Kristen says she is sorry, but she isn’t really. She giggles when Mommy leaves the room and admires herself in the mirror in her butchered bathing suit.
They set off from Austin very early one morning, Lorna and Kristen in the back seat, their parents in the front. Mommy is upset with Daddy because he doesn’t go the way she said he should and shouts at him that he never listens, that he always has all the answers. From that moment on, Lorna believes that her father has all the answers.
Kristen makes Lorna play a game where she has to find all the letters of the alphabet on the license plates of cars on the highway, but the cars go by too fast, and Lorna can’t find letters. She tires of the game that Kristen keeps winning, and when sherefuses to play anymore, Kristen calls her a baby. Lorna pouts. She hates being called a baby. She gets out the bag of candy that is supposed to last for the week. She eats too much of it and begins to feel sick.
“Mommy, something is wrong with Lorna,” Kristen says.
“What’s the matter, Lolo?” her mother asks without turning to look. Lorna doesn’t answer. She’s scared if she opens her mouth, the candy will come back up. Kristen leans over to look at her, her brows furrowed, then turns her gaze to all the candy wrappers on the seat between them. She frowns at Lorna but takes all the candy wrappers and stuffs them in her socks so Mommy won’t see. “Mommy, Lorna is going to puke.”
Her mother whips around, a cigarette dangling from her mouth, her sunglasses covering most of her face. “Puke?”
Lorna folds her arms over her belly to contain the sudden and urgent need to vomit.
“Pull over!” her mother shouts.
“I’m not pulling over—we’re in the middle of a highway,” her father bellows.
Kristen sticks an empty potato chip bag under Lorna’s chin, and she promptly vomits into it. “Gross,” Kristen says, grimacing.
Lorna vomits again.
“For Pete’s sake!” her father bellows.
“Did you eat all that candy? Is that what you did, you little piggy?” her mother snaps, her gaze laser sharp.
Lorna doesn’t dare look at Kristen. She shakes her head.
“What the hell is the matter with her?” her father demands as he maneuvers to the right lane.
“Motion sickness,” her mother says, her gaze softening a tiny bit. “For goodness’ sake, Dave, pull over! Will you do anything I ask?”
“I do everything you ask,” he says curtly as he coasts onto the shoulder. “Because you won’t get off my back.” The car rolls to a halt. Lorna vomits again in rivers of pink, green, and blue.
It seems hours upon hours pass before they are at last close to the beach, but Lorna wants to go home. She is hot and sticky from being candy sick. The smell of it fills the car. Even with the windows down, they can’t get rid of it.
“It stinks so bad,” Kristen complains. “How much longer?”
“Pipe down back there,” her dad snaps.
It’s dark when they reach their rented beach condo. Lorna doesn’t remember much about their arrival, just that she was hustled into a bathroom where her face was cleaned roughly with a wash rag and she was made to brush her teeth.
An unfamiliar sound, something like wind, but not wind, wakes her up the next morning. She rolls over to look at the other bed in the room and it’s empty. She sees Kristen on the balcony, leaning over the railing, her blond hair streaming behind her like a kite. Lorna gets up and goes out onto the balcony too. The sound is coming from the ocean. It’s the waves rushing onto the beach and then rushing out again. She and Kristen stand together in silence, watching the vast body of water move in and out.
“I’m hungry,” Kristen finally announces, and leaves the balcony. Lorna follows her because she always follows Kristen. Wherever Kristen goes is often exciting.
In the kitchen, Kristen finds a box of cereal. She opens all the cabinet doors until she locates bowls, takes two, and fills them to the brim with milk and Honey Nut Cheerios. They sit at the bar and watchInspector Gadgeton the TV while the ocean moves back and forth outside, calling them.
Lorna gradually becomes aware of raised voices on the otherside of the living room wall. The voices belong to her parents, and she looks in that direction.
“Don’t listen to them,” Kristen says. “I’m sick of cartoons. Let’s go outside.”
They leave their cereal bowls on the bar and Lorna dutifully follows her big sister onto the balcony again. The ocean smells like the fish market. She can taste salt in the air, and her hair feels tight. Kristen laughs at her. “You look like Little Orphan Annie,” she crows, and laughs loud and long, pointing at Lorna’s bushy brown hair.
Their parents’ voices grow louder. Lorna cringes. She wants to hide. “I hate when they do that,” she says.
“Me too. Come on, let’s go swimming,” Kristen says, and runs through the open door, disappearing down the hall.
“Wait!” Lorna cries, running after her. “Did Mommy say we could?”
