Coming Apart Read online

  “In South Carolina?” asked Mae.

  “Yes. And then there’s the divorce,” said Mrs. Sherman. “We need to finish things up.”

  Nikki knew that her parents’ divorce proceedings had already begun and that a lot had been accomplished long-distance, via mail. But now certain matters (her mother had been vague about just what these matters were) needed to be finalized in person with lawyers. And then her father would leave and, Nikki fervently hoped, be out of their lives for good.

  “And when you’re divorced, what will I be?” Mae asked her mother.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Will I be an orphan?”

  Mrs. Sherman smiled. “No. You will still be Mae Sherman, my daughter and your father’s daughter and Nikki and Tobias’s sister. Okay?”

  “Okay. What’s for dessert?”

  “Ice cream,” Nikki replied.

  “Goody.” Mae turned her attention to Paw-Paw, who was begging silently but effectively by resting his great head on her knee and gazing into her eyes. “I’ll sneak you a bite,” Mae whispered, and the subject of her father was temporarily forgotten.

  On Saturday morning, it was Flora’s responsibility to take Daisy Dear on her pre-breakfast walk. Daisy was Min’s golden retriever. The first time Flora had met the galumphing dog, she’d expected her to be fearless due to her large size. Instead, Daisy had turned out to be an enormous, well, scaredy-cat. She was afraid of cats, as a matter of fact. Only now, a year and a half after Flora and Ruby and King Comma, their own cat, had moved into their grandmother Min’s house, could Daisy approach King with her tail wagging and her head held high. Nevertheless, Daisy shuddered at thunder and also had once fled upstairs when Min — Min! — had walked into the kitchen wearing an unfamiliar hat.

  Flora ran down her front walk, pulled along exuberantly by Daisy and still tugging on her mittens as they went. The morning was chilly but not January chilly. It felt more like a morning in early November, with a promise of milder air later in the day.

  “Are we ever going to get a snowstorm?” Flora asked Daisy. “I mean, a true snowstorm, when school closes and everything?”

  Daisy glanced over her shoulder at Flora, as if to say that she really couldn’t be bothered to have a conversation at that moment, and then made a fast left-hand turn onto the sidewalk and continued down Aiken Avenue in a big rush.

  “Good morning, Flora!” called a cheerful voice.

  Rudy Pennington, who lived two doors from Flora in the Row Houses, was ambling along his own front walk with Jacques, his ancient cocker spaniel, at the end of a tired-looking red leash. Jacques needed a lot of coaxing to keep moving, and Flora saw that despite Mr. Pennington’s jolly words, his face was grave.

  “Come on, old boy,” he said softly.

  Jacques stopped moving altogether and stared at Mr. Pennington.

  “Is he all right?” asked Flora as Daisy, who loved Mr. Pennington and Jacques, turned up their walk and greeted them with a yip and a playful lunge.

  “He’s … I don’t think he’s feeling very well this morning.” Mr. Pennington gave the leash a little tug and Jacques resumed his stiff walk to the curb.

  “I’m sorry,” said Flora. She was about to ask whether Mr. Pennington was going to take Jacques to the vet when the door in the next to the last house in the row opened and Robby Edwards leaned out, still wearing his pajamas.

  “Good morning, Flora! Good morning, Mr. Pennington!” he called, in what Flora personally thought was rather a loud voice for such an early hour. “Mr. Pennington, is something wrong with Jacques?”

  Robby, who was eighteen years old and had Down syndrome, was halfway out his door when Flora heard his father call him back inside.

  “I hope he’s not sick!” said Robby before he disappeared through his front door.

  This was one of the very few things that Flora disliked about the Row Houses: Everyone knew everyone else’s business. It was almost impossible not to. The old Row Houses, built in the 1800s, were actually one sprawling stone building divided into eight nearly identical attached homes. Although each home was a healthy size, so that the families had plenty of space, Flora sometimes felt that she and her neighbors were crowded on top of one another, everyone (Flora included) freely asking who was sick, how a school play had gone, whether a baby was teething yet, how business was doing.

