stuff up.
Mona reports that the same source found out Izzy closed her account at the bank before leaving Boston, to the tune of ten something grand. Must be the bundle that Maritza saw in Izzy’s bag.
Izzy walking around with that kind of ready cash! Criminal bait to be sure. Even if no one mugs her, who knows how long it’ll last her? How often did she say to attendants, waiters, Keep the change? Even times when the change was more than the price of the purchase or service she was paying for? On a visit last summer, Antonia and Sam took Izzy to the local farmer’s market. A darling waif of a boy, no older than ten, with round glasses, freckles, and an icing-on-the-cake cowlick, was playing his violin, shoppers occasionally stopping to listen before unloading their quarters, at most a single dollar, into the instrument’s case. Izzy stood enthralled, calling for encores, before tossing down a twenty. The boy’s eyes widened with shock as a beaming Izzy shouted out BRAVO! at the top of her lungs.
He’ll never be satisfied with less from now on, Sam muttered as they walked away. Your sister (here we go again, no one wanted Izzy on their relay team) always has to upstage everyone, even a kid playing his violin for mad money.
I don’t think that’s why she did it, Antonia defended Izzy, though Antonia herself couldn’t figure out what motivated most of her sister’s grand gestures. Was it some pathology, as Mona and Tilly believed, or a case of too large a spirit crammed inside too small a personality? As for Sam’s disgruntled response, how much was it the good cop not liking to be upstaged by an even better cop?
Mona explains that she and Maritza are staying put in Athol. Moratorium on the jokes, okay? Mona announces, though she has been the one leading the charge in hilarity over the town’s unfortunate name. Mona has found a great Airbnb with three bedrooms, dogs allowed, a jacuzzi—where they can all camp out while local law enforcement devote some of their resources to finding Izzy. Tilly is on her way, with Kaspar, who insisted on coming along. They are driving east, tracing what might have been Izzy’s route, posting posters, talking to truckers. They’ll meet up late tomorrow night or early the next morning and go from there.
So, there’s really no urgency about Antonia’s arrival. What’s she going to do there that she can’t do from home? The overreactions of the sisterhood, always in crisis, sounding the alarm, so exhausting any time, but particularly now when Antonia feels hollowed out.
You’re the most American of us, her sisters have commented to Antonia in an accusatory tone. Just saying, they said smugly when she asked what was wrong with being whoever she was. Admittedly, she was the worrier, the insomniac, the most anxious and disciplined of the sisters. But it wasn’t that she didn’t feel as much as they did, but that she doled it out in limited portions. Of course, any such divergence from the culture of the sisterhood was considered a betrayal. So, for the last few years, she has been keeping her visits short and her interactions circumscribed.
Antonia considers coming up with some alibi, malingering for a few days before joining the fray. Not that staying home and dealing with the Estela-Mario predicament would be any picnic. But at least she’d delay days of escalating emotions, stewing in anxiety, listening to Mona and Tilly spout out conspiracy theories. She is the most important one. The selfish one who pulls away from the others, so sayeth the sisterhood. But now she’s also the next in line, duty-bound to take care of her younger sisters.
I’m actually driving, Antonia explains. I pulled over to talk. Just text me the address, and I’ll give you the heads-up when I’m on my way, okay?
Sure thing. Be careful. Love you. Reinstated into the sisterhood.
Love you, too.
Love you more, Mona says. Competing, even over who loves the others the most.
At the trailer, no one comes to the door in welcome, no one hurries down the steps to help carry in Estela’s bag. Maybe the boys are cleaning up in preparation for their guest? Maybe they’ll surprise her with female-ready digs? A cake, balloons?
Dream on. Antonia laughs at her wishful thinking.
Estela has been watching her closely. She doesn’t understand what’s funny, but nonetheless, she smiles a tentative smile—on her face the eager look of a child wanting to please. Antonia feels