Page 65 of Endless Summer: Stories
Jessie pushes a pile of clothing and Andrew’s backpack out of the way and takes a seat on the sofa. The sunporch is serving as Andrew’s bedroom.
“Talk,” she says.
“Why are you so angry with me?” Kirby says.
These words rip a scab off a wound that has only just started to heal. “If you don’t know, then there’s no point even having this conversation.” Jessie stands up. “Are youthatself-absorbed?”
“Wait,” Kirby says. “I do know why. It’s because I didn’t come to Dad’s funeral.”
“You didn’t come to the funeral,” Jessie says. “You didn’t send flowers, you didn’t call, you didn’t write a letter or a card, you didnothing. I’m yoursister. David was my father, but he was your father too. From the time you were six years old, he was a father to you in every way but biology. And yet you couldn’t be distracted from your fabulous Hollywood life to even acknowledge his passing. The man who raised you. Who loved you every bit as much as he loved me.”
“I have an excuse,” Kirby says.
“You always have an excuse,” Jessie says. “Your life is one long excuse.”
“I was in rehab when Dad died,” Kirby says. “At a place called Clarity Farms, where we were allowed zero contact with the outside world. I didn’t find out about Dad until I got home and heard the messages on my machine. I called Mom right away. We cried on the phone together. I was hysterical, as I’m sure she told you—”
“Shedidn’ttell me,” Jessie says. But then she recalls that, yes, a few weeks after David died, Kate called Jessie and said, “I finally heard from your sister.”
Jessie had responded, “I don’t want to hear about my so-called sister. Don’t say another word.”
Kate hadn’t.
“Why didn’t you callme?” Jessie says. “You must have known how badly I was hurting.”
“I was ashamed,” Kirby says. “I missed my father’s funeral because I was inrehab?I didn’t want you to know I was a screwup. I didn’t want anyone to know, Blair and Tiger included. It was better if you thought I was just too busy or indifferent or whatever. So yes, you’re right. I am self-absorbed.”
Jessie closes her eyes; suddenly, she’s exhausted. “You know I look up to you, Kirby. I always have.”
“That makes no sense!” Kirby says. “I look up toyou. You’re smart, you’re an attorney, you have a man who loves you, who applauds as you soar as high as you want to go.” She stops to wipe tears away. “And yes, I do know you look up to me, which is why you were the one person I wanted to hide from. I’m supposed to be setting an example. I’m the big sister.”
Jessie feels the anger evaporate off her skin. She thinks about her mother, setting aside a vendetta she has nourished for thirty-five years. What catharsis it must have been to sit next to Lorraine Crimmins, dip lobster into melted butter, and laugh.
“When I walked in just now, who were you on the phone with?” Jessie asks.
“My ex-girlfriend, Tyesha,” Kirby says. “She’s a producer and I was pitching her a movie idea—about our family, actually. The stuff going on with the twins—”
Jessie should have known that Kirby would cannibalize their family drama. “Was I in it?”
“No, but we can add you in as a character,” Kirby says. “How would you like to be portrayed?”
“Set the movie here at the house next summer,” Jessie says. “I’ll be the aunt who’s getting married.”
“What?” Kirby shouts. She rushes over to Jessie, pulls her to her feet, and gives her a crushing hug. “You and Pick are actually going to do it?”
“Yes,” Jessie says. “Mom and Lorraine are all buddy-buddy now and they gave me their blessing, so… yeah. I was just about to call Pick and propose.”
“Don’t let me stand in your way,” Kirby says. “I should get to bed. This day has been a hundred hours long.”
Just then the phone rings and Jessie and Kirby look at each other. It’s a quarter to eleven—any phone call at this hour is bound to be bad news.
Please let it be nothing,Jessie thinks. Let it be benign—Tyesha calling back or Pick calling because he somehow intuited what had happened with the mothers.
Jessie picks up the receiver. “Hello?”
There’s a pause, then a voice that sounds like it’s coming from the other end of a long tunnel. “Jessie? It’s me.”
“Blair?” Jessie says.