  When Flora and Ruby had moved to Camden Falls to live with Min, all the neighborliness had taken a bit of getting used to. On the one hand, Flora was grateful for it. She and her sister had lost their parents in a car accident a few months before the move, and Flora had still felt lost and somewhat rudderless on the June day when Min had driven her and Ruby and King Comma to their new home. The neighbors had welcomed them warmly and had swarmed in and out of Min’s house, helping to unload the U-Haul and settle the girls in their new rooms. That had been nice, if overwhelming. But there were times when Flora wished for a bit more privacy, wished to be an anonymous twelve-year-old living under only Min’s watchful eyes instead of the eyes of every adult in the Row Houses.

  Still, it was fascinating to think that so many people lived under one roof. Flora stood back now and regarded the Row Houses. Starting at the left end there were the Morrises, the Hamiltons, and the Malones, then Min’s house, Olivia’s, Mr. Pennington’s, and Robby’s, and finally at the right end, the Fongs’. Twenty-eight people of a variety of races and backgrounds, ranging in age from Grace Fong, who was a baby, to Mr. Pennington, who was in his eighties. Plus several cats and dogs and Olivia’s guinea pig, Sandy. Actually, thought Flora, who had lost her parents so quickly and unexpectedly, it was comforting to belong to a twenty-eight-member family, even if everyone did know her personal information a bit too handily.

  Mr. Pennington now looked sadly down at Jacques. “I haven’t made a vet appointment yet, but I suppose it’s about time,” he told Flora. “Most of his problems have to do with simple old age. Like most of my problems,” he added, smiling, and Flora smiled with him.

  Jacques turned around and made his rheumatic way back across the lawn toward his front door, and Flora continued along Aiken with Daisy, pleased at the day that lay ahead of her: sewing in the morning and an afternoon at Aunt Allie’s, taking care of Janie while Allie worked.

  One of Flora’s favorite things in the entire world was a sewing day — a day, or at least part of a day, in which she could spend time in her room with her patterns and fabrics and sewing machine. Flora’s mother had taught her to sew. Flora had, in fact, grown up with sewing. It had been all around her. Her mother had enjoyed it, and then there had been Min and Needle and Thread. When Flora was very little and her family would visit Camden Falls, she had liked nothing better than a trip to her grandmother’s sewing store. It had seemed to her as magical a place as a toy shop or a candy counter. Flora would stand in the aisles and finger the laces and the cards of buttons; she would walk between the rows of fabrics and breathe in their scent; and she would gaze at the sewing machines for sale. Later, Needle and Thread was one of the things that had helped Flora to heal after the accident and the loss and the move. Ruby, who couldn’t care less about needlework of any kind, and lived instead for singing and performing and the chance to be onstage, had healed in a different way.

  On this fine January morning, Flora walked Daisy up and down Aiken Avenue and then ate breakfast with Ruby and Min. Min, whose name was short for Mindy but also for “in a minute,” kept checking her watch as they ate. “We’re going to have a busy day at the store,” she said. “Lots of new merchandise to unpack.” She glanced at her granddaughters. “What are your plans today?”

  Ruby shrugged. “I don’t know about this morning. But I’m going to Lacey’s for the afternoon.”

  Flora cheered silently. Yes! If Ruby was going to Lacey Morris’s, then Flora could go to Aunt Allie’s and take care of Janie all by herself. She felt absolutely grown-up when she was in charge of the baby.

  “Flora? What are your plans?”
Min wanted to know.

  “Sewing in the morning, Aunt Allie’s this afternoon.”

  The moment breakfast was over, before Min had even left the house, Flora fled to her room, and it was while she was contemplating the crib quilt she was making for Janie that a wonderful idea occurred to her. It started with Janie’s quilt, which was to consist of twenty large gingham squares in colors to match her nursery, and which was not taking as long to make as Flora had thought it would. If she had lived in pioneer days, the quilt could have been polished off in one brief bee.

  A quilting bee, thought Flora. We could have a quilting bee at Needle and Thread. If everyone who dropped by made just one or two squares, we would have enough for a large quilt. Then Gigi and Min and I could sew the squares together, and …

  “Min!” Flora yelped. She ran down the stairs and caught her grandmother as she was putting on her coat. “Min! Don’t go yet! I just had a great idea!”

