THE CHASE GIRLS DROVE HOME THAT NIGHT with the windows closed and the heat on high, neither of them saying a word, Mary with bare feet and wet hair bleeding onto her back, Hannah with her sleeping bag covering her legs. When Mary put the Blazer into park in front of their apartment, Hannah abruptly pushed open her door and got out of the car. With her shoulders softened and her back slumped, Mary felt another involuntary shudder move through her body. Then she followed her sister out of the truck.
Hannah stomped up the stairs in front of Mary. Mary followed slowly, grasping the handrail.
“Here,” called Mary, tossing the keys up to Hannah. They landed at Hannah’s feet. She bent over, picked them up, and opened the door, letting it swing behind her after she stomped in.
When Mary walked into the apartment, the water was already running. Hannah had turned the shower on, and the bathroom door was closed. Mary knocked on it. It was thin and hollow, with wood veneer that had grown mottled and yellowed at the bottom from humidity and age.
“I’m in here!” said Hannah.
“I need to come in, too.” Mary was still bent with cold.
“No!”
“Bunny . . .”
“I’m taking a shower!”
Mary stuck her fingernail into the groove in the center of the doorknob and turned, releasing the lock.
With a slap of the vinyl shower curtain, Hannah’s face appeared. “I’m in here!”
“I need to take a hot shower,” Mary said. Her teeth chattered in corroboration. “I’m freezing.”
“That’s because you decided to go for a fucking swim!”
Without a word, Mary peeled off her clothes, letting them drop on the floor atop Hannah’s. She pushed open the back side of the curtain and stepped in behind her.
“Hey!” said Hannah, covering herself with wet limbs.
Mary was doubled over with the cold. “Like I haven’t seen you naked before,” she said.
At the sight of Mary wincing against the heat of the water, Hannah softened. “Here,” she said, her voice still gruff. She stepped aside so that Mary could stand directly under the showerhead. “You can be here.”
But Mary didn’t move. She simply looked at Hannah. “Bunny” was all she said. Then she straightened her cold-wracked body and wrapped her arms around Hannah’s neck.
“Get off of me!” commanded Hannah, as she pulled Mary’s slick arms away. But Mary’s arms immediately found her again. “Seriously! Get off!?” Again Hannah tried to break free, but again Mary’s arms reached for her, pulling her close. “What the hell?” she demanded, as she tried to duck out of Mary’s grasp.
It went this way until Mary felt Hannah’s body finally give in. Until Mary felt Hannah’s head lean into her shoulder. Until Mary heard a high, sustained cry escape Hannah’s lips. “I’m so sorry, Bunny,” she whispered, resting her hand on the back of her head.
They stood there like that until the bathroom filled with steam, until the memory of the cold evaporated. Until Hannah was silent. Until all that could be washed away was.
Thirty-three
1989
Winter came and settled over the town by the ocean. The gray whales began their journey from the Arctic to the warm waters off Baja. Come April, they would pass again with their calves, their great streams of blow breaking the horizon. But the Chase girls wouldn’t be there to see it.
Mary began driving more. Sometimes after work, instead of heading right home, she would head south, her eyes red and glassy as they blinked against the rising sun. When she’d get back to the apartment, Hannah would be gone. There would be a note on the counter next to the stove. Going to Nicky’s house after school and staying for dinner. And so Mary would slip into their bed and cover the windows and fall asleep.
Mary’s waking hours were spent in the dark. Standing at Sea Cliff?’s front desk through the night, she’d fill notepads with her drawings, letting the ink find its way into every empty space, letting it crawl between the letters of the hotel’s name. One evening, she was drawing herself and Hannah. She was drawing them dashing through the woods, wolves in pursuit, gashes from thorns marking their arms, their cheeks. Blood dripping down to the ground and sprouting roses. She drew groping, gap-mouthed skeletons below, reaching for the girls through the dirt. She drew black, black skies.
She heard a voice from the other side of the counter. “Are you an artist?”
Mary looked up. It was the boy from the golf course. The one who had carried their mattress up the stairs. His voice was slow with alcohol, though Mary hadn’t seen him at the bar. Her head drifted to the side. “No,” she said, as she stared at him. He had pale blue eyes and thick lashes. Mary wondered what it would be like to have a boy she couldn’t leave, a boy she couldn’t drive away from without explanation or warning.
“You could be,” he said earnestly, nodding as he looked at her picture.
Mary took a deep breath and leaned toward him. “What’s your name again?” she asked, her elbow resting against the marble.
“Jake,” he said.
“Jake,” Mary repeated, letting the sound fill her mouth.
Jake leaned closer. “Do you wanna have a drink sometime?”
Mary shook her head. “I don’t drink,” she said. She hadn’t since the Kellys’. She watched his face fall. Then she leaned closer. “But meet me in the Oak Room at the end of my shift.”
“MISS MARY MACK,” SAID CURTIS, as he rolled the luggage cart past the front desk. His movements were halting and labored, but his quiet voice was silky smooth. “All dressed in black.”
Mary looked up at him. She liked Curtis. “What is it, Curtis?”
He paused and gave Mary a teasing lift of his chin. “I heard you and Greens Fees are enjoying each other’s company.”
“Where’d you here that?” she asked.
“Where you think?” he said, looking at her with a small smile. “He practically had it written in the sky.” He started off again, one foot seemingly heavier than the other. “You just might want to put some construction paper in front of the cameras from now own. Otherwise, the boys in security might decide to get into home movies.”
Jake, for his part, proved to be as reckless as Mary. They’d meet in the small conference room that faced the ocean, and Mary would turn to the window. From behind, he’d wrap his arms around her and press his body against hers, kissing her neck, running his fingers over her breasts. Then he’d drop to the floor and lift her skirt. Mary would keep her eyes focused on the sea, on the rhythm of the waves, until her eyes closed involuntarily, until her head rolled back and a quiet gasp escaped her lips.
When Mary was finished, he would stand. “Can I see you later?” he’d ask, his mouth to her ear.
“No” was usually all that Mary would say.
SOON WREATHS ADORNED THE DOORS of Sea Cliff and more visitors came—families who had spent their holidays there for years.