Free Beautiful Malice by Rebecca James Page B

my God. Poor Rachel.”
    “Yes.” I nod. “Poor Rachel. Poor Mom and Dad. It just sucks. It ruined everything.”
    Alice wraps her arms around me and holds me while I cry. Then, when I’m completely exhausted and my head aches, when the bedside clock is flashing two a.m., she helps me into bed and lies down beside me, brushing her hand over my hair until I sleep.
    I wake the next morning with Alice standing beside my bed, a steaming cup in hand. “I brought you tea.” She puts the cup on my bedside table and sits on the bed. “Have you had enough sleep?”
    Alice is dressed. Her hair is damp, and I can smell the citrus of her shampoo. I sit up, feeling rumpled and tired and stale. I pick up the cup. The tea is hot and strong and sweet, delicious in my dry mouth.
    “How are you?” I ask after I’ve drunk half the cup and feel lucid enough to speak. “What time did you get up? You must be exhausted.”
    “No. I feel great. I got up early and had breakfast with Helen on the porch.”
    I wonder why Alice has started referring to Mom by her first name. My parents are usually the Mr. and Mrs. type.
    “We’ve been talking about Rachel,” Alice says.
    “Oh.” I’m shocked. I can’t imagine what they would have said to each other. Mom is usually so reluctant to talk to strangers about Rachel, so afraid of reducing her life and death to a story. “Is that … I mean, how did Mom … Is she … did she actually talk about it?”
    “Did she talk? My God, Katherine, she didn’t stop talking. I think this is really what she’s needed. It’s been … um, what’s that word …  cathartic for her, I think. Helen’s a brave, strong woman but she needs, I don’t know … she really needs some kind of outlet for all of this. It’s so clear that she’s just been holding it all in, repressing all her fury and misery for so long. I mean, don’t get me wrong, this morning was completely exhausting, emotional for both of us. We laughed and hugged. We were both crying so hard, we even had a shot of rum in our coffee. I mean, she just opened up completely this morning, told me all this stuff … things that I don’t think she’s told anyone before.” Alice tilts her head and smiles dreamily. “And I gave her some different perspectives. A new way of seeing things. A more sympathetic and tolerant view of the whole situation. I think I really helped her, you know. Really helped her let go of some of the shit she’s been bottling up inside.”
    “‘The shit’?” I say. I’m irritated but not sure why. “What shit is that exactly?”
    “Oh.” Alice blinks, then looks at me a little warily. “Are you okay? You don’t mind or anything, do you? It just kind of happened. I’m not even sure who brought Rachel up. I mean, I think I did initially … but I couldn’t just sit there with Helen and not say anything about her. I kind of felt false or like I was lying or something, to pretend I didn’t know. But wow, once I mentioned Rachel’s name, that was it. Helen just couldn’t stop talking.”
    The way Alice is calling my mother Helen is infuriating. Every time she says it, I have to control the urge to tell her to shut up.
    “I’ll have to go and see if she’s really okay.” I sigh. I toss the blankets off my legs and stand, avoiding Alice’s eyes as I put on my robe. “She’s become very good at hiding her true feelings since Rachel died. You wouldn’t be able to tell what she’s really thinking unless you know her very well. And she can sometimes be ridiculously polite. To the point of self-destructiveness, really.”
    I leave the room without giving Alice a chance to say any more. I know I’m being rude and probably overly dramatic, but I’m sure that Alice has read everything all wrong—I’m certain that if they’ve been talking about Rachel, Mom will be feeling bruised and upset. And something about Alice’s attitude toward the whole thing seems oddly self-congratulatory.