Hello Beautiful

Sylvie struggled to think of a safe subject to talk to William about as he became more alert. She couldn’t attempt small talk; she couldn’t bear to talk to him about the weather or the terrible hospital food. The idea of chatting with William about nonsense made her mouth so dry she couldn’t say anything at all. Once, out of desperation, she asked him a basketball-related question. This worked and became the solution for conversations that weren’t stilted or awkward. Sylvie recalled a specific player or a piece of basketball history from his book and asked him about it. She felt a wave of relief because of the relief on William’s face when he answered. A light went on behind his eyes in those moments, which made Sylvie think of the pilot light on a stove. She found a basketball encyclopedia in the library and took notes on possible questions she could ask. She wanted to turn that pilot light on again. She wondered whether, if she asked enough questions, it might turn on for good.

—

Sylvie, Cecelia, and Emeline left Julia’s apartment one night after a dinner. Julia had looked lighter since hearing that William didn’t want her or Alice. She smiled, and teased her sisters, and gave opinions on the food they were eating, and talked about Alice and Izzy. Sylvie watched her older sister and envied her lightness. Sylvie felt trapped within herself, as if she were snowed in with secrets. Whenever she opened her mouth to speak during dinner, she felt a bleary confusion about what she was free to say and what she wasn’t.

Cecelia had borrowed a car from a sculptor who wanted to date her, so they climbed into his small green sedan. Emeline sat in the back next to a sleepy Izzy, who was buckled into a car seat.

“No speeding,” Emeline said, in warning. When Cecelia drove, she drove fast.

“I don’t think I like Buffalo wings,” Cecelia said. “What chickens have wings that small, anyway? It seems suspicious.”

“And she’s out,” Emeline said, because Izzy had fallen asleep. The little girl’s expression was serious, as if her unconscious mind was contemplating difficult problems: how to optimize budget deficits in a modern economy, perhaps, or whether free will is compatible with determinism.

Sylvie’s muscles were so tight she had struggled to buckle her seatbelt. When the car accelerated after turning a corner, she knew she had to say something or she would be entirely snowed in and unable to speak at all. She coughed and said in a rush, “I have to tell you both something. I’ve been visiting William. Sometimes. I’ve visited him a few times. I don’t want to tell Julia, but I can’t not tell you too.”

Cecelia looked at Sylvie from the driver’s seat. Sylvie could see her sister weighing up what she’d said.

“Oh, I’m glad,” Emeline said, with obvious relief.

Sylvie turned to look over her shoulder.

“I’ve been really worried about William,” Emeline said. “He has no family. I know we’re supposed to side with Julia, and I do, of course”—Emeline’s eyes were wide—“but William isn’t a jerk. He must have been in such terrible pain to do what he did. It’s an awful situation, really. I can’t bear it. I’m so glad you’re visiting him.”

“Oh, Emmie.” Sylvie felt her shoulders relax. She felt how stressed she’d been, carrying this secret. “That’s how I feel.”

Cecelia was bent over the steering wheel. “What?” she said, feeling her sisters’ eyes on her.

“Are you mad at me?” Sylvie said.

“I’m glad you told us,” Cecelia said, “but I’m not going to visit him.”

Sylvie knew Cecelia was angry at William for attempting suicide. “Any of us would have helped him, if he’d asked,” she’d said several times in the days after it happened. Sylvie thought that her sister couldn’t stand the idea that someone she cared about would try to wreck himself in secret. Cecelia operated with honesty and bluntness. She believed that if you were unhappy, you should say so. If you needed help, you should ask for it. William’s silence offended Cecelia as much as his choice to walk into the lake.

“I don’t think you should visit him,” Sylvie said. “Julia would hate that I’m doing it. We shouldn’t all have something to hide from her.”

Cecelia didn’t seem to be listening. She said, “Emmie’s been hammering me about how much pain William must have been in. She wants me to understand, even though it makes no sense to me.”

Emeline nodded in the back seat.

Sylvie said, “I’m glad you’re not mad at me. I couldn’t bear that.”

“That possibility’s not on the table,” Cecelia said, and Sylvie smiled, because she knew her sister meant it. Cecelia had certain nonnegotiables, and during this time of familial turbulence, she would bend in any necessary direction to support her sisters.