Whether or not Twyla spent part of the night in the armchair, she was in bed when she rose at five o’clock Friday morning.
The little disruption that she caused was enough to wake Jolie, who watched her sister through slitted eyes as she took her purse from the nightstand and went into the bathroom.
Twyla had never been inconsiderate, but for all her grace, she had always been a noisy girl. Noisier than this. The care with which she eased out of bed, picked up her purse, and closed the bathroom door behind her were out of character and suggested an intention to deceive.
Jolie slid from the bed even more quietly than Twyla had, eased around the foot of it, and put one ear to the bathroom door in time to hear the soft tones as her sister entered a number on her phone.
Whoever she called must have answered, and she did not identify herself before saying, “I was supposed to call you this morning, but I can’t remember why.” After a pause, she said, “All right.” Another pause. “We’re driving to Indianapolis to meet someone. I don’t know who or where. My mother will call my father when we’re almost there.” Pause. “Okay, yes, I will. Just a second.”
In the bathroom, Twyla turned on the water in the sink.
Jolie could hear her sister still talking on the phone, but the sound of rushing water splashing into the porcelain bowl prevented her from understanding what was being said.
Which was why Twyla cranked on the water in the first place. She wasn’t washing her hands and conducting a phone conversation at the same time. And whoever was at the other end of the line had told her to do it.
Jolie stepped away from the bathroom door and sat in the armchair from which her sister had or had not watched her sleeping in the night.
Sight unseen, knowing nothing but his first name, she didn’t like this Charles character. What kind of boyfriend wanted his girl to report on her family in such a sneaky fashion? For what reason? And why would Twyla do it?
Jolie decided it was time to open Twyla’s suitcase again and take out the drugs and syringes. Go to Mother with the evidence. And with all the details of Twyla’s curious behavior.
However, as the faucet in the sink was shut off and the water in the shower came on, she decided that it was almost time to go to Mother but not quite.
Seventeen years of sibling love and only good-natured rivalry, seventeen years of laughter and mutual dreaming and more hours of girl talk than could be counted had woven a bond between them that if not sacred was certainly hallowed and pure and genuine, a bond not to be strained or broken lightly. She owed Twyla the chance to reconsider whatever she was doing. When they got to Indianapolis and Mother received further directions from Daddy, if then Twyla seemed in a sweat to get somewhere private and make a phone call, Jolie would rat her out.
That’s what it would be, sad to say. Ratting out Twyla would be a terrible thing, a relationship-damaging thing, but it wouldn’t be as bad as Twyla, on some exotic drug, ratting out the rest of the family for God knows what purpose.