Page 28 of The Starfish Sisters

But what? An essay, maybe? My gut resists. A short story. No, not that either. A letter? Yes, maybe. A letter of gratitude to Beryl.

We’re all startled when the door opens and Ben comes in. His hair is wet, springing up in curls. “You guys about ready to take a break?” He asks all of us, but Phoebe is where his eyes fall. I noticed last night that his eyes are all for Phoebe, just as they were that long-ago summer when everything went so horribly wrong. He was on the periphery, a little younger than us, and his crush on her was like a clutch of flowers he carried around for all to see.

“Sure.” Phoebe starts to wipe her hands and realizes she has many colors layered on her fingers, her palm. “Let me wash up.”

“Yeah, do that,” he says, pausing to look at Jasmine’s work. He taps the edge of the page. “Dude, this is really good.”

“Thank you. I messed up her eyelashes on this one a little bit.”

“They look great to me.”

Jasmine sucks her cheeks in, giving her a fish mouth, and I grin. Phoebe used to do the same thing when she was concentrating. “Time for the Pig ’N Pancake?”

Phoebe nods. “Sure.”

Pig ’N Pancake is an Oregon institution, known in part for their pancakes, served with buckets of whipped cream. I haven’t eaten there in ages, and while I don’t know that I want to wander out in public, I also don’t want to be alone. I want to be with Phoebe and Jasmine and Ben more than I want to hide. I wash my brush and wipe paint from my fingers.

“You’re coming, right?” Jasmine asks, taking my hand. I love how physical she is. Always hugging, touching, leaning.

I glance at Phoebe with a raised brow.Still okay?She nods.

“Yes,” I say. “And I am going to totallypigout.” I made a fake laughing sound.

Phoebe rolls her eyes. “Oh brother.”

It isn’t until we pile into Ben’s truck, Phoebe in front, me and Jasmine in back, that I realize I haven’t been in public in months. It’s not like I have a full-blown case of agoraphobia, but between the pandemic and Dmitri’s death and the loss of Phoebe’s support, I feel shaky in the world, without a spine. A ripple of anxiety threads upward through my chest. “Uh, maybe,” I say, “I should go home. Do ... something.”

“Something?” Phoebe says, raising a brow. “You might want to come up with a better excuse than that.” But she’s smiling over her shoulder. “It’s only lunch.”

I focus on her clear eyes, the shape of her eyebrows. Nod.

Chapter Nine

Phoebe

When Suze hesitates outside the Pig ’N Pancake, I stand behind her and put my hands on her shoulders. “I’m right here with you.” Because even if we haven’t been communicating recently, of course I know she’s been having panic attacks. She’s prone to them, and considering everything that’s happened to her, it’s not surprising.

For a long time after her first movie came out and through the years of her very visible fame, walking out in public would cause such a stir that it wasn’t worth it. In Blue Cove, the locals have always given her space, and we’d often done little jaunts like this. The worry now is the lingering fear of strangers, of some random human trying to smash your head in.

A visual of her on a network of machines in the hospital flashes in front of my eyes, and with it comes the sense of terror and despair that lived in my body while I waited for her to wake up. I promised the heavens a million things: that I would forgive all the things she said to me, take back all the things I said to her, if they would let her live.

Let her live, let her live, let her live.

We haven’t yet had that talk. Maybe we never will. Maybe the damage will live in both of us for the rest of our lives, stamping on our attempts to forget, to heal the rift. I feel like a married couple who was all set to divorce when one of them got cancer.

But this—today, last night, the studio—is easy. How many rounds of cards did we play with Amma? How many times did we sit in the studio and silently heal the usual rifts and pains and furies of friendship?

So many.

The Pig ’N Pancake was a place we always came when my grandmother was feeling the yen for a good, big breakfast. She loved eating, and especially loved breakfast with all the trimmings. I feel the same love for the place. A waitress with a bouncy red ponytail leads us through the restaurant, which is fairly quiet this time of day. Suze is wearing big sunglasses and a hat, but a couple of people do a double take anyway. “Can we have that booth in the back?” I ask.

The girl nods. We all shimmy in, Suze against the wall, her back to the room. “Thanks,” she says.

I nod.

Jasmine sits next to her, swinging her feet. “I’m having blueberry pancakes,” she says. “With all the whipped cream.”

“And milk,” I add, thinking a little protein might help offset the sugar.