Can I trust Dr. LeVine when he says this is curable? Or is it like when Mother came down with influenza in the summer of ’19? When they told me she would be fine. And then she was not.
Lydia held my hand all through Mother’s funeral. Didn’t offer trite words of comfort, just pressed her palm against mine and stood there with me. How could I survive losing someone else I love? Especially without Lydia to see me through?
I take an angry swipe at the tears that fall. Lydia’s not dying. Dr. LeVine told me so, and I will choose to trust him.
Only I can’t block out the memory of my mother’s parting words to me. Of the way she beckoned me close and spoke with labored breaths. “You’re a smart girl, Piper. Trust yourself.” The last cohesive sentences she chose before slipping into an unsettled sleep from which she never awoke.
The words shiver through me with every breath I take—trust yourself. I find I can’t ignore that the seizures are happening with more frequency. Nor can I talk myself out of the fear that Dr. LeVine prioritizes secrecy more than Lydia’s healing.
“I beg you to reconsider this.” Lydia’s words are spoken through pinched lips. Her gaze trails after the Hart, Schaffner & Marx employee as he ducks into the back room. “Really, Piper. Buying a shirt for a man is far too bold a gesture. How could Walter not read into such a gift?”
“It’s my fault his shirt was ruined. I’m trying to be fair, not flirtatious.”
Lydia yawns. “And why would you have thrown a mud ball at him in the first place? You’re not a child anymore, Piper.”
I shrug and feign interest in the display of neckties, running the cool silk between my fingers. The store smells of cedar and mint and is oppressively quiet, like a library. The only other patron at the men’s clothing store is also a woman. Her back is to us as she surveys men’s suits, but even from here I can tell she’s nearly as tall as my brothers and old enough to be in here for a respectable reason—a suit for her husband, most likely. She keeps glancing at us. Probably curious about why two adolescent girls are in a men’s clothing store.
I resolve to ignore her silent questions. “Besides, Walter is seeing someone in California. He told me so yesterday. He’s quite smitten.”
“And how did you feel when he told you that?”
I shrug again. “It’s strange to think of him married. He wouldn’t come home as much. That makes me sad. But of course, I suppose I’ll be moving out before too long.”
“But you weren’t jealous?”
“No. Same as I wouldn’t be if I learned Nick were marrying. I’ve told you—Walter’s like my brother.” I smile as she attempts to cover up another yawn. “Am I boring you?”
Her smile has a sleepy tinge to it and her eyelids are heavy. “Not at all. I’m just so tired for some reason today.”
Lydia scratches the back of her neck as she stares at a display of cuff links. She looks so healthy, so utterly normal, it’s impossible to believe the state I found her in yesterday afternoon. Her mouth turns up in a smile, and her cheeks grow pinker with every passing second.
“Are those cufflinks amusing you, Lydia LeVine?”
Lydia startles and then gives a wistful sigh. “Oh, Piper. How can I lecture you about giving Walter a present when I’m standing here dreaming about giving a gift of my own?”
“What possible purpose does Matthew have for gold cufflinks?”
“Would you keep your voice down?” Lydia glances over her shoulder at the other woman, who looks away. I cannot imagine why we’re of such interest to her. “I wish you didn’t disapprove so strongly of me and Matthew. It gives me very little hope of Mother and Father giving us their blessing.”
I take in my beautiful friend. “You could have anyone, Lydia. Heaven knows you already have beaux lining up—”
Lydia arches doubtful eyebrows. “I don’t see Jeremiah Crane hanging around school to talk to me.”
“He’s not there to talk to me either. He’s there to pick up Emma.”
Lydia shakes her head. “You’re normally so intuitive, Piper.”
“Just please don’t rush this thing with Matthew, okay?”
Lydia’s jaw tightens. Even if the sales clerk hadn’t picked that moment to return, I don’t think she would have given the promise I sought.
The clerk looks down his long nose at us. “Shall I wrap this and the hat in the same box, Miss?”
“Please.”
Lydia is quiet while we wait, and I occupy myself with wrapping the tie of my uniform around my finger and then unwrapping it. On the drive here from school, I had used a considerable amount of energy restraining myself from yelling at Matthew for not being with Lydia when she had her seizure.
When I had called the LeVine residence last night, Tabitha had—in words so hushed I could barely hear them—told me that Matthew had gone to the market to pick up the grocery order, having expected Lydia to remain at the Barrows’ residence for at least an hour. Tabitha, perhaps sensing my ire, assured me that he’d been distraught to learn Lydia had not only walked home but had one of her spells and been hurt.