst. Only sometimes, the terrible things she says are true.”
“How do you mean?” Claire asks. Iz hiccups again, and Claire rubs her back.
“She said Kyle wasn’t going to wait for me all summer, and I think she’s right. I’ve only been gone a week and Rhiannon says he was already flirting with Emma Sinclair,” Iz says. “Maybe if I were skinnier, he wouldn’t break up with me. Mama says I should lay off the chocolate-chip cookies. Or maybe if I gave him a blow job.”
“Oh fuck no.” Claire hauls my sister around by the elbow and stares at her. “You are so pretty. Your mama doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Some people are just big black holes of need, and they’ll suck all the happiness right out of you if you let them. My father’s like that. I mean, do you see your mama in a happy relationship? No, you do not. You are gorgeous, baby girl. Don’t you ever let her tell you any different.”
“Can I tell you a secret?” Isobel is drunk-whispering, which means I can hear her perfectly from several feet away.
“Of course. I’m a good secret keeper,” Claire says.
“Sometimes I hate her.” Isobel’s lip quivers. “She was like this when she and my bio dad broke up. She got drunk all the time and she lost her job and she got mean. I had to do everything—make dinner, do laundry, walk to school. All by myself. I was seven.” She looks at me. “Sometimes I think you’re lucky ’cause you got to grow up without her. Is that terrible?”
“No.” Claire and I say it together.
“What changed?” I ask.
“My teacher threatened to call Child Protective Services,” Iz slurs. “But she didn’t quit drinking till she met Dad.”
Connor comes back with a bottle of water and a blackened hot dog on a roasted bun.
“Thank you,” I say, handing the hot dog to Iz. “Here. Eat.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I’m not eating bread.”
“Eat the damn bread, Isobel. I can’t take you home like this. Granddad will pitch a fit.”
She glares at me. “Mama won’t care. She drinks all the time.”
“There’s so much wrong with that…I don’t even know where to start,” I mutter.
“What did I say about eating whatever you want?” Claire asks.
Iz glowers at her too. “Like you eat hot dogs. Look at you!”
“Are you kidding? I love hot dogs.” Claire grabs the hot dog from Iz and takes an enormous bite. Mustard drips onto her green jumper but she just shrugs. “See? Your turn. Come on, Iz. It’ll make you feel better.”
Iz takes the hot dog and nibbles at it. Connor is standing close, his shoulder brushing mine, lending silent support.
“And that better be the only wiener you put in your mouth. We do not give blow jobs so that boys will like us!” Claire roars, and Connor nearly chokes on his beer.
Iz stares at Claire like she’s found a new hero. “Okay.”
• • •
“You want me to come in with you?” Claire whispers forty-five minutes later.
We’re standing outside my front door. The TV murmurs through the open living room windows, but the lamp is on in the library, so my chances are fifty-fifty of running into Granddad at either entrance. I’m hoping I can sneak Isobel in the front door and up the stairs before he sees her. “No, I’ve got it. But thank you.”
“I’ll come by tomorrow and check on you,” she says to Iz, stroking her messy blond curls. Iz nestles into her, and I think what a good big sister Claire would be (unlike me). “Feel better, okay?”
Iz mumbles an incoherent response. Claire practically dragged her home. I tried to help but Iz wouldn’t let me touch her. And she threw up in somebody’s garden.
“Night, Ivy Bear,” Claire says, and I give her a hug. I am damn lucky to have a friend like her.
Still, this is not how I’d hoped my night would end.
“All right. Time to go inside,” I say to Iz as Claire disappears down the dark driveway. “You go straight up to the bathroom and brush your teeth. I’ll be up in a minute with water and ibuprofen.” I get out my keys, but the front door is unlocked, which means Granddad is still up. Super.
“I’m sleepy,” Iz complains, her eyes drifting closed as she leans against the white bricks.
“I know.” I swing open the door quietly. “Go upstairs now. Quiet, okay?”
Ignoring me, Iz creeps to the living room and peers in the doorway. “Iz. Go upstairs!” I hiss, looking to see what’s caught her attention.
Erica’s fallen asleep on the couch. The TV sends flickering ghosts over her face. In sleep, she looks young. Softer. Her face loses some of its armor; her lipstick has worn off and left her mouth vulnerable. The wine bottle she opened before supper is sitting empty on the coffee table, a glass next to it. The front windows are open, letting in the cool night breeze. Someone—Granddad?—has tucked Great-Grandmother’s quilt over her, and she’s snuggled into it.
