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xxix The Pogue Effect
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Charleston: it brought back a time of fresh orange juice by the pool and colorful chalk on the double driveway. Like a distant memory, the waves recalled all the times the Cameron girl had sat by her mother's side on the lounge chairs in the private sector of the country club, wishing she would drop her cigarette and play dollies with her. A time of muffled crying at midnight, carrying the weight of unrealistic expectations like bricks in a backpack, and pink bows in silky blonde curls.
They parked the boat by the coast, and took off with empty red cans they had to fill with gas—though they had no money to buy some. Sarah groaned as John B lifted her off the boat and was limping all throughout their walk. Blair, however, was seeing double four minutes in, and when she reached in her pocket to grab another pill, the realization that there were no more knocked the air out of her like a punch to the chest.
Sarah exchanged an uneasy look with Blair as they got to the street. Her lips parted as she prepared to mutter the words, but eventually decided on keeping quiet. The Rutherford palace was not a place they planned on visiting, but Blair's hands still shook as they passed by all the restaurants she'd eat in as a young child.
Granted, Georgia had never been an incredible mother, but sometimes she'd take Blair with her on business meetings and let her pick whatever she wanted off the menu, no matter the price of it. Or even, when she felt sad, Georgia would take a day off and sit on the grass, over a plaid picnic blanket, and smile fondly as she watched her play in the sand. Blair always forced herself to remember her mother as a cheating mess of curse words and cigarettes instead of the elegant and complex woman she was because it was how Ward had spoken of her all these years. She hadn't visited Charleston in four, since she left, and the streets were calling her a traitor.
Maybe she was just craving the pills. Maybe she had become her bother. The thought burned like forest fire.
She reached out for support, holding onto John B's arm. He was keeping her own sister upright, she realized, so she quickly pulled away and put her toxic independence to play. She was starting to feel more and more like a burden, like a useless addition to their dynamic duo, like she didn't belong alongside them. Blair had never been a good companion and many of the people that were subjected to her company had let her know: she was selfish, presumptuous and pretentious. But, then again, she was wandering aimlessly in a town that spat her name like poison, with bloodstained clothes and disheveled hair. Never had she looked so . . . unlike herself.
They had come across a couple savoring a sandwich on a picnic bench, and John B's voice was a strained whisper as he said: "That looks so good. I'm staring."
