CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Then
“There’s been an accident.” That was what Galina had told them.
Not much more of an explanation than that. Jenni had been missing for a day and a half before they found her body in the water at the quarry. In their swimming spot. Now it had been nearly a week and a half since then, and finally they were allowed to bury her.
Theresa had overheard her stepmother talking to her dad. Jenni hadn’t drowned. She’d fallen off the ledge where they’d so often laid out their towels. She’d hit her head on the way down. Broken her neck. She’d been dead before hitting the water.
Drunk. On pills. The murmured conversation between Galina and Theresa’s father, huddled together in the living room, shot out small, suggestive nuggets that left Theresa’s head buzzing with unanswered questions.
“Listening at doors, you never hear good things.” Babulya shook a finger at her, though she didn’t look angry. Only sad. “Come away from there.”
In the kitchen, Babulya pulled out baking sheets, bowls, and measuring spoons. She instructed Theresa to find the flour, butter, eggs, and sugar. They would make cookies, she said. They would make bread. They would fill their time of grief with busy hands and take the gift of food to the Harrisons, who would surely not be hungry but would still need to eat.
At the funeral, the collar of Theresa’s black dress was too tight at her throat. It threatened to choke her, but she couldn’t loosen the button because it would cause the dress to gape open. She should’ve asked her dad if she could get a new one, but she hadn’t known it wouldn’t fit until she tried it on. Now there was no time. She had to suffer . . . but at least she was alive.
She couldn’t believe Jenni was dead. Death was what happened to old grandparents or people on the news. It wasn’t meant for your across-the-street neighbor who was only a couple of years older than you. It wasn’t meant for someone as pretty and vibrant and enviously alive as Jennilynn Harrison.
Ilya and Niko disappeared from the service. Theresa begrudged the two of them their escape. She was trapped next to her dad, who held her hand so tight he left a bruise.
Later, Babulya invited the mourners to gather at the Stern house, because Jenni’s mom, Sally, wasn’t able to play hostess. Galina took over that role, shaking hands and accepting murmured condolences. Babulya muttered that it was a kindness as she put out tray after tray of food, but Theresa wasn’t sure Galina Stern ever did anything simply to be kind. There was something going on with Galina and Theresa’s father, and it had to do with Jenni’s death. Theresa just couldn’t figure out what it was.
It was far from the first time she’d seen her dad drunk, but it was the first time since he and Galina got together that he was out of control. It wasn’t just the beers he’d been guzzling. It was whatever he kept taking from his pocket, the tin that used to hold mints, rattling with pills of various sizes and shapes. Pills that Barry did not have a prescription for, yet somehow managed to acquire.
The house was full of people and the buzz of conversation. Theresa had been helping Babulya serve food while Ilya and Niko, typical boys, snitched booze from the table and didn’t help at all.
She found Ilya in the upstairs bathroom, the door unlocked. He’d probably been puking, although he stood in front of the toilet, not hunched over it. He looked at her when she came in.
“Sorry,” she said automatically. “I didn’t know you were in here.”
“I don’t want to be in here,” Ilya said. “I want to be anywhere but here.”
“Maybe you should go to bed.” She was used to dealing with her father when he needed to be put to bed, but Ilya proved more difficult to maneuver. He wouldn’t go. Stubborn, he dragged his feet and stumbled against her, pushing her into the wall of the hallway hard enough to leave a bruise she found later on the outside edge of her elbow. “Stop it!”
Ilya hung his head, swaying. He muttered something she couldn’t make out and again pulled his arm from her grasp when she tried to tug him down the hall to his bedroom. Exasperated, she let go of him as he stumbled toward the attic door and the steps beyond. She should have let him trip on them and hurt himself. She should have left him alone.
She followed, instead, making sure he got up the stairs and into the army cot beneath the eaves without hitting his head on the slanting rafters. His eyes closed at once, but his hand gripped hers and wouldn’t let go. He gave a single sobbing breath before his fingers relaxed.
Theresa sat with him for a few more minutes, watching the way his lips parted, his brows furrowed. Ilya’s face contorted with grief even in unconsciousness. Her own heart twisted at the sight. Somehow, she felt worse for Ilya than for anyone else.