When I’m sick, Granddad brings me ginger ale, tucks that quilt around my shoulders, and watches BBC adaptations of
Jane Austen with me. He probably did the same thing—or some variation of it—for my mother when she was young. For the first time, it hits me, viscerally: he’s her father. He might not always like her, but he still loves her. Despite all the heartbreaks, he’s willing to give her another chance.
“Girls?”
I spin around. Granddad has snuck up behind us in his stockinged feet.
Iz wobbles and almost falls. I catch her elbow, but she yanks away.
Granddad narrows his eyes. “Isobel, have you been drinking?”
She raises her chin. “Yep.”
At least she’s smart enough not to deny it.
He herds us down the hall. The framed pictures of Dorothea getting married, getting her PhD, and getting her Pulitzer Prize watch our shameful progression. “I knew it was a bad idea for you to go out tonight. Ivy, what were you thinking, letting her drink like that?”
Of course. Of course this is my fault. Did I pour the beer down her throat?
“I didn’t see her until it was too late,” I mutter.
Granddad shakes his head while I get Iz a glass of water. “The cove isn’t that big, Ivy. Last week you came home smelling like liquor and now… Isobel, I know your mother hasn’t set a good example for how to drink responsibly, but you’re too young to—Isobel, are you listening to me?” Granddad waves a hand in front of her face to catch her attention, and Iz’s droopy eyes snap open. “You’re grounded.”
She shrugs. “So? I have no life here anyway. Mama still has my phone.”
“That’s part of the problem. You need a life outside your phone. Theater camp starts on Monday morning, and you’re going,” Granddad decides. “You need to meet people your own age and be productive.”
Productive. Like the secret to happiness is crossing things off a to-do list.
“I don’t want to be in their stupid Peter Pan,” she whines.
“Then you can help paint sets or sew costumes or whatever else they need,” Granddad says. “You’ll be at camp every Monday through Friday for the next four weeks, 10:00 a.m. until 2:00 p.m. And when you get home, you’ll have a list of chores to do before dinner.”
Iz wrinkles her nose. “Chores! Why? You have a housekeeper!”
“This will be a wonderful chance for you to get to know Luisa,” Granddad says.
Poor Luisa, saddled with Iz, I think. But then I feel ashamed. Luisa has been like a mom to me: loving, encouraging, stern when I needed it. We laugh a lot together. She listens to me. Doesn’t Iz deserve someone like that too?
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate the help now that there are twice as many people for her to look after,” Granddad continues. “There are rules in this house, Isobel, and there are consequences for breaking them. As long as you’re under this roof, I will not have you coming home drunk. It’s reckless and dangerous and—”
Isobel glares at him. “Mama doesn’t care. She didn’t even wait up for me.”
“Well, I care. Erica and I are going to have a long talk tomorrow about the kind of example she’s setting,” Granddad says grimly.
Isobel slumps against the wall. “What about Ivy? She was drinking too.”
“Ivy and I are going to have our own talk. You get to bed.” Granddad takes her water glass and refills it. “We’ll discuss this again tomorrow, in the event that your memory is hazy.”
Isobel glowers at us before stumbling out of the kitchen. Granddad waits until we hear her feet on the stairs before turning to me. “I had one cup of wine,” I say. “One. I heard you last week, loud and clear. You can ask me to recite the alphabet backward if you want.”
“I believe you, but what about your sister? What were you doing that was so important you couldn’t look after Isobel?” The disappointment in his voice is enough to bring me to tears.
The truth flies to my lips before I can stop it. “I was hanging out with Connor and some of his friends.”
Granddad pours himself a glass of sweet tea. “I’m glad to hear that you and Connor are getting along so well, but you should have kept an eye on your sister.”
“She was with Alex. I thought he was keeping an eye on her.”
“Oh, I’ll be having a talk with him too. But really, Ivy—you thought a bunch of senior baseball players were the best company for a drunk, vulnerable fifteen-year-old girl?” He raises his bushy eyebrows.
I think of all the senior boys on the baseball team. Boys like Cooper Sutton. Boys I grew up with, boys who have come over to swim off the dock and have barbecues in our backyard and eat Luisa’s chocolate-chip cookies by the dozens. Boys who drive their pickup trucks around town and honk and holler at girls walking down the street. Some of Alex’s friends are douche bags when it comes to girls; Coop’s a good example of that. But I don’t want to believe any of them would have hurt Isobel.
