and thus, in a fit of nostalgia, had chosen to revisit the bizarrely layered uniform she’d favored during grades seven through twelve—a whale-patterned turtleneck covered by a pink Oxford button-down covered by a green Fair Isle sweater covered by a napless navy chamois shirt. On her feet she wore mukluks furred with an even coating of purply gray closet lint.
“The what?” Regina said.
“The Greene mausoleum got raided by a vagrant ,” Gaby said.
Regina tossed Mary a perplexedly irritated look.
“A vagrant ,” Gaby repeated.
“And the vagrant wants…I’m sorry. What does the vagrant want?” Regina said.
“Didn’t you read the Semmering Alumnae Bulletin?” Gaby asked.
“It seems not as closely as you did,” Regina said.
Gaby scuffled under the couch. She retrieved a newletter, ringleted with mug stains.
“Miss Pym plans, with the help of the West Salem Historical Society to ‘bury the past for the sake of the future,’ ” she read.
“An apt motto for Miss Pym,” Mary said, yawning. She was still emerging from her blunt night of sleep. Her sisters hurt her brain.
“Miss Pym convinced the Greenes to donate their mausoleum to the sixth graders to use as a receptacle for their yearlong cultural history study. ‘Where once was death, there will now be life.’ ”
“Where once there were dead people, there will now be our trash,” Mary said. “Is there any coffee?”
“There’s no shortage of grief tea,” Gaby said.
Regina glared at Mary.
“So it was you ,” she said accusingly.
“What,” Mary said. “What was me.”
“ You told them they could have our tampons,” Regina said.
Mary winced; without a few more minutes of awakeness under her belt, she hadn’t had a chance to fortify herself against random Regina assaults. Mary didn’t bother countering Regina’s accusation with the obvious—that, due to her recent exile, she’d had zero involvement with the auction arrangements, or the real estate agent, or the funeral specifics. This defense, while true, would only introduce new areas for venomous critique.
“Sorry,” she said. “I forgot you’d probably want them.”
Gaby laughed from behind her paperback. Mary, for a quasi-instant, considered that Gaby, even while appearing to be a Regina disciple, might be a neutral party. Gaby had been to visit her in Beaverton last spring, just after Mum was officially diagnosed, and they’d spent the weekend smoking pot and eating the same re-microwaved tureen of chowder. She and Gaby, she’d believed, had a sibling closeness based on the unspoken agreement that they would never be close; this shared understanding of the limits of their relationship made it the easiest relationship Mary shared with anyone in her family.
Regina’s eyes flared. Mary could see her teetering between states of increased or decreased or differently aimed rage.
“Well,” she sniffed, her ire deflating into morbundity. “It’s not like Mum left us anything else.”
“Poor you,” Gaby chided.
Regina checked her watch and ordered Gaby off the couch. They hurried into rubber boots and two of Mum’s wool coats, hanging in the foyer.
“So it would be great if you could clean out Mum’s study while we’re gone,” Regina said, consulting the to-do list on the credenza.
“Where are you going?” Mary asked.
“The auction truck’s coming tomorrow ,” Regina said.
“Yes but we’re not donating her personal files to the historical society…”
“Do you want to fight me on this?” Regina said. “Or do you want to help?”
It was too fucking early for this.
“Fine,” Mary said. “Anything else you need? Should I repaper the hall? Do some stencil touch-ups?”
Regina put a line through an item on the list. She pointed the pencil at Mary.
“I did that while you were sleeping.”
“And you’re going where?” Mary asked a second time, trying to appear only passingly to care about the answer. But her disinterest masked her
“The what?” Regina said.
“The Greene mausoleum got raided by a vagrant ,” Gaby said.
Regina tossed Mary a perplexedly irritated look.
“A vagrant ,” Gaby repeated.
“And the vagrant wants…I’m sorry. What does the vagrant want?” Regina said.
“Didn’t you read the Semmering Alumnae Bulletin?” Gaby asked.
“It seems not as closely as you did,” Regina said.
Gaby scuffled under the couch. She retrieved a newletter, ringleted with mug stains.
“Miss Pym plans, with the help of the West Salem Historical Society to ‘bury the past for the sake of the future,’ ” she read.
“An apt motto for Miss Pym,” Mary said, yawning. She was still emerging from her blunt night of sleep. Her sisters hurt her brain.
“Miss Pym convinced the Greenes to donate their mausoleum to the sixth graders to use as a receptacle for their yearlong cultural history study. ‘Where once was death, there will now be life.’ ”
“Where once there were dead people, there will now be our trash,” Mary said. “Is there any coffee?”
“There’s no shortage of grief tea,” Gaby said.
Regina glared at Mary.
“So it was you ,” she said accusingly.
“What,” Mary said. “What was me.”
“ You told them they could have our tampons,” Regina said.
Mary winced; without a few more minutes of awakeness under her belt, she hadn’t had a chance to fortify herself against random Regina assaults. Mary didn’t bother countering Regina’s accusation with the obvious—that, due to her recent exile, she’d had zero involvement with the auction arrangements, or the real estate agent, or the funeral specifics. This defense, while true, would only introduce new areas for venomous critique.
“Sorry,” she said. “I forgot you’d probably want them.”
Gaby laughed from behind her paperback. Mary, for a quasi-instant, considered that Gaby, even while appearing to be a Regina disciple, might be a neutral party. Gaby had been to visit her in Beaverton last spring, just after Mum was officially diagnosed, and they’d spent the weekend smoking pot and eating the same re-microwaved tureen of chowder. She and Gaby, she’d believed, had a sibling closeness based on the unspoken agreement that they would never be close; this shared understanding of the limits of their relationship made it the easiest relationship Mary shared with anyone in her family.
Regina’s eyes flared. Mary could see her teetering between states of increased or decreased or differently aimed rage.
“Well,” she sniffed, her ire deflating into morbundity. “It’s not like Mum left us anything else.”
“Poor you,” Gaby chided.
Regina checked her watch and ordered Gaby off the couch. They hurried into rubber boots and two of Mum’s wool coats, hanging in the foyer.
“So it would be great if you could clean out Mum’s study while we’re gone,” Regina said, consulting the to-do list on the credenza.
“Where are you going?” Mary asked.
“The auction truck’s coming tomorrow ,” Regina said.
“Yes but we’re not donating her personal files to the historical society…”
“Do you want to fight me on this?” Regina said. “Or do you want to help?”
It was too fucking early for this.
“Fine,” Mary said. “Anything else you need? Should I repaper the hall? Do some stencil touch-ups?”
Regina put a line through an item on the list. She pointed the pencil at Mary.
“I did that while you were sleeping.”
“And you’re going where?” Mary asked a second time, trying to appear only passingly to care about the answer. But her disinterest masked her
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