“Come in,” I said, giving up and pulling my hair into a ponytail.
Katherine stuck her face through the door. “Bridge? Do you have any bobby pins?”
I swiveled my whole body toward her, since I couldn’t turn my head without losing control of the ponytail. “Help yourself,” I said, gesturing to the plate by my mirror.
Katherine came in and scooped up a generous handful that I tried not to mind about. She sat heavily on the right-hand bed and began threading the pins together.
I watched her in the mirror, unnerved. Was she waiting for something? Was I supposed to offer to help her with her hair?
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah,” Katherine said, in a tone that implied she might be persuaded otherwise.
I licked my lips. “Are you sure?” I tried my best to sound relaxed. “Is there anything troubling you?”
Katherine sighed. “Not really.”
“OK,” I said. “But I’m always here if you need a friend.” Did that sound inviting enough?
Katherine threw the pins down on the bedspread and I heard a couple clatter on the tiles. “Ugh, Bridge, I’m fed up.”
I let go of the ponytail. My heart began hammering. Was I in trouble? Had I done something? Said something? I cast about for any possible infractions. At lunch, Isabella had made a joke and I’d laughed, dropping a mushy mouthful of sandwich on my sleeve. But everyone had been laughing.
“How come?” I said warily.
“Joan’s upset because I didn’t save her a seat this morning.”
“Oh.” A great wave of relief roared over my head and swallowed me up. I composed my face and nodded earnestly at her in the mirror.
“And Sibbs gets so mad when Joan gets upset. But Joan stormed off, and I had to go after her. And I didn’t mean to forget her this morning—I just forgot.”
I picked up the hairbrush again and commenced attacking my ponytail. “Sylvia only minds because she’s supposed to be your best friend,” I said. “And as for Joan, make it a point to remember tomorrow and she’ll forgive you.”
Katherine nodded seriously. “Thanks, Bridge. You’re probably right.”
I smiled at her in the mirror.
Katherine sighed and stood up. “I better brush my hair too.”
Before she reached the door, I seized my moment. “Say—do you and Sibbs want to have a picnic with me and Isabella later? I bought a bottle of that plum wine from the market.” I congratulated myself on how casual my suggestion had sounded, the sort of thing a real person might say.
“Sounds swell,” she said, absently tapping the door handle.
“Down by the spa?”
“Great!” Katherine licked her lips. “But you won’t tell Sibbs I said anything—will you?”
I turned to her. “Never.”
“It’s just, she gets real sensitive.”
“I won’t say a word. Not even to Isabella,” I said.
“Bridge, you’re a doll.” She blew me a kiss.
I evaluated myself in the mirror as she closed the door. I could make friends just fine.
Supper that evening was a buttery mushroom risotto and I ate every last mouthful and then some of Patricia’s, feeling in some odd equation that it was compensation for my failed hairdressing experiment. After supper, Isabella and I waited for Katherine and Sylvia at the side door. We sat next to each other on the step, listening to the shuddering throb of cicadas.
“Do you have a light?” said Isabella, tapping a cigarette out of her pack.
I felt my pockets and shook my head.
“Damn.” She clenched her cigarette in the corner of her mouth and stood up to rummage better through her pockets.
My belly was so full of risotto that I was annoyed by her movements, as if she needed to be still so I could concentrate on being uncomfortable. “Katherine will have a light,” I said.
“Hey, look.” Isabella kicked her leg behind her and caught me at the soft part of my arm. Over my shoulder I squinted into the dark orchard, where the red glow from the tip of a cigarette was burning.
“Hullo?” she called into the darkness, and strode off toward the smoker. I contemplated unpacking the blanket from my basket so I could sit on it instead of on the rough stone, but I could barely move.
Isabella came back toward me. “It’s the nun,” she hissed.
I stared up at her blankly.
“The nun—smoking. It’s that nun—the African one,” she said.
“You mean Sister Teresa,” I said, not understanding why Isabella was so surprised. I had often seen her and the sister with the bright blue eyes smoking before—they usually sat on the stone bench under the apple trees.
“Do you think I can ask her for a light?”
“Of course.”
Isabella hovered. “Will you come?”
Slowly, I levered myself off the step and dusted my behind. We crunched under the trees.
“Buonasera,” Isabella called out.
“Buonasera,” Sister Teresa said.
“Can I borrow your lighter?” Isabella waved her cigarette.
Sister Teresa grimaced. “Sorry,” she said. “I used up my matches, but here—” She held out her hand for Isabella’s cigarette, then put it to her lips and drew on it using the coals from her own cigarette until it smoldered. She handed it back to Isabella.
Isabella stared at it as if it had been transformed into a magician’s wand.
“Thank you, Sister,” I said, as Isabella stood there in silence. “Come on,” I said, leading Isabella by the arm. I called, “Buonanotte,” behind us. Sister Teresa gave us a bemused half wave.
“What’s up with you?” I said.
Isabella shrugged me off. “Nothing.”
As we approached the side door, I saw Katherine and Sylvia had finally arrived. Sylvia was holding my basket and looking about her.
“There you are,” she said. “Ready?”
I nodded.
“Sorry for the holdup,” Katherine said. “My zipper got stuck. Thought Sibbs would have to cut me out!”
We walked down the path under the pine trees, and the herbal smell of resin filled the air as we crushed pine needles underfoot. Sylvia had brought a flashlight and it cast crooked shapes against the boughs. Katherine was making a “Wooo” sound, and Sylvia dropped the circle of light to the earth and swatted her.