The Geometry of Sisters (Random House Large Print) - Softcover

Rice, Luanne

Softcover

ISBN 10: 073932828X ISBN 13: 9780739328286

Verlag: Random House Large Print, 2009

Inhaltsangabe

Desperate to rebuild her life in the wake of the loss of her husband and oldest daughter, English teacher Maggie Shaw comes to Newport Academy, an elite private high school dedicated to providing educational opportunity to all, with her two remaining children, but the ghosts of the past, including her estrangement from her sister, continue to haunt her. (General Fiction)

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Luanne Rice is the author of twenty-six novels, most recently Last Kiss, Light of the Moon, What Matters Most, The Edge of Winter, Sandcastles, Summer of Roses, Summer’s Child, Silver Bells, and Beach Girls. She lives in New York City and Old Lyme, Connecticut.


From the Hardcover edition.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One



On Labor Day my mother and brother piled the station wagon with all our things. Well, except for the ones that had already gone ahead, our furniture and books, on the Whiteflower Van Lines moving truck. So our car is packed with suitcases, duffel bags, Dad's hats, our computer, and our two cats. We stood on Lincoln Street in front of our house—I refuse to say "our old house," even though it's been sold and new people are about to move in—and Mom told us to say goodbye.

I felt like an invisible girl observing the scene: Mom, shorter than I am, thin, shoulder-length brownish hair, wearing jeans and one of Dad's old shirts; Travis, a beanpole with shoulders from all that football, dark brown hair in his blue eyes, Dad's blue eyes—the men in our family have dark blue eyes, Carrie's are light blue, and Mom and I have hazel.

Both Mom and Travis were looking at our house, white with green shutters—I painted those shutters with Carrie and Travis just last summer—and the two maple trees and the dogwoods and big magnolia in the front yard, shady and nice. Carrie taught me how to climb those trees.

Mom looked up at Carrie's room. Travis stood there with his hands in his pockets, gaze as blank as the windows he was staring at. Actually, that's a lie. He had frown lines between his eyebrows. How could he not, about to leave the only house our family had ever known? Me, I refused to say goodbye. If you don't shut the door on something, it means you can always walk back through, right?

Mom taped a note on the door. Can you believe that? As if Carrie is just going to walk up the sidewalk and read that we've gone to Newport. Just as if we've gone to the store, or to the ball field, and will meet her back here for dinner. It's sad, if you think about it. Not just that Carrie won't be home to read any note, but that Mom would even think of leaving one for her.

Anyway, we turned and got in the car. Travis sits up front with Mom. I ride in back with the cats. Neither Travis nor I mention the note, but we do give each other a look. Strange, his eyebrows say to me. Whacked, my grimace says to him.

So that's how we left Columbus: one of us snuffling, one of us frowning, one of us petting cats. At fourteen, almost fifteen, I'm too young to drive. But Travis is sixteen, so he helps Mom out, taking the wheel for hours at a stretch. They keep asking me if I want to pick the radio station, or if I'm hungry and want to stop, or if I need to use the restroom. But nothing can pry words out of me. I just ride in back, hunched up into a ball, reaching into the cat carriers to pet Desdemona and Grisby. Des is mine. Grisby was my sister's. I'm taking care of her now.

I have what's called "stubborn anger." That's what the shrink said. Because everything is wrong. What happened last summer made me lose my mind. That's different from stubborn anger. That's not being able to stand the feeling of air on your skin because your sister is gone. For months afterward, I couldn't draw a breath without feeling someone had stuck a knife into my heart. My mother thinks it's just normal grief, but it's not. My grades, well, let's just say they have suffered. English, C; Earth Science, B2; Art, D; Geometry, A. I'm okay in math, so even though I haven't applied myself, I get by. I skipped regular math last year, went straight into high school geometry.

The strange thing is, I've been dreaming in math. Figures, equations, notations—as if there was a problem to solve, and it involved numbers instead of words. Words get in the way. Numbers don't lie. We are two sisters; add us up. Carrie + Beck = Us.

My friends have gathered round me... kind of, anyway. The ones who haven't deserted me, that is. The ones who still speak to me have held me up, carried me through. I couldn't have survived without them. I'm holding on to the fact that a few people still like me.

And now my mother's taking me away from them. Away from Carrie. Without Carrie, I'm less than a person. It's like subtracting one from one. That equals zero. Except, as all mathematicians know, there's really no such number as zero. So I live my life in confusion. Logic and emotion are at war.

That's where the stubborn anger comes in. I refuse to accept my mother's decision to move us away from Columbus. She says she needs a job to support us, and I say fine—does it have to be in Rhode Island? Doesn't she know without my sister I'll cease to exist? Just try x minus x. Where does that leave you?

Exactly.

My mother explains that we don't know that Carrie is in Columbus anymore, in fact we are pretty sure she's far, far away. She doesn't have to tell me that we all have our own special ways of losing our minds, and Carrie's seems to have involved running away from home and, after a lifetime of being the perfect older child, turning into a street person somewhere. Have I mentioned that this is not a recent development?

My older sister left home, or should I say the cabin, the very same day our father died. That was over a year ago. She had a major flip-out, I guess you could say. And that flip-out is the gift that just keeps giving. We get the occasional hang-up and the once-in-a-blue-moon postcard. Even though we haven't received any emails from her, my mother has set our family email to a permanent away message: Carrie! We love you! We are moving to Newport and want you to be with us! Here is our address and phone number. Call, sweetheart!

I mean, Jesus Christ!

Here's what I plan to do: ride all the way from Ohio to Rhode Island without saying one word. I'm not going to eat, either. Hunger strike. Eventually we'll get to Newport. Mom will point out the apartment she and her sister lived in when they were young, before whatever happened that drove them apart.

She'll mention that it's a fresh start, that we have our whole lives to look forward to. One thing she will not mention is the water, which will be everywhere. Then she'll pull up to the private school where starting next week she will be teaching English and Travis and I will (theoretically) enroll as students. Here be rich snobs!

That enrollment will not happen, trust me. Can you imagine attending a school full of millionaire brats where your mother teaches? Why don't I just put my eyes out instead? It would be more fun.

I will helpfully empty the station wagon. I will carry the cats into the house Newport Academy has given my mother as part of her teaching contract. My sister's photographs, the ones she took and called her "Great Girls" series, will go straight into my mother's room. I will feed the cats, show them their litter box, remind my mother and Travis that they are not to go outside—Carrie always wanted Grisby to be an indoor cat, and that is how it will be.

Then, the minute my mother and brother are asleep, I will walk out the door. I've got funds stashed for the trip home. Birthday cash, babysitting money, contributions from my best friends Amy and Ellie. Plus a little extra from what the school shrink says is another cry for help—let's not go into it, but I stole a couple of things, including money from my mother's wallet, and got caught. I gave most of it back. But I kept a little, to help me get home.

"So, my little storm cloud," my mother says from the front seat. "Are you comfortable back there?"
I grunt instead of speaking.

"You're not hungry, you don't care what music we listen to, you haven't said one word."

"She'll eat if we stop at Cracker Barrel," Travis says. "She likes the buffet."

"What do you say, Beck? Should I get off the highway?"

I just keep petting Grisby. What is wrong with Travis? Seething doesn't begin to...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Random House Large Print
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2009
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 073932828X
• ISBN 13: 9780739328286
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 449
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Purmerul LTD; https://strengholt.nl/en/; ; 22 Liuleburgaz Str., floor 4, app. 9; Plovdiv; Bulgarien