Dr. Benjamin remained calm. Cleo imagined he was thinkingtransference,and maybe he was right. Because who was she angry at, really? Her mother, who had decided to name her after a suicidal Egyptian queen? Her father, beloved Police Chief Peacock, who had been so kind and selfless that it had set them all up for failure as they searched endlessly for a man like him? Sylvie, for jumping into love so suddenly it left Cleo questioning her choices? New York, and how it was making her into a brittle veneer of the lush girl she’d been when she arrived from college? Her other sister, Emma, for seeming so settled and at peace, her entire life an affront to Cleo’s meticulously planned escape from Montana? Herself, and if so, why?
“You’re angry,” said Dr. Benjamin.
“Yes,” said Cleo.
Dr. Benjamin nodded. He clasped his fingers together, rested them on his belly. He continued to nod. Cleo raised her eyebrows. “What do I do?” she asked.
Dr. Benjamin looked at her quizzically. “It seems like Sylvie is healing. Perhaps you’re jealous of her?”
Cleo exhaled forcefully, as if she’d been punched. Dr. Benjamin’s words seemed to ring in her ears. How could she bejealousof Sylvie, who had endured more than anyone should be ableto survive? Sylvie was a victim, the family tragedy. If Sylvie was happy, what would that mean for the rest of them? Cleo felt—inexplicably—a wash of fear. She wanted a cigarette desperately, though she had quit smoking years before.
She looked at Dr. Benjamin, suddenly thankful for him, after all. She needed help, and here he was.
3
Emma
-$24,039.50
Emma could not believe her baby sister’s text message. Too late, Emma understood that Sylvie’s incessant phone calls had not been the entreaties of a lonely librarian becoming a bit of a whack job, but attempts to share her joy. Emma had waited and waited to have a nice stretch of time to talk (and one iota of energy to listen to poor, sad Sylvie) but the time had not come.
Instead, a text message about a wedding in a castle, followed by a second, jubilant request: “RSVP!”
Emma’s husband, Rich, strode into the kitchen, flanked by their sons. In Missoula, Montana, the sun was low by afternoon; a rogue flash of light fell on Rich’s hair, making it golden. His round face had been ruddy when they were teens, and years of beer and tour skiing had made his nose and cheeks permanently ruby-colored, especially when he was chilly.
“I just got some news from Aunt Sylvie,” said Emma.
“Is it bad news?” said Rich.
“It’sgood news,” said Emma.
“Oh, OK!” said Rich. “Lay it on us! I’m ready for some good news, how about you, G?”
“Bet,” said their thirteen-year-old son, Guinness, collapsing into one of the rickety chairs that surrounded the kitchen table. Guinness, defying his name, was towheaded, his hair almost translucent. The beer he’d been named after was stolid and thick, but Guinness was fragile, partial to wearing fleece pajama pants to school with T-shirts he ordered from eBay promoting long-ago events:Jazzercize Picnic, ’89! 1999 Wilson Family Cruise!Guinness’s mysterious stomach pains fueled Emma’s insomnia—they’d reached the end of tests that insurance would cover, so all night, most nights, Emma searched for an answer to what was ailing her sweet firstborn.
“Betmeans yes, right?” said Rich, who enjoyed looking up teenage phrases on urbandictionary.com.
“Bet,” agreed Guinness.
“Aunt Sylvie’s getting married! And the wedding is in a castle!”
Rich rubbed his eyes. Emma knew he was thinking about how much the trip would cost. Sylvie hadn’t mentionedwhere,exactly, the castle was located, but it was sure to be an expensive journey from Missoula, Montana. Rich touched his longish beard. He hated shaving, but deigned to trim his graying beard every Sunday.
“Will there beknights?” said ten-year-old Jameson. Unlike his brother, Jameson was chubby, his red hair curly and thick. Jameson refused to cut his hair and was starting to look like a frumpy middle-aged woman, with his shoulder-length curls, silver Croc sandals, and roomy clothing.
“Knights in shining armor,” drawled Guinness in his weird teen monotone. “Dub. I could see Gram in a crown. Not gonna lie, the knights will be scared ofher.”
The two boys, secure and loved enough to see their grandmother, Donna, as a joke rather than a gorgeous, poisonous villain, began laughing. None of them had seen Grammy Donna since she had abruptly ditched Emma to move to a luxury Arizona condominium the year before.
“Did you even know Sylvie was engaged?” said Rich.
“I never called her back,” said Emma mournfully.
“Sweetie,” said Rich, encircling her in his arms.
She resented his pitying tone. She resented Sylvie’s exciting future with whoever Simon Rampling was. She resented the fact thatonly shehad done the right thing, had stayed in freezing cold Missoula and married and had kids.She alonehad helped with Donna’s chores, brought adorable grandchildren to be with their grandmother on every holiday, never goinganywhere,because Rich’s job as the Hellgate High School shop teacher could not afford them fancy vacations.
When Emma was eleven years old, her mother, Donna, told Emma about her affair with their next-door neighbor, Noah. (Until this moment, Noah had been the random dad next door, a married man and father of one of Sylvie’s classmates.)
