And her frown.
“It’s not food poisoning,” Eleanor says. They must have noticed our wet clothes and strange expressions and the open door to the closet. The twins have been set into motion. Eleanor turns on more lights, closes the door to Astrid’s closet, grabs her cup of water to give to Marla. Astrid goes to Marla’s side to feel her forehead and lift her from lying down to sitting up. I mostly wring my hands and worry.
I don’t need to be worrying. Eleanor has done exactly this before, taking care of Mom. She and Astrid have a routine down. Eleanor calls out commands, and Astrid follows them in a calm, focused way. They seem more comfortable now than I’ve ever seen them. Like this is what they do best.
“I’ll go back in the closet,” Marla says between whimpers. “I feel fine in there. It’s better for me.” Luckily, she’s too tired to actually move. Astrid keeps a hand on Marla’s forehead and another on her knee, and that’s basically enough to keep her still for a good long while.
Eleanor sits down next to the rest of us when she has finished all the little chores around the room: blanket straightening and hair brushing and Advil getting. “We told you not to—”
“You were wrong!” Marla says. “It’s a good closet. It’s telling me what to do. It cares. You guys don’t understand. But you will. You’ll see.”
Marla is smiling. It’s a warm, lit-up smile, one I’ve maybe never seen on her face. Nothing like bitterness or sadness or rage behind it.
“Look in the mirror,” Eleanor says. “You do not look okay. You need to see yourself. You’re not seeing what we’re seeing, okay, honey?” Eleanor has a handheld mirror, a silver thing that is heavy and engraved and beautiful, like from a fairy tale. But it’s not so useful in terms of actually being able to see your reflection. It was passed down to her from Dad, who said it was from his family. I wonder who his family might have been, that they’d have something so magically beautiful. The glass is old and spotty and yellowed. Eleanor picks it up and shoves it in Marla’s face. Marla shakes her head in a polite kind of no, thank you, and she pushes the mirror away.
“Let me back in,” Marla says, keeping very still.
Astrid gets up and heaves Marla over her shoulder with a grunt. Astrid doesn’t exactly look strong with her willowy limbs and graceful-meets-unfocused way of moving through the world. But she holds Marla steady, and opens the bedroom door with her other hand. Marla kicks at Astrid’s middle, but Astrid doesn’t even stumble. I assume they make it all the way down the hall to Marla’s room like that.
“You didn’t tell us she was using the bad closet,” Eleanor says when we’re alone. “What are all these secrets you’re keeping? What is going on with you?”
“You don’t tell me everything,” I say. I want to argue that Marla is totally fine, and Astrid and Eleanor are overreacting, but in the wake of Marla rolling and retching on the ground, we’d both know it was a lie. “You haven’t been around. You don’t care. You have a whole new family with your secret boyfriend.”
Eleanor rolls her eyes. “Wouldn’t that be nice?” she says, small, quiet words that sound sad instead of mean. They hurt, but I know she doesn’t mean them to hurt me. I think about LilyLee and the way her mom always makes sure she has sunblock and the newest greatest books. How once a summer they go to Canobie Lake Park and ride the rickety roller coasters, the whole three-person family.
If Eleanor’s secret boyfriend’s family is anything like that, I guess I get it.
“Did you go in the closet too?” Eleanor asks. We are both sitting cross-legged. Our knees are touching. I can hear Astrid and Marla whispering down the hall, and I wonder how it is that Dad hasn’t woken up in the midst of all this excitement. I don’t answer Eleanor, so she asks again. “Silly. Did you go in? Did you see it? Did you like it? Did you have your special powers in there, too?”
“No,” I say. “I didn’t like it. I don’t like it. But Marla does. Did you see her smile? She was so happy.”
“That’s not what happy looks like, okay?” Eleanor says. “Maybe you haven’t seen it in a while, but that’s not it.” Eleanor looks sad for me.
Astrid comes back into the room and crawls into her bed. It’s not even dinnertime yet.
“Go to Marla’s room, Silly,” she mumbles. Astrid never calls me Silly, so it hurts. I stand right up; I felt too small sitting like that. “She’s sick. And scared. And you wanted to be involved. So go help her.” This pinches too. Eleanor opens her mouth. I’m not sure if she means to stand up for me or agree with Astrid, but she changes her mind and purses her lips.
“What if Marla goes back in?” I ask.
“You won’t let her,” Astrid says. It is final and certain and sleepy.
Twenty-Five