The Chocolate Money by Ashley Prentice Norton Page A

else does. Abandoned and lonely. An orphan. She holds Carl’s elbow and dabs a tissue at her eyes. But there are no tears.
    “Mack and I were close. Especially after the sale of the house.” She says this like a normal person would, even, but tinged with sadness. “He was good to Bettina. I didn’t want to take her to the funeral—that would be too much—but I thought we could come and say goodbye before everyone else gets here, after the service. You know our parents were such good friends. He was the brother I never had.”
    Carl nods. Like this is really true. He seems to be the only person in Grass Woods not to know that Babs and Mack had an affair. Or maybe he just has things in perspective. Knows how everything turns out in the end. He strokes her hand.
    “Of course, Tabitha. Take your time. I’ll leave the two of you alone. I need to get a drink of water myself. I’ll be back in a bit. The rest shouldn’t be along for another half an hour or so.”
    Carl gently pats my cheek and walks away. I’m still holding the bouquet. Am not clear where all this is going. Is Babs going to make some kind of weepy speech? Seems unlikely. Mack’s gone.
Time to fucking move on.
She looks at me.
    “Put the flowers in the grave. This is much, much better.”
    This seems easy enough. I bend down. Set the bouquet carefully on the white tarp that shields the hole, the six-feet-under. But the flowers look haphazard sitting there, like someone tripped and dropped them. Not at all deliberate.
    Babs says, “No, not there.
In,
not
on
the grave.”
    When I look up, she stands so tall, despite her sinking heels. For a moment, I am actually afraid she will push me in. That I will be stuck and Mack’s coffin will be lowered on top of me. I might scream, but no one will care enough to pull me out.
    But Babs doesn’t touch me, just says impatiently, “Bettina, goddamn it, put the flowers in.”
    I can tell Babs wants to be done with it and get the heck out of here. I slide back the tarp and drop the flowers in. I can’t see them land. Don’t even hear a thud.
    Babs bends over me, hurls something in. Looks like a fistful of marbles, all attached. I look up and see that her neck is bare. The pearls. The flowers will rot, but the pearls will always be there. They will lie under Mack’s casket like tiny rocks. Irritate him forever.
    We see Carl slowly walking back, shading the sun with his eyes. Babs strides to him. Grabs his hands.
    “Thank you,” she says quietly, as if we had really just been standing there saying a prayer. Thinking sad thoughts.
    “You’re welcome, Tabitha,” Carl says evenly. He looks at me a little too intently. Maybe he saw what we did. He gives us a little wave goodbye. Resumes his post by Mack’s grave. Babs turns and begins the walk to the stretcher. I follow. Then look back. Carl is still watching. Maybe he’s wondering which one of us is going to die next.

Part II

9. Cardiss
September 1983
    S EPTEMBER 9, 1983, is a bright, crisp day in Cardiss, New Hampshire. The leaves are green and sharp. The trees robust, sturdy, and tall. The sky has none of the dampness or gray tones one might expect to find across the pond in an English boarding school. I am fifteen when I arrive as a sophomore, or a Lower, in Cardiss-speak.
    Cardiss presents the same front to everyone who arrives there. It is beautiful in this way. It looks like a college, only smaller. The buildings are red brick with white marble steps. There are Latin sayings over most of the doorways. Lawns sprawl for the mere experience of sitting on them. Attractive boys and girls lounge, books and binders open, as if they were sunning themselves on an academic beach.
    I don’t go back to Chicago before starting Cardiss. Babs says,
It’s your deal, babe, you are too old for me to unpack your clothes, help you with your bed.
She has no interest in watery coffee and meeting all of the chipper parents who want to make small talk. But she does buy me a