  “What on earth?” said Min.

  “Did you hear about the community center?” asked Flora breathlessly.

  “Flora, honey, I’m going to be late.”

  “This will just take a second. Did you hear that it might have to close a couple of days a week?”

  “I heard that it’s having some trouble, yes.”

  “Well, what if we made a quilt and auctioned it off to raise money for the community center?”

  “Made a quilt …?”

  “We could have a sort of a quilting bee at Needle and Thread some Saturday. Anyone could drop in to make a square or two and then at the end of the day I’m sure we’d have enough for a quilt. People could make any kind of squares they wanted — simple or complicated — and we’d be there to help. Later, you and Gigi and I would sew them together and make a border and everything, and then we’d auction it off. Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”

  “It’ll be a big project but, Flora, yes, I think it’s a wonderful idea,” said Min, and she gave her granddaughter a hug. “I’m sorry I have to run, but I promise I’ll talk to Gigi about it today. We’ll start making plans.”

  “Thank you!” Flora exclaimed, and dashed back up the stairs for her morning of sewing.

  Flora and Ruby ate their lunch in the kitchen that day. Sometimes on Saturday they liked to walk to College Pizza and buy slices, which they then ate at Needle and Thread with Min. But today they stayed home and ate tuna sandwiches with Daisy Dear staring at them from under the table and King Comma staring at them from the kitchen counter, where technically he shouldn’t have been sitting.

  “So you’re going over to the Morrises’ this afternoon?” Flora asked her sister.

  “Oh.” Ruby swallowed the overly large bite of sandwich she had just stuffed into her mouth. She took a swallow of milk. “No. Lacey forgot she has a dentist appointment. With Dr. Malone. So I’m going to Aunt Allie’s with you.”

  Flora tried hard not to make a face and must have succeeded. “All right,” she managed to say.

  This was not how she had planned to spend her afternoon. She wanted Janie all to herself. But Ruby wasn’t allowed to stay at home alone, so Flora had no choice.

  When lunch was over and the kitchen had been tidied, and when Daisy Dear had been walked again, Flora and Ruby hopped on their bicycles and rode through Camden Falls to their aunt Allie’s house. They hadn’t known their aunt well when they were younger, and when she had finally come into their lives a year earlier they had found her stiff and strange, the kind of person who gave you boring gifts such as a contribution to your college account or a certificate saying she’d had a tree named after you in some distant park. But Allie, who was their mother’s sister, had softened and had made an effort with her only nieces. Then, lo and behold, she had adopted Janie and brought an infant into their lives — a brand-new baby to hold and dress and play with. She had even named her Jane Marie after Ruby Jane and Flora Marie.

  “Can you believe we’re riding our bikes in January?” asked Flora as they pedaled along Allie’s street.

  Ruby shook her head sadly. “Hardly a speck of snow,” she said. “Not even one snow day yet. Just flurries. It’s pitiful.”

  “But at least we can ride our bikes. Hey, there are Allie and Janie!”

  The girls turned up Allie’s driveway, threw down their bicycles, and ran to the house, where their aunt stood at the storm door, cradling Janie.

  “Hi!” cried Flora and Ruby, flinging the door open.

  There followed a brief argument over who got to hold Janie first, and Flora won. She stroked Janie’s soft brown cheek and tickled her palm until her cousin curled her fingers tightly around Flora’s thumb.

  “We can stay until it starts to get dark,” Flora told her aunt, “so you’ll have plenty of time to work.” She plopped down on the couch and expertly felt Janie’s diaper. “Dry,” she announced. “Okay, Aunt Allie, you go on to your study. I have everything under control here.”

  Ruby plopped onto the couch next to Flora. “Yup. Everything’s under control.”

  Allie smiled. “All right. Thank you. This will be wonderful. I’m behind with a few things. My editor will be very happy if I can catch up.”

  Allie was a writer who had had several books published and who used to live in New York City, the latter fact being a source of fascination for Ruby.

