"I don't hate you, Phoebe."
Fresh tears clouded her eyes. "I need to be alone, okay?"
"You're crying."
"Just a temporary weakness. I'll get over it."
"Don't cry. Dan would feel bad if he knew he'd made you so sad."
"I sincerely doubt that."
"I think you're in love with him."
She swallowed hard as tears rolled down her cheeks. "I'll get over that, too."
She felt a gentle hand on her arm. Her throat closed tight and something seemed to break apart inside her. Without quite knowing how it happened, she was in Molly's arms.
Molly patted her arm and rubbed her back. "Don't cry, Phoebe. Please, don't cry. It'll get better. Really, it will. Don't cry." Molly crooned to her just as she crooned to Pooh. Since she was several inches shorter than Phoebe, their position was awkward, but they held on to each other anyway.
Phoebe had no idea how long they stayed that way, but nothing on earth could have made her let her sister go. When she was finally cried out, Molly pulled away, only to return a few moments later with some tissues she'd fetched from the bathroom.
Phoebe sat down on the side of the bed and blew her nose. "It'll be better tomorrow. I'm just feeling sorry for myself."
The mattress sagged as Molly sat beside her. Several moments of silence ticked by. "Are you pregnant?"
Phoebe looked at her with startled eyes. "Why would you think that?"
"A girl in my ancient history class is pregnant. I know it can happen, even to older people who are supposed to know about birth control and everything. If you are, I'm sure Dan would want to marry you, but if he didn't-The two of us-" She spoke in a rush. "I'd help you take care of the baby. You wouldn't have to have an abortion, or give it away, or raise it by yourself or anything."
As Phoebe took in the intensity of her sister's expression, some of her numbness disappeared, and she gave a watery smile. "I'm not pregnant. But thanks. Thanks a lot."
"You're not going to start crying again, are you?"
Phoebe nodded and blew her nose. "I can't help it. That was the sweetest thing anybody's ever offered to do for me." She gave a small hiccup. "I love you, Mol. I really do."
"You do?"
"Yes." Phoebe wiped at her tears.
"Even though I've been a brat?"
Phoebe smiled weakly. "A real brat."
"Nobody's ever loved me before."
"Your mother did."
"Really?"
"She loved you a lot."
"I don't remember her. Bert said she was a bimbo."
Phoebe gave a choked laugh. "She was. So was my mother. Those were the only kind of women Bert married. He liked them blond, sexy, and not too smart. We got our brains from him, Mol, not from our mothers." She pulled at the tissue in her hands. "But your mother was one of the sweetest women I ever met, and she loved you so much. I ran away when you were just an infant, but I still remember how she'd hold you for hours, even when you were sleeping, just because she couldn't believe she had you."
"I wish I remembered her."
"She was a nice lady. She used to tell me stories about being a showgirl. So did Cooki, who was Bert's second wife. They were both sweethearts."
Molly was drinking in her every word. "Tell me about them."
She sniffed and dabbed her nose. "Well, Bert found all three of his wives in Las Vegas. None of them started out with anything except good looks, but they were exceptional women. Sometimes I think bimbo is just another word men made up so they could feel superior to women who are better at survival than they are." Pooh jumped up in her lap and she stroked her soft fur. "Instead of feeling sorry for themselves, all of Bert's wives worked hard to make something of their lives. They survived bad men, lousy working conditions, bouts of bronchitis from skimpy costumes, and they did it with a smile. Your mother wasn't bitter, not even when she figured out what kind of man Bert really was." She gave Molly an unsteady smile. "You've got sequins and fishnet tights in your heritage, Mol. Be proud of it."
Her sister, with her solemn face and splendid brain, was clearly entranced with the idea. As Phoebe watched her, a horrible thought flickered through her mind, driving out her own misery.
"You have photographs of her, don't you?"
"No. I asked Bert a couple of times, but he said he didn't have any."
"I can't believe I didn't think to ask you!" Getting up from the bed, Phoebe went into her closet and returned a few moments later with one of the cardboard boxes she'd had sent from New York. While Molly watched, she turned out the contents on the bed to search for what she wanted. "I know it's in here somewhere. Here it is." She drew out the gold dime-store frame with a photo of Lara sitting on a deck chair by the pool holding a newborn Molly in her lap. Lara's blond hair was tied back from her face with a floral scarf and she was smiling down at Molly, who was wrapped in a pink blanket.
She held her breath as she passed the photograph over to her sister.
Molly touched it gingerly, almost as if she were afraid it would dissolve in her hands, and stared down into her mother's face. An expression of awe came over her. "She's beautiful."
"I think you have her eyes," Phoebe said softly.
"I wish I'd known her."
"I wish you had, too."
"Can I have this?"
"Of course you can. I took it with me when I ran away. I used to pretend she was my mother."
Molly stared at her, and then a sob slipped through her lips. This time it was Phoebe who held her.
"I'm sorry I've been so awful. I was so jealous of you because Bert loved you and he hated me."
Phoebe patted her sister's hair. "He didn't hate you, and he didn't love me, either."
"Yes, he did. He was always comparing me to you." She slowly drew back so that Phoebe was looking into her tear-stained face. "He said that I gave him the creeps, and that I looked like I was going to faint every time he talked to me. He told me you always stood up to him."
Phoebe drew her close again. "I didn't stand up to him until I was a grown woman. Believe me, when I was your age, all I tried to do was stay out of his way."
"You're saying that to make me feel better."
"Bert was a bully, Molly. He was a man's man, in the worst way. He had no use for any woman who wasn't either taking care of him or sleeping with him. That left out the two of us."
"I hate him."
"Of course you do. But when you're older, you may learn to pity him instead." As she spoke, she felt something let go inside her and she realized that her father's rejection had finally lost its power over her. "Bert had two of the best daughters in the world, and he didn't even care. I find that sad, don't you?"
Molly seemed to be thinking it over. "Yes, I guess it is."
As the winter moonlight made a pool on the carpet, their fingers met somewhere in the region of Pooh's topknot.
They squeezed tight.
Chapter 23
The pep band struck up "Ain't She Sweet?" and the Star Girl cheerleaders formed a tunnel of blue and gold pom-poms for Phoebe to walk through. As she made her way onto the field for the AFC Championship game, she sparkled in a short velvet jacket encrusted with thousands of sky blue sequins, a matching metallic gold tank top and miniskirt, shimmery stockings, and square-heeled pumps with beaded gold stars twinkling on each toe. The crowd greeted her with wolf whistles and cheers while the Star Girls shook their pom-poms and wiggled their hips.
As she waved and blew kisses, she could feel the tension-charged atmosphere in the mood of the crowd and see it in the players' grim expressions as they huddled on the sideline. She avoided looking at Dan while she made her way to the end of the bench for her pregame rituals. Many of the players believed she brought them good luck, and she had been forced by necessity into a routine of thumping helmets, slapping shoulder pads, and slipping lucky pennies into shoes. Bobby Tom, however, refused to give up his good luck kiss.
"We're gonna do it today, Phoebe." He gave her a resounding smack and set her back down on the ground.