The Unfinished Work of Elizabeth D Read Online Free PDF Page B

think no one knew what to say at first and neither did I, and then they kept on not saying anything until it became too weird and now no one says Hey Lizzy D anymore. I’m just The Girl Whose Sister Died.
    But here’s the big news: We’re moving to Connecticut. Mom said it’s okay if I cut my hair and get my ears pierced, and I’m going to callmyself Elizabeth, not Lizzie. And in Connecticut the only thing that will make me different is that I’m from Vermont. People we meet there won’t even know I had a sister. Mom says it will be good to get a fresh start and private things are best kept private, and we don’t want people constantly being weird about it like they are here. She also tells me I have to smile more if I want to make friends.
    I went to the graveyard to tell Anna about Connecticut. I feel bad that we’re leaving her here. It seems wrong that she’ll be alone without anyone to visit and bring flowers. I planted some of Mom’s tulip bulbs even though the sign says you’re not supposed to plant anything. I hope I did it right. I can’t stand the thought of tulips growing with the pretty part facing down where no one can see it. And I said I’m sorry, as well as I could choking that way, I’m really really sorry
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    Kate came up out of sleep aware of two things: a child to her left, and a kink in her neck that kept her from turning that way.
    “Mom, why are you sleeping there?” Tinker Bell was at eye level, silk-screened on a polyester nightgown. “Are you sick? Can we still go to the ferry?”
    Kate stretched her arms over her head and felt the tug of knots in her neck and shoulders. She should not have slept in the chair.
    “Nope, not sick. We’re definitely going to the ferry today. Is James up?”
    “He’s reading in bed,” Piper said.
    James had started reading young. In the beginning he’d read aloud to her, but stopped once he’d realized that grown-ups read silently. Now he would read anything—older chapter books, newspapers and magazines, even Kate’s e-mail if her computer was left open. She didn’t know how much he understood, but she’d begun to feel she should edit the media left around the house. Current events these days were no Dick and Jane.
    Kate rubbed her daughter’s back as she stood. “Okay, let’s get dressed so we can make it on time.”
    Chris still lay in bed, one leg thrown out sideways from beneaththe sheet. She walked to the bed, stretching her neck side to side. “It’s seven forty-five. We should get going if we’re going to make the nine.”
    He mumbled, but there was no movement under the sheet.
    “I’m getting in the shower. Make sure the kids get dressed, okay?”
    She walked into the motel bathroom, pulled off her yoga pants and tank top, and twisted the water dial as hot as it would go. Let other women have their baths; a solid driving shower relaxed her more than a massage, woke her better than coffee. She stepped under the spray with her head bowed, letting the heat drum on her tight neck and shoulders. Many of her best ideas came to her in the shower. Years ago when she worked in Manhattan restaurants, she would step out of her apartment’s tiny stall with new dessert concepts, sometimes literal—lavender soap, lavender-scented Bundt cake—and sometimes abstract, ice cream tiled with pale diamonds of caramelized sugar, patterned after the geometry of her bathroom wall.
    Water pulsed through the motel’s old showerhead and echoed in the small tiled room. She thought of the things that needed to be done after they arrived at the rental house. They’d promised the owners they would fill the propane tank, clean the outdoor furniture, check the basement for rodents and the perimeter of the patio for rabbits. And she should book the restaurant soon for their anniversary dinner; it had become so popular. But amid the practical tasks her thoughts kept hitching on young Elizabeth. A small serious face pressed to the window at Taylor Street, a