First Larry left for the stairs, then Julia. Gertie stayed. He acted braver than he felt and kissed her hard; slapped her ass. A firm and just-the-right-side-of-sexy tap. “Git! Git yer special thing!”
They reconvened back in the hall. “Okay,” Arlo said as he opened his Montecristo cigar box. It smelled sweet. “I’ll go first.” He placed his Hohner 64 in the box. He was sorry to part with it—it had been a gift from Danny Lasson back when the band had been solid. But it was also the harmonica he’d always lent to Shelly on sleepovers. The last song he, Julia, and Shelly had worked on had been “Werewolves of London.”
Next went Larry.
“Are you sure?” Gertie asked. “You won’t get it back.”
Larry nodded. “She was bad sometimes but she shouldn’t be alone…” He dropped his Robot Boy, which he’d washed with Trader Joe’s shampoo, into the box.
Gertie followed. She unclasped her pearl pendant. Her stepmother, Cheerie (Call me Cherry, honey!), had kept all her crowns and trophies, so except for her wedding ring, it was the only piece of real jewelry she owned. She’d planned to give it to Julia one day. “You don’t think it’s wasteful?” she asked Arlo as she held it over the box.
“No,” he answered.
Gertie clutched the pearl tight. One last squeeze. Then she let go. After so many years of working to acquire the pieces of their life that surrounded them, it felt good to surrender a thing.
Everybody looked down. These items were such pretty offerings, their intent so personal and specific, that they were no longer sorry to miss Shelly’s service. She’d slept over at their house scores of times. They’d only known her via this crescent, and for them, this was the better place to honor her.
At last, they turned to Julia, whose hands were empty. The right was still tender, blue stitches half dissolved. A dog, the emergency room doctor had told them, without any doubt.
“I don’t have anything important,” Julia said. “I wish it was me in that sinkhole.”
“I don’t,” Larry said.
Julia’s face crumbled. “It’s my fault. I could’ve saved her!”
“You couldn’t,” Gertie said.
“I could!”
Arlo smiled bittersweet—impressed by the depth of his daughter’s empathy, sorry she’d had to plumb it this way. “It was an accident.”
“You don’t understand! She wanted to live with us. She begged me!”
“Oh, Julia,” Gertie said. “Why would she want that?”
“She wasn’t happy.”
“Well, her mom wouldn’t have gone along with that.”
“How do you know?”
“Sweetie. I know she’s been acting out, but Rhea’s a good mom. All those kids are college bound.”
“She’s sneaky mean.”
“Lots of people are mean,” Arlo said.
Julia was still crying. “God meant to get me, but he got her by accident. He was trying to punish me for being a bad friend.”
“That makes no sense,” Gertie said.
“It’s true.”
“It’s not,” Arlo said. “It’s a story you’re telling yourself.”
Julia looked at them all, and took it in. Understood that she’d spoken this fear with the hope of being contradicted. No, it wasn’t her fault Shelly had died. This was not God’s wrath. Still, she felt responsible.
“She hurt her.”
“Who?” Arlo asked.
“Her mom. We weren’t really racing. We were running away. That’s why she fell. She was so scared her mom would murder her for cutting her hair that she wasn’t looking where she was going.”
The memory of that last, drunken conversation Gertie’d had with Rhea turned over right then. It flipped like a rock, insects slithering beneath. “Don’t say that! It’s a very serious accusation!”
“You take everybody’s side but mine,” Julia said. Her voice went flat. Too calm.
“Don’t attack me! All I do is think about you,” Gertie said. “We moved here for you.”
“You never have my back. That’s why I didn’t come to you. But it’s real. Shelly took pictures of what her mom did. Evidence. In her Pain Box.”
“Rhea doesn’t seem like the type,” Arlo said.
“She’s a college professor!” Gertie said.
“So?” Julia asked.
“So, Shelly was sensitive. Girls like that invent stories. It feels real but it’s not. The pain’s coming from someplace else. A problem within.”
“I saw Mrs. Schroeder hit you. She hits.”
Gertie touched her cut cheek, the humiliating memory of that slap fresh again. “But that’s extreme stress. God forbid if you were hurt, I’d go a little crazy, too.”
“You make excuses for people here. It’s like you’re scared of them.”
“You’re not making any sense to me, Julia. This is out of left field. I always—”
“What was this fucking Pain Box?” Arlo interrupted, his voice raised.
“It was real. I know because I saw. She showed me. I couldn’t hug her too tight. It hurt her. And if you think about it, that’s why she never let anybody hug her.”
Gertie winced. Wiped the overfill of water from under her eyes. “You’re sure she didn’t do it to herself?” she asked.
Julia looked down.
“Then you can’t—”
“Stop it!” Larry cried.
“Honey, I’m just trying to understand,” Gertie said.
“No!” Larry cried. “Stop calling her a liar.”