  When Allie was settled in her study, the door ajar so that she could hear the baby, just in case, Flora said, “Okay, Ruby, now first you go upstairs and get another outfit for Janie. This one has milk on the front. Choose something cute. And don’t forget socks. We don’t want her feet to get cold.”

  “Why does she need clean socks? She doesn’t have milk on her socks.”

  “Because they have to match her outfit!”

  “Why don’t you go get the outfit? I can stay down here and hold Janie.”

  “Because she looks like she’s about to cry, and I know what to do if that happens.”

  “Well, so do I.”

  “Ruby? The outfit?”

  Ruby stuck her tongue out at Flora and stomped up the stairs. By the time she returned, Janie had fallen asleep in Flora’s arms.

  “I guess it’s nap time already,” said Flora, sounding disappointed. She headed for the stairs, Ruby trailing behind her clutching the tiny clothes.

  “Well, now what?” asked Ruby a few minutes later when Janie was snoozing in her crib.

  “We should make ourselves useful,” said Flora. She knocked on the door to Allie’s study and poked her head inside. “What would you like us to do?” she asked. “Janie’s asleep.”

  “What? Already? Oh. Well … there’s a basketful of Janie’s laundry that needs to be done. That would be great. Thanks, girls.”

  Flora tackled the laundry. She finished and Janie was still asleep. “Now what?” she asked Allie.

  Allie looked up blearily from her computer. “Um, let’s see. I kind of let the recycling go.”

  Flora directed Ruby in the proper organization of the items to be recycled. Janie slept on. Flora interrupted Allie twice more before she heard the first faint cries from Janie’s room. She thundered up the stairs, but Ruby had gotten there first.

  “Her head! You have to support her head!” yelped Flora as Ruby lifted the baby from the crib.

  “I am! I know how to pick her up.”

  “Well, put her back. She probably needs to be changed.”

  Reluctantly, Ruby laid her cousin in the crib again. “You sure are bossy,” she grumbled.

  “I’m not bossy. I just know way more about babies than you do,” replied Flora. But she allowed Ruby to change the wet diaper. And to help dress her in the clean outfit. “Doesn’t she look cute?” Flora cooed when Janie was at last resplendent in a green T-shirt, purple overalls decorated with green alligators, and a pair of green-and-purple-striped socks. She kissed Janie’s curly head and carried her down to the living room.

  “Let’s read to her,” suggested Ruby.

  So Flora and Ruby read one picture
book after another to Janie until the light began to fade and it was time to turn their cousin over to Aunt Allie. As they pedaled back to Aiken Avenue, Flora thought that her day had been nearly perfect.

  Olivia was worried about something, so she looked up the definition of boyfriend in two different dictionaries. One was the dictionary in her computer, which yielded the disturbing explanation: a man with whom somebody has a romantic relationship.

  It wasn’t the word romantic that bothered Olivia as much as the word man. Why, oh, why, she wondered, was the boyfriend referred to as a man?

  The definition in her parents’ unwieldy and well-worn dictionary on the stand in the den was more comforting. 1: a sweetheart, beau, or escort of a girl or woman 2: a boy who is one’s friend.

  Well. That was more like it. Olivia much preferred to think of Jacob as merely her escort. (She noted with relief that this definition didn’t promote the boy to a man.) “A boy who is one’s friend” was even better. Maybe Jacob really was simply a boy who was her friend. But she knew in her heart that when her teenage cousin Ashley referred to Jacob as Olivia’s boyfriend, she did not mean “Jacob, who is Olivia’s friend, who happens to be a boy.” And certainly when Melody glared at her and Jacob in school it wasn’t because she wanted Jacob for her own escort. No, she wanted Jacob for whatever the modern equivalent of sweetheart or beau might be.

  And that was one of the great and unfortunate differences between Olivia and Melody. Olivia, with each passing day, became more convinced that she wanted Jacob for her friend who happened to be a boy, while Melody — and Tanya and probably quite a few other girls at school — wanted him as one of the snappier definitions of boyfriend.

  The very worst thing of all was that Jacob himself thought that, where Olivia was concerned, he fell more solidly in the sweetheart category than the friend category.

  How had this happened? Olivia felt as though she and Jacob were standing on opposite sides of a fence, but she was the only one who knew it.