Page 188

"He liked you better, too. He did!" she whined. "Whenever we were together, he talked about you. He was the one who wanted you to come along with us. And now he's dead," she added, as if that were somehow my fault.

"I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do to change it," I told her.

"Go back to your voodoo queen," she snapped, and turned away from me.

I stood there a moment and then hurried to catch up with Daddy and Daphne.

Martin's funeral was enormous. Many of the students attended. Beau and Martin's teammates were the pallbearers. I felt sick and horrible inside and was glad when Daddy took my hand and led us away.

It rained all that day and the next few. I thought the grayness would never leave our hearts and lives, but one morning I awoke to sunshine and when I arrived at school, I found the cloud of sorrow had moved off. Everyone was back into his or her niche. Claudine appeared to take over the leadership role Gisselle once enjoyed, but I didn't care, for I spent little time with Gisselle's friends. My interest was only in doing well in school and spending whatever time I could with Beau.

Finally, the day arrived when Gisselle could be brought home from the hospital. She had begun some therapy there, but, according to what Daphne said, she was still quite uncooperative. Daddy hired the private nurse, a Mrs. Warren, who had worked in veterans' hospitals and was very familiar with patients who had suffered paralyzing injuries. She was about fifty years old, tall with short dark brown hair and hard, almost manly features. I knew she had strong forearms, for I saw the way her veins bulged the first time she lifted Gisselle to make her more comfortable. She brought some of the military manner with her, barking orders at the servants and snapping at Gisselle as if she were a recruit and not an invalid. I was there when Gisselle complained, but Mrs. Warren wasn't one to tolerate it.

"The time for feeling sorry for yourself has passed," she declared. "Now's the time to work on getting yourself as self-sufficient as possible. You're not going to become a blob in that chair either, so get those thoughts out of your head. Before I'm finished, you'll learn how to do most everything for yourself and you will. Is that understood?"

Gisselle just stared at her a moment and then turned to me.

"Ruby, hand me my hand mirror," she said. "I want to fix my hair. I'm sure some of the boys will be over to see me once they've learned I'm home."

"Get it yourself," Mrs. Warren snapped. "Just wheel yourself over and get it."

"Ruby will get it for me," Gisselle countered. "Won't you, Ruby?" She fixed her steely eyes on me.

I went for the mirror.

"You're not helping her by doing that," Mrs. Warren said.

"I know," I said. But I brought Gisselle the mirror anyway.

"She'll turn the lot of you into her slaves. I warn you."

"Ruby doesn't mind being my slave. We're sisters, right,

Ruby?" Gisselle said. "Tell her," she commanded.

"I don't mind," I said.

"Well, I do. Now get out of here while I'm conducting the therapy," she snapped at me.

"I'll tell Ruby when to leave and when not to leave," Gisselle shouted. "Ruby, stay."

"But, Gisselle, if Mrs. Warren thinks it's better for me to go, I'd better go."

Gisselle folded her arms and peered at me with narrow slits. "Don't you move from that spot," she ordered.

"Now see here,. ." Mrs. Warren said.

"All right," Gisselle said, smiling. "You're excused now, Ruby. Oh, and please call Beau and tell him I'm expecting him in an hour."

"Make that two hours," Mrs. Warren advised. I nodded and left. For once I agreed wholeheartedly with Daphne: life was going to get far more complicated and unpleasant with Gisselle as an invalid. The accident, her horrible injury, and the aftermath had done nothing to change her personality. Just as before, she still thought everything was coming to her, even more so now. I realized I should never have confessed to her. She had only taken the opportunity to make me into her slave.

If I had any idea that Gisselle's condition would make her feel less secure about herself when it came to boys, that idea popped out of my head the moment I saw how she reacted when Beau and some of his teammates arrived to visit her. Like some empress who was too divine to have her feet touch the earth, sh

e insisted Beau carry her from room to room, place to place rather than wheel her about. She gathered the young men around her, asking Todd Lambert to massage her feet as she spoke, mainly to complain about Mrs. Warren and the terrible ordeal everyone was putting her through.

"I swear," she said. "If you boys don't visit me every day, I'll go stark raving mad. Will you? Will you promise?" she asked, batting her eyelids at them. Of course, they did. While they were still there, she had to order me about, demanding glasses of water or a pillow for her back, snapping at me as though I really were her little slave.

Afterward, when Beau had carried her back upstairs to her room and each and every one of the boys had been given a kiss good-bye, he and I finally had a moment alone.