Page 45

Ruth and a gaggle of neighborhood kids in swimsuits stood in a circle.

In the center of that circle, Ivy perched atop a sprinkler, stopping the spray of water while Ruth and the other children hopped around in terrified anticipation.

When would she rise? When would the water come back?

Ruth knew the pressure was building up and that when Ivy stood, the water would shoot wild, far across the green lawn.

Would she be too close? Or too cautious, too far away for the drops to reach her?

Ivy rose with a shriek, the water spraying the bottom of her pink suit.

The water flung outward, and Ruth and Ivy ran together, holding hands, shaking droplets from their hair.

There was no one on earth she would rather run with than her sister.

At twelve, they were the oldest children on their street.

For most of the summer, Ivy had acted like she was too big to play with little kids anymore.

Some days she acted like she was too big to play with Ruth anymore.

But on this particularly hot day, when they were both particularly bored, Ivy had relented.

And Ruth could see, from the gleam in her twin’s eyes as they skipped home, that Ivy had enjoyed it as much as she had.

“Aunt Vivian’s coming tonight,” said Ivy, doing a spin on the hot sidewalk.

How had her sister known this? No one had told Ruth.

Probably no one had told Ivy either. But Ivy had ways of finding things out.

Just last week she’d announced to Ruth that their mother and Uncle Frank were having an affair.

Ruth was vague as to what having an affair entailed, but she knew it wasn’t good.

“How do you know?” she’d challenged her sister.

Ivy had shrugged. “I just know. Do you think they’ll get divorced?”

Ruth had worried that her parents might get divorced ever since she’d learned what the word meant.

Most of the time her parents ignored each other, their jaws set, their shoulders hiked up.

They didn’t yell—the Rutledge house was a quiet house—but that didn’t mean there wasn’t ugliness in the air.

Until Ivy said the thing about the affair, Ruth had feared she’d caused this ugliness.

She lay awake at night, wondering who’d she’d live with when her parents split up.

Her mother, she supposed, because her father was always flying. But what if neither of them wanted her?

“What do you think she’ll be wearing?” asked Ivy.

She meant Aunt Vivian. She wore the most elegant outfits.

She rolled her hair in a chignon. She carried a silver lighter with the mysterious initials LK on it.

Even when she wasn’t using it to light a cigarette, she flicked it open and then snapped it shut, flick-snap, flick-snap.

Ivy had asked her once what the LK stood for.

“Oh, just a pilot I used to know.” A response both elegant and mysterious.

Their mother was nervous for days before Vivian’s arrival.

She planned fancy menus, even though anyone could see that Aunt Vivian didn’t care about fancy food.

She laid out matching outfits for Ruth and Ivy, even though Ivy argued they were too old for matching outfits.

“Wear them for Vivian,” said their mother.

When Aunt Vivian came, their grandmother grew uncharacteristically quiet.

“You don’t talk much when Aunt Vivian’s here,” Ivy said to her once.

If Ruth had said it, Adele would have said, “Is that a question? I know you’re much too well brought up to question your elders.

” But no one minded when Ivy said that sort of thing.

No one minded anything that Ivy did, and Adele had replied, “If you don’t have anything nice to say . ..” and then said no more.