As I was dumping the lettuce into the salad bowl, Elgie whispered, “I forwarded you the captain’s report and the lawyer’s letter. Did you have time to read them?”
“Why would you ask me?” I slammed the salad and bottle of dressing on the table. “You don’t care what I think.”
The front door flew open. In hurtled Hurricane Bee, waving Mr. Harmsen’s letter and captain’s report. “You wish Mom were dead?!”
“Bee—” Elgie said. “Where did you get these?”
“They came in the mail to the house.” She stomped her foot and pushed the back of Elgie’s chair. “I could take everything else! But all anyone cares about is proving Mom is dead.”
“I didn’t write that,” Elgie said. “That’s lawyerspeak from a guy who doesn’t want to get sued.”
“What happens when Mom comes home and finds out you’re eating dinner with people she hated, all la la la?”
“If that happens, then she’ll be the one with the explaining to do,” I said. I know, I know, wrong thing.
“You gnat!” Bee spun around and screamed at me. “You’re the one who wishes she were dead so you can marry Dad and take his money.”
“I’m sorry,” Elgie said to me. “She’s just grieving.”
“I’m grieving over what a jerk you are,” Bee told Elgie. “And how you’ve fallen under the spell of Yoko Ono.”
“Lincoln, Alexandra,” I said. “Go to the basement and watch TV.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t mean it that way,” Elgie tried to assure me.
“Oh, just keep stuffing your face,” Bee hissed at me.
I burst into tears. Of course, she doesn’t know I’m pregnant. But still, I told you how terrible the morning sickness has been, Audrey. For some reason, French toast hasn’t been enough. I woke up the other night with a craving to put Molly Moon’s salted caramel ice cream on it. I bought a carton and started making salted caramel and French toast ice-cream sandwiches. Believe me when I say I should trademark them and start a business. Yesterday Dr. Villar said I’d better watch out, because the baby will be born made of sugar, like a Peep. Who can blame me for crying? I ran upstairs and threw myself on the bed.
After an hour, Elgie appeared. “Soo-Lin,” he said. “Are you OK?”
“No!” I howled.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry about Bee, I’m sorry about Bernadette, I’m sorry about the baby.”
“You’re sorry about the baby!” I launched into a whole new round of convulsive sobs.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “It’s just all so sudden.”
“It’s only sudden to you because Bernadette had all those miscarriages. When you’re a healthy woman, like me, and you make love to a man, you get pregnant.”
There was a long silence. Finally, Elgie spoke. “I told Bee we could go to Antarctica.”
“You know I can’t travel there.”
“Just me and Bee,” he said. “She thinks it will help her get some closure. It’s her idea.”
“So of course you’ll go.”
“It’s the only way Bee will let me spend time with her. I miss her.”
“Then by all means, go.”
“You’re an amazing woman, Soo-Lin,” he said.
“Gee, thanks.”
“I know what you want to hear,” he said. “But think about what I’ve been through, what I’m still going through. Do you really want me saying stuff I’m not sure I mean?”
“Yes!” I was done with dignity.
“The last trip of the season leaves in two days,” he finally said. “There’s room on the ship. We have a credit that would otherwise expire. It’s a lot of money. And I owe it to Bee. She’s a good kid, Soo-Lin. She really is.”
So that’s it. Elgie and Bee leave tomorrow for Antarctica. The whole thing is completely tragic, in my opinion. But what do I know? I’m just a Seattle-born secretary.
Love to you,
Soo-Lin
PART SIX
The White Continent
We arrived in Santiago at six in the morning. I’d never flown first-class before, so I didn’t know each seat was its own egg and when you pushed a button, it became a bed. As soon as my seat went totally flat, the stewardess covered me with a crisp white comforter. I must have smiled, because Dad looked over from his seat and said, “Don’t get too used to this.” I smiled back, but then I remembered I hated him, so I plopped on my eye pillow. They bring you this kind that is filled with flaxseed and lavender, which they microwave, so it’s toasty warm and you breathe in relaxation. I slept for ten hours.
There was a massive immigration line at the airport. But an officer waved over Dad and me, and unhooked a chain so we could go straight to an empty window reserved for families with small children. At first, I was annoyed because I’m fifteen. But then I thought, Fine, I’ll do cutsies.
The guy wore military fatigues and took forever with our passports. He kept looking at me, in particular, then at my passport. Up, down, up, down. I figured it was my stupid name.
Finally, he spoke. “I like your hat.” It was a Princeton Tigers baseball hat they sent Mom when they wanted her to give money. “Princeton,” he said. “That’s an American university, like Harvard.”
“Only better,” I said.
“I like tigers.” He placed his palm over both of our passports. “I like that hat.”
“Me, too.” I stuck my chin in my palm. “That’s why I’m wearing it.”
“Bee,” Dad said. “Give him the hat.”
“Whaa?” I said.
“Very much I’d like the hat,” the guy said, agreeing with Dad.
“Bee, just do it.” Dad grabbed my hat, but it was hooked on my ponytail.
“It’s my hat!” I covered my head with both hands. “Mom gave it to me.”
“She threw it in the garbage,” Dad said. “I’ll get you another one.”
“Get one yourself,” I told the guy. “You can order them on the Internet.”
“We can order you one,” Dad added.
“We will not!” I said. “He’s a grown man with a job and a gun. He can do it himself.”
The man handed us our stamped passports and gave a shrug, like, It was worth a try. We collected our bags and were funneled into the main part of the airport. A tour guide immediately identified us by the blue-and-white ribbons we tied to our luggage. He told us to wait while everyone else in the group went through immigration. It would be awhile.
“There’s no free lunch,” Dad said. He had a point, but I acted like I didn’t hear him.
Others with blue-and-white ribbons started appearing. These were our fellow travelers. They were mostly old, with wrinkled faces and wrinkle-free travel clothes. And the camera equipment! These people were circling one another like khaki peacocks, presenting their lenses and cameras. In between the preening, they’d pull out cloudy Ziploc bags of dried fruit and tuck little pieces into their mouths. Sometimes I’d catch their curious glances, probably because I was the youngest, and they’d smile all friendly. One of them stared so long I couldn’t resist, I just had to say it: “Take a picture. It lasts longer.”
“Bee!” Dad puffed.
One thing that was funny: beside a random windowless room, there was a sign depicting a stick figure on its knees under a pointy roof. This was the universal sign for church. Janitors, lunch-counter workers, and taxi drivers would go in and pray.