Isabella laughed as if Greta had said something witty. But it meant Greta had passed the test. “While you’re hairdressing, do you think you could cut mine?” she said to Greta, drawing a strand away from her head.
“No, really? But it’s so beautiful!” Greta hobbled toward her on her knees. She put her fingers through Isabella’s mane and lifted it so all the hues of brown and gold caught in the sunlight.
“Just a trim. To neaten it up for the holy sisters. Please? You’d be such a darling.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.” Isabella beamed at her.
Greta stood up stiffly, holding on to the bedside table. She groaned, rubbing her knees where they were pitted from the weave of the towel. She limped out of the door, and it swung shut behind her.
Isabella and I were alone for the first time in months. The last time I had seen her was a hasty farewell at St. Cyrus’s Fourth of July parade, Ralph watching with the closest to bemusement his bland features would allow.
Isabella pouted. “Aren’t you going to welcome me?”
I agonized; I wanted to show her how truly happy I was to see her, but now that she’d asked me to celebrate her arrival, anything I did would seem phony. I embraced her, and she patted my back with a sort of perfunctory acknowledgment. I was on the verge of tears. I’d ruined our meeting in Italy. I should have been downstairs to meet her at the door. I should have knocked Greta over and cheered. I searched for a prop to smooth over my thoughtlessness. And there, flashing on her finger, was as good a distraction as any.
“What is that meteorite?” I said, feigning astonishment.
Isabella grinned, sticking a dart of tongue between her teeth. She held up her hand and raised her eyebrows.
“Oh my goodness!” I fell to the side of the chair, gathering her hand in mine. “He asked you? Why didn’t you tell me? Wow, it’s beautiful!”
Her eyes crinkled in disappointment. “But didn’t you get my carte postale?”
I shook my head.
“What a shame. Well, anyway. Yes! Ralphy asked me in Paris! It was his grandmother’s. He went all the way to Nantucket to ask Auntie Kathleen for it. Isn’t it gorgeous?”
“Marvelous,” I said, still pretending to be entranced by the dim spittle of the ring.
“It’s kinda old-fashioned. I’ll have it swapped when we get back to the States.”
“I’m so happy for you,” I said. But there was a ripple in my throat, a lurch of desperation. She was still engaged. They hadn’t fallen out. My lip wobbled. I let it travel over my face in the hopes Isabella would read it as sentiment.
“And you’ll be a bridesmaid?” Her voice was soft and real.
“Really?” Despite myself, I almost forgot my distress—she wanted me by her side on her wedding day.
She laughed. “Of course, Briddie.” She kissed me roughly on my forehead. “You know you’re my favorite.”
My stomach squeezed. “Of course, of course.” I breathed in the Isabella smell. Soir de Paris and cigarette smoke and something else, maybe traces of Ralph’s cologne. “I’ve missed you,” I said quietly.
Her face softened. “I’ve missed you, Briddie. There’s so much to catch up on.” She folded her legs over the arm of the chair. “But listen—before Goldilocks comes back, you won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“About?”
She rolled her eyes. “The engagement.”
I tried to settle my expression to cover the eager leap in my gut. “You’re not sure?”
She smiled. “It’s not that.” She twisted the ring from her finger and pinched the stone. “You know how serious Mom is about school. And if Ralphy gets married before twenty-one, then his trust fund— Well, I’m sure you’re the same.” I nodded, although I had no idea. Rhona had alluded to some kind of “arrangement” for after Granny died, but no one thought to involve me in those discussions and I never offered.
“I don’t want to keep it a secret,” she said. “But I mean, you know that girl Sylvia Carrol?”
I nodded.
“Her mother was on the Gardening Committee with Mom.”
“She was?” My mouth was dry. “I thought she’s from Seattle.”
“Apparently her mom grew up in Aspen. Mom practically called everyone in her phone book when she saw the class list.”
A door shut against me somewhere, and I was crouching down behind it, peering through a keyhole. I tried to keep my voice steady. “I didn’t realize you two were already friends.”
“We’re not,” Isabella said. “The point is—you just never know who’s going to blab. And me and Ralphy can’t say anything ’til after graduation, so . . .” She trailed off.
The leap in my stomach gathered itself into a garland. She didn’t want anyone to know. She couldn’t be that certain. And here we had almost a year for her to change her mind. “Of course,” I said. “I won’t say a word.”
“Thanks, Briddie.” She pressed her cheek against mine. She squeezed the ring into the top pocket of her jeans, as if it was a loose button and not a diamond. “I only wore the ring for you. So you could see it.”
The door opened and Greta came back in, holding her scissors aloft like a trophy. “Sorry, girls, I couldn’t find them anywhere— Oh, but what’s wrong?” She stopped, her face falling at the sight of our tearful embrace.
“We’re just being silly,” Isabella said, wiping her damp eyes like an actress.
That night I lay alone in my single bed. Isabella wasn’t to share with me after all. She had a room on the east side of the building, overlooking the lake. Although it was a single, her room was far nicer than mine. It had an antique trunk at the foot of the bed, and on the wall next to her closet was a Mariani fresco panel of a wasp burrowing into an apple. So I didn’t even suggest she abandon it to join me in mine. I lay awake long after the curfew bells had rung. I heard Isabella’s voice again in my head. “You know you’re my favorite,” I heard her saying. “I only wore the ring so you could see it.”
7.
August
The first morning of term, we assumed our usual positions in the corridor to watch the sisters waiting to enter chapel. They were lined up two by two, and when one of the nuns at the back stifled a yawn, her partner caught it from her moments later.
“What’s the point of going to Matins if they can’t say anything?” Sylvia asked suddenly.