Dear Phoebe,
The diary took a long time to come back. I thought you maybe stopped writing, and I was so happy when I went over to Amma’s house and she had it waiting for me. She also made me hot chocolate and gave me some socks and I sat on the couch and read all the things you wrote. I wish I could see ROMEO AND JULIET! Maybe it will come here, but the only thing at the movie theater this week is THE FRENCH CONNECTION. Some kids at school are talking about BILLY JACK, and I really want to see that. They went down to Seaside to watch it, but Joel said it’ll show here, too, because his mom says the theater here shows all the movies.
Here is something else: YOU ARE MY BEST FRIEND OF ALL TIME! I mean it, Phoebe. I feel like when we met, it was like finding my long-lost sister. Never think I will ever have a friend like you, ever ever ever. Joel is my school friend, and we get along really well, but it’s not like you and me.
I can’t wait to see your comic! Two girls on the beach! Does one have blonde hair and one have brown hair?
Thanksgiving is next week! I’ll write every day and give it to you when you get here.
November 18, 19—
This is one of the BEST DAYS OF MY LIFE!!!! I GOT A PART IN A PLAY! And not just any play—ANNE FRANK, and you will not believe this, Phoebe, but I got the part of Anne!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am going to play the most wonderful character in the history of the world in a play! Me, the weirdest girl in school!! I can’t even believe it. I don’t know what made me do it, but they had tryouts last week and I loved the book so much and felt so connected to Anne that I decided it would be cool. I didn’t think I did very well because after I read, the whole room was quiet and then they just said, “thank you, Suzanne,” all polite and stuff. I was blushing when I walked out, I know it, but Joel said later that I did really good, like good enough he almost cried, so I thought maybe it wasn’t so bad.
But ANNE FRANK! The lead!! I am so happy I could cry. In fact, I did cry.
Love and rainbows and sparkles and diamonds and dancing,
Suze
November 19, 19—
I don’t have much time, because I have to bake a bunch of cupcakes for the bake sale on Sunday and I had a meeting for the play so I had to tell my dad it was a home ec club thing. He saw that I was making money helping other girls make clothes and thought that was a fine thing for a girl to do (a fine thing, oh brother) and now I can use that as my excuse whenever. He likes that I’m earning some money, too, though he takes some of it. Anyway, I made the cupcakes, three dozen white cake and three dozen chocolate along with Mrs. Armstrong. She wears so much perfume it chokes me, and although she’s supposed to be modest in dress, she really likes sweaters that show off her gigantic boobs! Yuck! My dad always makes excuses to come talk to us in the kitchen when she’s around. It’s embarrassing.
November 20, 19—
You will be here today! I can’t wait to see you! Hug you tight!
CURRENT DAY
Chapter Eight
Suze
I surface from sleep to discover the bedroom is flooded with light, and for long moments I simply lie there, feeling safe and secure, the way I always have in this place. Here I was safe from my father, from the cruelty of the world, tucked into Beryl’s care.
I came back here to live after my father sent me away to an unwed mothers’ home. He had always planned that I’d return to his care, in his new church in Texas, but I flat out refused. I asked Beryl to help me make a case for emancipation, and she gladly dived in and offered me shelter.
So I spent the final two and a half years of high school in this bedroom. The first year was painful and full of grief, but the second I began to really heal. Beryl and Phoebe loved me back to life, along with a series of parts in the school theater department.
Where would my life have ended up if not for Beryl? I can’t even imagine.
A familiar sense of well-being fills me now. I can’t remember the last time I felt so safe, at peace. The house is silent, and Yul Brynner is nowhere in sight. I slide a hand out of the covers, but he’s not on the bed. Phoebe must have let him out of the room. I can tell I’ve had a good sleep when I stand and stretch. How long has it been since I slept like that?
Years. Literally. The attack made it worse, but I haven’t been able to sleep in ages. It started after Dmitri died. We never lived together, although we often slept at each other’s houses, but we’d been together almost two decades by the time he fell ill. The world lost its sheen, and the hours of night were extra dark, and even when the most acute stage of my grieving was over, I couldn’t find a way back to effortless sleep. As soon as I slid into bed, my brain would start throwing out all kinds of things—memories and problems and what I should eat for lunch the next day. Important things and stupid ones. After the beating, I found myself waking up with panic attacks, gasping and sweating, which made even the prospect of sleep terrifying.
It’s been slowly improving, and I hope that being in Blue Cove will settle my nerves, help me heal.
What a way to start! Of course I slept with the safety of Phoebe close by, and the comfort of knowing I wasn’t alone. The realization makes me a little misty.
Downstairs, Yul Brynner sits on the dining room windowsill, his tail swishing as he squeaks at a bird outside. He doesn’t even look at me. He’s happy here, too.
Phoebe left me a note on the counter. For a moment, I’m afraid to pick it up, afraid she’s left so she doesn’t have to tell me in person to go home.
But when I pick it up, it says only, Went to the studio. Eat something, then join us.
Some of the cranberry bread from yesterday and a bowl of apples sit beside the kettle, and she’s left out an array of teas. Peach oolong. Green Dragon black tea. Earl Grey, never my favorite. I don’t love that smoky flavor. I choose the peach and turn on the kettle.
It’s only then that I realize it’s ten thirty. Holy cow. How could I have slept so long? I’m a morning person!
I guess I’ve been more exhausted than I thought.
Anxious to get to the studio before they come back and I lose my chance, I make a cup of tea in a go-cup, then grab an apple and a slice of bread and hurry out the back door, on the path beneath the dripping pines. The sun makes everything glitter, and I find myself slowing to look at it, noticing the birds trading notes in the tree branches, and the rich, earthy scent of the forest floor. A sudden memory of Joel bolts through me—the bend of his neck smelled just like this, hummus and needles and pines.
Have I ever loved anyone like that, fully and without reservation? I loved Dmitri, deeply, and we had a strong, sexy, tender relationship, but I’m not sure I ever dropped my guard completely. Maybe it isn’t even possible to feel the power of a first love ever again. Maybe nobody would even enjoy it.
I knock at the door and Phoebe yells, “Come in, you dork!”
Laughing, I push open the hobbit door in time to hear Jasmine say, “Nana! That’s not very nice.”
Phoebe is wrapped in her paint-spattered red sweater and a bibbed apron. A thin streak of yellow marks her left cheek, and I can see she’s been painting with her fingers, once her favorite thing. “She knows better than to knock.”