Downstairs, the murmuring began when Theresa brought a new platter of sliced cheese and deli meat to the dining room. Her dad had burst into braying, gasping sobs. Seated, his face buried in his hands, he raked at his hair and clutched at his own skin while he rocked back and forth. His pain was palpable and embarrassing to everyone in the room, because everyone knew there was no good reason for Barry Malone to be so distraught about a girl he barely knew.
Nobody stepped forward to comfort him, not even his wife, who turned her back with a shake of her head. Galina caught Theresa’s gaze from across the room. A dip of chin, accompanied by a small narrowing of her eyes, was a signal for Theresa to come and deal with her father, but what could she do? He was a grown-up. She was a kid. This wasn’t her job.
Still, someone needed to get him out of there. He was making everyone uncomfortable. Causing a scene.
“C’mon, Dad.” Theresa tugged at his arm.
Her father looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes. “Hey, kiddo. C’mere. Let your old dad give you a hug. I’m so glad you’re here. You know that? You know how lucky I am?”
“Dad.” She tugged his arm again, her own face heating with the weight of everyone’s eyes on her. “Let’s go outside, get some fresh air.”
In the backyard, her father pulled her into an awkward, suffocating embrace. He muttered incoherently. Grateful she was alive, that nothing bad happened to her—that was all Theresa could gather from his mumbling.
He gripped her by the upper arms, keeping her from moving away. “Promise me, Theresa. Promise your dad that you’ll stay out of trouble.”
“I’ll try, Dad.” She tried to tug herself out from his grip, but it was too tight.
“Don’t let anyone tempt you into trouble, Theresa. Oh God, oh God. What would I ever do if I lost you?”
“Barry.” Galina’s tone was sharper than shattered glass. “Get control of yourself. You’re making a scene. You’re being ridiculous.”
“It’s not ridiculous. I’m trying to make sure my little girl doesn’t end up . . . shit, Galina. I’m just . . .”
“You’re drunk,” Galina said without inflection. “People are going home. You should come inside and go to bed. Sleep this off.”
Without another word, her father pushed past Galina and went inside. Galina let out a long, sputtering sigh. She lit a cigarette and drew the smoke in deep, eyeing Theresa.
“That dress is too small,” she said.
Theresa touched the buttons at her throat, which still choked. “Yeah. I know.”
“Your dad will be fine.”
“I know.” Theresa cleared her throat. “Do you know what happened? To Jenni, I mean.”
“It was an accident. That’s all I know.” Galina took in another long drag, the tip of her cigarette glowing fiercely red before she released it from her lips. She turned her head to blow the smoke out of the way, but it still stung Theresa’s eyes. “That old quarry’s never been safe. I’m surprised nobody’s gotten hurt before now.”
“She didn’t just get hurt. She died.”
Galina dropped the cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out with the toe of her shoe. “Perhaps she ought to have been more careful.”
“Why’s my dad so upset?” Theresa asked boldly, pushing, certain her stepmother must know something she wasn’t revealing.
“We’re all upset, Theresa. Your father drank too much. His emotions got away from him. It happens.” Galina shrugged.
The answer didn’t satisfy her, but Theresa knew better than to push harder. Galina sometimes lost her temper quickly and violently. In the house, Theresa helped Babulya pack up the platters and containers of food, enough to last for weeks. Much of it went into their fridge and freezer, but Babulya put together two shopping bags of portioned meals in easy-to-heat containers and bid Theresa to take them next door.
It was one of the few times Theresa had ever spoken more than a few words to Sally Harrison, who was always pleasant but often absent. Mrs. Harrison took the food with a blank look on her face, weighing each of the bags in her hands. The containers rattled inside, and Theresa worried for a moment that Babulya had packed the bags too heavily; they would tear and spill everything out into the entryway.
“My God, we’ll dine on funeral food for months,” Sally said in a bland, blank voice without so much as a hint of inflection to it. “Who could think I would ever be able to eat a bite of any of this?”
“I’ll take it, Mom.” From behind her, Alicia appeared. She pulled the bags from her mother’s clenched fists, gently at first, and then firmly when Sally wouldn’t let go. “Why don’t you go up to bed?”
Sally turned without a word, leaving Theresa to stare with horrified, embarrassed eyes at Alicia. She wanted to say she was sorry, but that felt so worthless. Alicia was clearly waiting for her to leave so she could put the food away. It was a lost moment, one Theresa remembered for a long time. When she’d had the chance to say something kind, the chance to make a difference and help someone, but had not.