made herself smile back. Of course Cleo read the dictionary for fun. If life was going to be unfair, it was going to go all the way.
The end of the Scrabble game was a bit blurry to Claire, but she did remember dropping her glass of wine on the floor, the glass smashing and spraying everywhere. She tried to clean it up, until Maureen came in to help and sent her out of the kitchen because she was barefoot.
CLAIRE WOKE UP ON MONDAY, groaned, and rolled over to bury her face in her pillow. She could feel a burn on the edge of her scalp where her sunscreen had, of course, worn off the day before. She could hear everyone downstairs in the kitchen, dishes clinking, her dad telling some story about peaches, or something that sounded like that. Claire pulled the covers over her head. If she waited long enough, maybe they would all go to the beach without her.
At first, Claire thought she’d tell Weezy about her situation. Then she changed her mind and thought she’d tell Will, because he’d be calmer and would keep Weezy calm too. But then she thought no, that wouldn’t work. Will would just sit there and listen, not sure how he was supposed to respond. Will was never the one they would go to when they asked permission for anything. And if it ever happened that they did come across him first, and asked to go to a friend’s house or anything of the sort, Will always looked surprised to see them, like he couldn’t quite place who they were, and then he’d say, “Ask your mom.”
So it would have to be Weezy that she told. It would be fine. She’d just wait until the end of vacation, go up to her mom, and say, “I’m out of money. I’m moving home.” Simple. She was going back to New York on Sunday, which meant that she had seven more days to do it.
Claire took a shower and then threw her wet towel on Martha’s bed. If Martha came up and saw it, she would lose it. She was such a neat freak. Growing up, whenever they got new sneakers, Martha made a point to keep hers as white as possible for as long as she could. She’d step over puddles, avoid any dirt, and stare at her unblemished shoes with pride. Claire’s Keds were usually dirty by the end of the week, and it used to drive Claire crazy, to watch Martha step around messes, so pleased with herself and her white shoes.
“That’s probably the only reason why you wanted to be a nurse,” Claire told her one time. “Because you knew you’d get to wear really white shoes.”
Once, when they were playing kickball outside with the neighborhood kids, Martha refused to take her turn for fear that her shoes would get filthy. Claire walked right up to her and stepped all over Martha’s feet with her own dirty sneakers. Martha looked down at her shoes and let out a howl, then pushed Claire on the ground.
“Why did you do that?” her mother asked Claire. “Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?”
Claire had no reason to give and was sent to bed right after dinner that night—no TV, no Jell-O Pudding Pop. She couldn’t explain to her mom why she wanted to get Martha’s shoes dirty. She wasn’t even sure she knew herself. All she knew was that she couldn’t watch Martha protect their whiteness anymore, couldn’t stand to hear the other kids laugh at her while she stood to the side and refused to participate. And so she’d put a stop to it.
MARTHA WAS STILL BEING UNUSUALLY quiet. On Tuesday, she and Claire sat on lounge chairs at the beach, and Martha wrote in her journal, sighing and turning her face to the sun with her eyes closed. Cleo and Max were frolicking in the ocean—that was the only word for it, frolicking—splashing each other and embracing as the waves crashed over them.
“What’s going on with you?” Claire asked. It really wasn’t normal for Martha not to be talking all the time.
“If you must know,” she said, “I’m considering a career change.”
“Going to the Gap?” Claire asked. Martha shut her journal loudly and started gathering her things. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” She put her hand on Martha’s arm. “I’m sorry, come on, I was just kidding. Tell me.”
Martha sniffed, acting like she wasn’t going to say any more, but Claire