And then Nora finds her real voice, her sense, her purpose at last. “River, is it?”
He nods, dripping sheepishly.
“Tell me this, River,” and I brace myself, but instead she says, “Are you hungry?”
* * *
The promise of cake lures Monday out of her corner, the promise of drama Mab from our room. I am parked at the head of the table like a queen. The middle is piled with rainy-day baked goods: zucchini muffins, crème de menthe brownies, and a red velvet cake dyed green instead. There’s coffee, and Nora’s poured some for everyone then opened another bottle of water to make more when she sees River blanch.
“Oh, sorry,” Nora says when she takes in his face. “Do you not drink coffee?”
“I’m sixteen,” he says.
“Can I pour you a glass of milk,” she offers solicitously, “or make you some cocoa?”
Mab smirks at him over the rim of her mug, but I can see her considering whether she’s cool and he’s childish, or if it turns out sixteen-year-olds who drink black drip are yet another Bourne anomaly and she just never knew.
I sip mine through a straw from a cup gripped by a snaking hose clamped onto the side of my chair.
River tries not to stare at me.
I try not to stare at River. But not that hard.
“So, River, what brings you here?” Nora is not used to guests, but somehow she knows what to say anyway.
“She left screaming”—River points at Monday—“so I thought I should check if she was okay.”
“Thought you should, huh?” says Nora.
He nods and looks at his plate of baked goods, says nothing.
“She’s fine,” Nora says lightly, as if worry over someone who had to be bodily removed shrieking from his home makes him something of a fussbudget. “She’s just—”
“How did you find us?” Mab interrupts.
“I asked at the laundromat. It was the only place open.”
“Lots of downtown’s closed these days,” Nora muses, as if idly.
“I asked the guy at the counter—”
“Rich,” Nora puts in helpfully.
“—if he knew where two sisters named Mab and Monday lived.” He looks pleased with himself for this bit of sleuthing. It seems not to have occurred to him that I must be a sister as well. “I felt bad because my parents can be kind of … off-putting.”
“You don’t say.” Nora is expending so much energy on her nonchalance, I expect her to collapse from the strain.
“And I don’t know anyone here, so…”
He trails off, and I wish he wouldn’t. I want to know what he intended to say. So I’m settling for the two of you? So I’m really invested in our quarter-hour of friendship so far? So even though we’ve barely met, running through the rain as if at the climax of the kind of TV movies that air Sunday afternoons seemed the way to go?
“Plus you were on your bikes, and”—he waves at the window—“it’s raining again.”
Mab and Monday are dry as deserts. River is wet as his namesake, a puddle formed on the floor beneath his chair.
“That’s not what I meant,” Nora says.
Mab squeezes her eyes shut. River looks lost. Meandering.
“Pardon?”
“Not what brings you here to our home this afternoon. What brings you to town. To Bourne.”
Ahh.
“Oh.” He smiles, relieved. Here’s a reasonable question it’s reasonable to expect a reasonable adult to ask. “My dad got transferred.”
“Really.” A statement from Nora, not a question.
“His company sent him here.”
“What company is that?”
“Belsum Basics?” River’s voice sounds like a question.
“Belsum Basics?” Nora has stood up.
“It used to be called Belsum Chemical?”
“I remember.” Her voice is rising.
“But they changed the name.”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Yes, why?” She’s stopped being reasonable.
“I…” He looks lost again. And slightly alarmed. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“Mama,” Mab interrupts, and waits for Nora to look at her. “He doesn’t know.”
Nora blinks. She blinks again. She sits. This is true, of course. He doesn’t know. He’s just a boy. He doesn’t know.
But then he says, “Maybe something about the reopening?”
No one moves. No one even breathes.
“The reopening?” Nora says.
“The reopening of the plant?” Earnest, trying to be helpful. “A new start and everything? I mean, I’m just guessing. No one tells me anything. But, you know, the sign on the roof?”
The plant is topped with rusted, wind-racked metal letters taller than our house that spell out B-E-L-S-U-M. Kind of like the “Hollywood” sign.
“What about it?” Nora has bright red spots on paling cheeks.
“Well, it just spells ‘Belsum,’ so I guess they could change the second half of the name without costing anything or inconveniencing anyone, you know?” He shrugs and goes right on, sparing us all Nora’s answer to that question. “A whole bunch of stuff got messed up when they decided to reopen the plant, so I guess they wanted to leave whatever they could the same.”
“What got messed up?” Nora keeps her voice low, steady, but she’s got her hands balled into fists so tight they look permanent.
“Well, my whole life for one thing.” He laughs. “Not that they care. You know?”
“Yes, indeed I do.” Nora starts laughing too, but hers is more of a cackle really. “Welcome to the club.”
Mab’s eyes meet mine then flick back. We want the same thing, she and I, for River Templeton not to be here to watch while our mother loses her mind.
“It’s totally not fair,” River is saying. “I had to change schools, leave all my friends. Boston’s a lot … bigger than Bourne.” I notice that pause, take it to heart, the adjective he went with politely rather than the ones that must have presented themselves first. He’s not thoughtless, just oblivious. He doesn’t know. He can’t possibly. He’s just trying for banal conversation with a slightly weird adult.
A slightly weird adult who’s turning colors.
Monday’s confusion is about to spill over into questions it’s not polite to ask in front of guests. Especially when they concern the guest. River is talking about how unjust it is that there’s no marimba elective at Bourne Memorial High nor even one available for him to continue his practice on as an independent study.
He needs to leave now. But how to effect this graciously? Or how to tell Mab without him overhearing? My Voice is about as inconspicuous as I am.
I tap my finger once, and my sister’s eyes shift instantly from River to me as if I’ve poked her with it.
My finger points at Mab. It points at River. It points at the door. Mab, River, the door. She nods once.
“River,” she says, and he turns to her, but her eyes are still holding mine. “Let’s take a walk.”