Only that’s not how the world works, is it?
Claire’s right. I can be really naive sometimes.
“I know Alex would never take advantage of her,” Granddad continues. “But I don’t know about his friends, and from the look on your face, you’re not so sure either. You have a sister now, Ivy, and you have a responsibility to look out for her. I know you’re used to it being just you and me, and I would understand if you felt a little resentful toward Isobel for—”
“Are you serious?” I interrupt. “Do you honestly think I would have let something happen to her because I’m mad that I have to share my damn towels? I’ve tried! She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
He fixes me with a frown. “Well, she needs you, whether she’s willing to admit it or not. Don’t give up on her. She’s having a hard time right now.”
And I’m not? What do I have to do for my feelings to be taken into consideration?
“I understand,” I say tightly. “Am I grounded too, or can I go to bed?”
“Tone, Ivy,” Granddad says, and waits for me to apologize. But he’d have to wait a hell of a long time, because I’m tired of apologizing when I don’t mean it. I stare at him until he sighs and relents. “You’re not grounded. But I want to see you making more of an effort with Isobel, all right? This is new territory for all of us. We’re all going to make mistakes. I know it wasn’t our idea to keep her in the dark, but we need to work extra hard now to make amends. To earn her trust.”
“I understand,” I say. “Good night.”
I trudge upstairs. Pass the bathroom, where I can hear Isobel throwing up.
I pause. Should I stop and—what? Offer to hold her hair?
Erica ruined everything, so now I have to work extra hard to prove myself.
That’s the story of my life.
And I am getting goddamn sick of it.
I keep walking.
Chapter
Sixteen
Gracie finds me in the kitchen late the next morning. “Something’s wrong with Izzy,” she announces. “She’s sick. I heard her throw up and she says she doesn’t want any ginger ale and I don’t know what to do.”
I get up from the table, where I’ve been reading an awesome graphic novel, Nimona, that I borrowed from the library on Abby’s recommendation. I go to the fridge and pour some ginger ale because, like it or not, Izzy needs to hydrate. “I’m on it.”
Gracie hovers. “She says her head hurts.”
“I bet it does.”
Grace’s little face is all scrunched up with worry. Her blond hair is pulled back into a simple ponytail, which makes me think it’s Isobel who braids her hair every morning. That softens my annoyance. “I’ll take care of her. Don’t worry. Why don’t you go read more Fancy Nancy in the sunroom?”
Gracie beams at me. “Izzy always says when I have a problem I should tell her because she’s the big sister and she’ll fix it. So I knew I could tell you because now you’re the big sister!” She throws her arms around my waist and then runs off, her bare feet pattering against the tile floors, clutching her book in one hand and her stuffed puppy in the other.
I knock lightly
on their bedroom door before letting myself in. Isobel’s side of the room is a mess of clothes and shoes, and she’s taped posters from a few Broadway shows on the walls: Hamilton, The Book of Mormon, and Chicago. Isobel herself is curled up on her twin bed. She opens one eye and glares at me. “Did I say you could come in?”
“Sit up.” I stride across the room and yank the curtains open.
“What the hell!” she shrieks, blinking and throwing her arm over her eyes. “Why would you do that?”
“You need to get up. You’re freaking Gracie out. She thinks you’re dying or something.” Isobel sits up and I hand her the glass of ginger ale. “Drink this. Then we’ll get you something to eat.”
Isobel’s hair is straggling out of last night’s braids, and last night’s mascara and eyeliner are smeared beneath her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten trashed.”
“I haven’t, but Alex has.” I smile at the memory. “It was some dumb initiation for the baseball team freshman year. He was scared to go home and face Luisa, and Granddad was at some faculty thing, so Alex came over here and hid out. He got sick and then ended up taking a nap in the living room. I made it look like he fell asleep watching an old movie with me.”
Iz takes a few tentative sips, then lies back down. “Did he get away with it?”
“Nope. We thought we were sneaky, but Luisa totally grounded him.”
She groans. “Mama would never ground me. Do I really have to go to that stupid theater camp? Can’t you, like, talk to Granddad for me?”
“Wouldn’t do any good. He doesn’t change his mind about stuff like that.” I sit on Gracie’s unmade bed. She has Frozen sheets.
“You didn’t get in trouble,” Iz complains.
“I got a lecture for letting you get drunk,” I say. “Has Erica checked on you?”