Hannah Gersen “Which chair were you sitting in?” my father asked. “It doesn’t matter—it’s not over there, it’s gone, I know it’s gone.” Tears came to my mother’s eyes, the accumulation of all the things she might have cried about earlier in the day, and I could tell that my grandparents were shocked by this sudden display of grief—perhaps more shocked than they were by Louisa’s accusations of racism. “Annabel, go to the car and see if it’s there,” my father said. I obeyed, happy for the excuse to escape, and went outside to our station wagon. I found Louisa frowning in the backseat with her Walkman on. Behind her, in the trunk, our luggage was stacked neatly, with the precision my mother insisted upon. I was reminded of Louisa’s departure for college, four years before—of the fights she and my mother would get into over what Louisa should bring with her to school and which classes she should take. I remembered, too, how depressed my mother had been in the weeks after Louisa left. “It’s over,” she said to me. “I did what I could and now she’s gone.” “Did they send you out here to make peace?” my sister asked. “No, Mom’s necklace broke—the lavaliere thingy fell off the chain. Dad thinks maybe it’s on the floor here.” I quickly checked the front seat and then sat down next to Louisa in the back. “I was so stupid to come on this vacation,” Louisa said. “Can you believe I was actually thinking of inviting Andrew?” “Pop-pop wouldn’t have said that stuff if he’d been here.” “That’s not the point.” “But Mom and Dad aren’t like that.” “I didn’t think so,” Louisa said. “But Mom has something against Andrew—did you hear her in the store, saying I would go on dates again? And then being all, ‘Oh, never mind.’ I mean, what was that?” “I don’t know...” I shared Louisa’s sense that our mother didn’t particularly like Andrew, but she rarely liked Louisa’s boyfriends, so this wasn’t exactly noteworthy. We heard a noise and turned to see our parents coming down the front steps. Our grandparents remained inside, silhouetted in the portrait window. “Did you find it?” my mother asked, opening the front door and looking on the floor beneath her seat. Then, realizing that Louisa and I had been just sitting there, talking: “Did you even look?” “I didn’t see it,” I said. And I found myself perversely hoping that my mother wouldn’t find it in the car because then my lie would be revealed. “Well, look again. I have to find it. I love that necklace…I bought Crab Orchard Review
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