Curtis Sittenfeld - Eligible

“My dear, the house is mortgaged.”

“I thought Pop-pop and Granny sold it to you for a dollar.”

“That was thirty years ago, and there are seven of us in this family. I’ve indulged your sisters and mother for far too long.”

“When did you get the mortgage?”

“Eight years? Ten?” Mr. Bennet invoked the number as neutrally as if he were trying to recall how much time had elapsed since he’d last visited Europe.

“Do you and Mom have an investment advisor?”

“ I’m our investment advisor.”

“What does Mr. Meyer do?”

“Our taxes, and none too adeptly, but we’ve put up with his incompetence for so long that it seems disloyal to go elsewhere.”

“Then at least you’ve been paying taxes?”

“Through the nose.”

“How much is your mortgage payment each month, and how much do you have in savings?”

“You need not worry about that, Lizzy.”

“Yet Mom thinks I should bail out the family by, like, whoring myself to Willie? Just for the sake of argument, if I called him and said I’d changed my mind, then what? Would I say, ‘And by the way, do you mind transferring a hundred thousand dollars, or four hundred thousand, or however much it is, into my parents’ bank account?’ ”

“I’m not sure your mother’s thought it through that clearly. It’s the general proximity to Willie’s money that appeals to her.”

“Is this a plan Mom and Aunt Margo hatched together?”

“Margo doesn’t know about our financial predicament, nor do any of your sisters, and you mustn’t mention it to them. I’m in no mood for histrionics. But, yes, Margo does like the idea of you and Willie. My protests fell on deaf ears.”

“So what will you do about the bills?”

“When you’re as old as I am, you know that situations have a way of sorting themselves out.”

“Wait, when does your Medicare kick in?”

“On my sixty-fifth birthday,” Mr. Bennet said. “It’s a shame I didn’t think to schedule my myocardial infarction for six months from now, isn’t it?”

Liz sighed. “I hate to even suggest this, but you could take out a second mortgage.”

“We have one.” Again, her father delivered the information matter-of-factly; when she looked across the front seat, he appeared less sheepish than she might have anticipated.

“Jesus, Dad,” she said.

“I’d volunteer to have a hit man off me, but our life insurance policies have lapsed, so I’d be of no more use dead than I am living.”

“There must be someone at the hospital we can talk to,” Liz said. “There’s no way you’re the first person to be treated there without insurance.” Her father said nothing, and Liz added, “Because correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you basically headed for foreclosure on the house?”

“Let’s not borrow problems.”

“This is almost making me think I should date Willie.”

With certainty, Mr. Bennet said, “Not even if we become paupers begging in the street.”

ACCORDING TO JANE, Caroline Bingley had at last discovered a sushi restaurant in Cincinnati that met her standards and had invited Jane to join her there for lunch. Just us 2, none of your sisters, Caroline had specified in a text to Jane that morning that Liz had seen while Jane was in the shower, and Liz had tried not to experience the doubly insulting sting of being excluded by a person she didn’t care for.

“I wonder if she’s sniffing you out as a sister-in-law,” Liz said as she passed off her father’s car keys to Jane. If Caroline was, Liz thought without true optimism, perhaps Chip could be the one to save the Bennet family from financial ruin. Although Liz was still rattled by the conversation with her father, and didn’t realistically see how she could honor his wish to keep its contents private even from Jane, this didn’t seem like the moment to repeat them.

“I’m pretty sure Caroline just wants to hang out,” Jane said. The sisters’ eyes met, and Jane whispered, “Lizzy, he told me last night that he loves me.”

“Oh my God,” Liz said. “I knew it! Did you say it back?”

Jane seemed bashful but very pleased. She nodded. Still whispering, she said, “It’s crazy, right? We’ve only known each other a few weeks.”

Beneath her pleasure for Jane, Liz felt a stab of envy; she and Jasper did not say it, after sixteen years. Once, more than a decade before, during an overwrought conversation following a few months of not speaking, Jasper had said to her, “I love you in my life,” and she’d replied, “I love you in mine.” It had been a triumphant and horrible moment, never replicated.

Trying to sound lighthearted, Liz said to Jane, “When you know, you know.”

TALIA GOLDFARB, THE executive editor of Mascara, had sent Liz an email that read, Woman who dares? A link led Liz to an article mentioning the first female Chinese astronaut — apparently known as a taikonaut — and below the link, Talia had written, Also how was interview w/ K. de Bourgh?

After sending yet another email to Kathy de Bourgh’s publicist, Liz looked up the cost of various medical procedures and calculated that her father’s hospital bill was roughly $240,000. The next tasks, she thought, were to find a mortgage statement; to determine how much her parents had in savings; and to make an appointment with someone in Christ Hospital’s billing department. She was walking down the steps from her bedroom to the second floor to see if it might be an opportune time to root around in her father’s study when her cellphone rang. She hurried back upstairs to where she’d left the phone on her desk, saw that the caller was Jane, and answered by asking, “How was lunch?”

“Oh, Lizzy.” Jane’s voice was tremulous. “I fainted at the restaurant, and they’ve brought me to the ER.”

“Wait, are you okay? What happened.”

There was a long silence. Then, so quietly Liz almost couldn’t hear her, Jane said, “I’m pregnant.”

LIZ HAD FIRST been made aware of her older sister’s exceptional goodness in 1982, when Jane was in second grade and Liz in first. May Fete, which was an annual celebration for the elementary school students at Seven Hills, was to occur on a Friday afternoon early in the month, and Liz was ecstatic with anticipation at the thought of the Cakewalk, Balloon Pop, and Goldfish Toss.

Jane fell ill with chicken pox a full week before the festivities. Due to the length of time necessary for symptoms to develop, it was impossible that she transmitted the virus to Liz, but someone did, and on the day of May Fete itself, Liz was febrile and profoundly itchy. Most of Jane’s lesions had healed by then, and since she was back in school, there was no medical reason for her to skip the event. That she did so was entirely voluntary, an act of solidarity that even at the time Liz regarded with wonder. Were the situation reversed, Liz would without question have attended May Fete. But Jane was calmly insistent, saying to their befuddled mother, “If Lizzy is staying home, I am, too.” She added, “Next year, we can go together.”

That evening, Jane and Liz ate mugs of peppermint ice cream sitting side by side in Liz’s bed while Liz wore white cotton gloves meant to discourage scratching; then Jane read aloud from Frog and Toad Together, and they went to sleep at eight o’clock. Despite the frenzy of excitement May Fete continued to provoke in Liz for several more years, when she recalled it in adulthood, what she remembered more than any bounce house she’d jumped inside or trinket she’d acquired was the kindness of her sister.