Keeping the Moon(46)
Author: Sarah Dessen

“This is crazy,” Isabel said. She didn’t look at me either, but somehow she knew I was there. “Tell me what happened,” she said to the door. Then, more softly, pleading: “Morgan.”

“Maybe we should just—” I began. But that was as far as I got.

“You’ll be so happy, Isabel,” Morgan said from behind the door. Her voice was choked and tight, and I had to listen hard to understand her. “Because you were right. So go ahead and celebrate.”

“Just tell me what happened.”

The doorknob rattled, taking a second to catch, and then Morgan stepped out. She was in the outfit from that morning, but now it was a wrinkled mess, with one big rip along the front hem of the skirt. She had a bad scrape on her knee. Her eyes were red and swollen, and she clutched a Kleenex in one hand. It was a Hawaiian thing—a lei, I remembered suddenly it was called—hanging around her neck. It was yellow and looked dirty, like it too had been through something big.

“Jesus,” Isabel said, looking at her.

“Go on, Isabel,” Morgan said, gesturing at her with the Kleenex. “Pat yourself on the back. Do whatever it is you right people do.”

“What are you talking about?” Isabel said. “Look what you’ve done to my skirt, for God’s sake.”

“You were right all along!” Morgan shrieked. “And I know how much you love to be right. How you live for it. So do your little dance or whatever. Get it over with.”

Isabel raised an eyebrow. “Why won’t you tell me what happened?”

“Why should I?” Morgan said. Her voice was high and unbalanced. “You know the whole story, start to finish. You were always so proud of yourself because you had Mark all figured out.”

Isabel looked at me. I looked at the floor. We could hear Morgan breathing, fast and jerky, like hysterical people in the movies. I wondered if I should leave.

“Okay,” Isabel said in a calm voice. For once, I wished there was music—loud music—playing. “Was there a girl there?”

“Of course there was!” Morgan screamed. “There was a girl living in the hotel with him. And do you know what she was? Do you?”

Isabel sighed. “A stripper?” she asked.

“Yes!” Morgan pointed at her with the Kleenex as if Isabel had won a prize. “And what else?”

“I don’t know,” Isabel said softly.

“Yes, you do,” Morgan snapped. “Come on, Isabel. This is your game, baby! Take a guess. A wild guess.” I watched the lei move as her chest heaved.

“I don’t want to guess,” Isabel said. “Why don’t you—”

“Oh, no,” Morgan said, holding up her hand. “You have to. I’ll give you a hint. She was also his”—and she crooked her fingers, making quote marks, and for the first time I noticed the ring, Morgan’s touchstone, was gone—“blank. Fill it in.”

Isabel looked at the floor. I’d never seen her so quiet. “Wife,” she said softly.

“Exactly!” Morgan shrieked. “And here’s the bonus question. The big enchilada. The brass ring. Ready?”

“Morgan,” I said.

“Ready!” Morgan yelled over me. “She was also—blank. What? What is it?”

Isabel looked out the kitchen window. All I could hear was Morgan breathing.

“Go ahead! She was also—what? What was she, Isabel?”

And then Isabel, in a voice so sad it could break your heart, said, “Pregnant. She was pregnant.”

Morgan threw up her hands. “That’s right! Pregnant! With his kid! You win the couch and the car and the dinette set, Miss Isabel. You win the showcase showdown and all the money. Congratulations!” She was screaming now. “Congratulations!” And then she turned around, walked down the hallway to the bedroom and slammed the door so hard it shook the floor beneath my feet.

I looked at Isabel.

“Great,” she said. “I win.”

We waited an hour for Morgan to come out. Then another.

By two-thirty A.M., when I was nodding off again, Isabel told me to go home.

“There’s no point in you sticking around,” she said, standing up. “I’ll sleep on the couch and she’ll be fine in the morning.” She looked back at the bedroom door. I could tell she wasn’t so sure.

“I can stay,” I offered.

“No.” She was already stretched out on the couch, reaching up to turn off the light on the end table. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I walked to the door and pushed it open. I could see my bedroom light from the porch, bright and waiting for me.

“Hey, Colie,” Isabel called out behind me. The living room was dark now and I couldn’t see her.

“Yeah?”

“What were you doing out so late, anyway?”

“Norman and I were finishing the painting,” I told her. “It’s done.”

“Great,” she said, yawning.

“He’s making me dinner tomorrow,” I added softly. “We have, like, a date.”

“Really?” Now she sounded more awake. “What time?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Dinnertime, I guess.” Norman was never one for exactness, exactly.

“Come here first,” she said. I could hear her turning over, her voice muffled as she settled in. “And I’ll help you get ready.”

“You will?”

“Absolutely.” Now she was drifting off, her voice soft. “Everything will be fine tomorrow. Just fine.”

I shut the door softly and crossed the lawn, cutting through the hedge to Mira’s. I passed her bedroom on the way to mine; she’d fallen asleep with the light on, listening to a tape on her headphones, one of which—of course—was missing an earpad. It was still running as I turned her Walkman over and peered down at it, recognizing the tape instantly. I slipped the headphones off and pulled the blanket over her, then lifted them to my own ears, closing my eyes at the sound of my mother’s voice.

“I don’t believe in failure,” she was saying in that confident, breezy way. “Because simply by saying you’ve failed, you’ve admitted you attempted. And anyone who attempts is not a failure. Those who truly fail in my eyes are the ones who never try at all. The ones who sit on the couch and whine and moan and wait for the world to change for them.”