Cost

After a moment Harriet asked, “Where am I?”

“You don't show in the mirror yet,” Julia said. “You're too young.”

Harriet didn't exactly believe her sister, but she didn't exactly not believe her. She trusted Julia. Her sister had a large and powerful understanding of the world that Harriet respected. Harriet was her disciple, her dependent.

When Julia went away to boarding school, at fourteen, she moved into another bedroom, and things between the sisters changed. At first Harriet was eager for Julia's visits, but Julia was turning strange. She had entered a new world that she could not share with her younger sister. Julia had become anxious and uncertain of herself, and she turned distant to Harriet. Harriet resented this, and felt abandoned. When Julia came home for vacation, Harriet no longer followed Julia to her room. Harriet went to her own room and shut the door. Julia, when she wanted to see her, had to stand outside and knock. “What do you want?” Harriet answered, instead of “Come in.” Julia was hurt by Harriet's coolness. Distance settled between them, and they no longer depended on each other.

Julia went to Sarah Lawrence and studied art, and Harriet went on to Penn, where she took science and math. Everyone assumed she would go to medical school, but one Christmas Harriet announced her plan to go to veterinary school.

It was before dinner, and Katharine was out in the kitchen, the others in the living room. Julia was on the sofa, Harriet in an armchair. Edward, in his dark elegant suit, stood by the fireplace. It was empty, as usual: the fire was rarely lit, and the house was always cold. It was healthier, cold, Edward said. This embarrassed his children: their friends complained, and asked why their house wasn't heated.

Harriet sat very straight to tell him. “I don't want to be a doctor,” she told Edward.

It was a shock to Julia; she felt a sharp pang of betrayal. How could her sister not have told her something so important?

“I see,” Edward said. “What do you want to be?”

“A veterinarian,” Harriet said boldly.

This was treason. Julia looked at Edward.

“A veterinarian?” Edward repeated, frowning. There was a pause. “Why would you rather treat animals than humans?”

“Because I'm really interested in them,” Harriet said. “It's an interesting field.”

Edward shook his head. “Not as interesting as human medicine.”

“In your opinion,” Harriet said.

Edward tilted his head. “I beg your pardon?”

“It's a very interesting field,” Harriet said, losing her nerve. “Animal medicine. There's a lot going on in it.”

“It's a lowering of standards,” Edward informed her. “It's a disgrace.”

“It's hardly a disgrace. It's actually extremely difficult to get into Penn Veterinary School,” Harriet said, her voice rising. “It's one of the best schools in the country.”

“Regardless,” Edward said dismissively. “It's a lesser endeavor.”

Katharine, sensing trouble, came in from the kitchen. She looked at their faces. “What is it?” she asked.

“Daddy thinks I'm a disgrace to the family,” Harriet said.

“What is it?” Katharine asked again. “What's the matter?”

“I'm going to veterinary school,” said Harriet. “I'm going to be removed from the family tree.”

“Edward,” Katharine said, distraught.

Edward shrugged his shoulders, as though he had nothing to do with this. “Anyone who can get into a good medical school should go,” he said. “You have a responsibility to the world. You should use the talents you were given.”

“Who are you to decide that?” Harriet asked.

Julia drew in her breath.

“Don't be rude,” Katharine begged.

“Who I am is head of neurosurgery at Jefferson Hospital,” Edward said coldly, “though I don't think I have to tell you that.”

“No, I mean who appointed you to decide the hierarchy of human endeavor?” Harriet leaned back in the big armchair as if flattened there by the wind.

“I don't need to justify myself to you,” Edward said. “Looking after animals is a lesser endeavor, just as animals are lesser creatures than human beings. I don't have to tell you that.”

“You sound like someone from the Middle Ages,” Harriet told him. “And what I'm doing is not a disgrace.”

“Harriet—” said Katharine, anguished.

“Did your grades drop?” asked Edward. “Is that what happened?”

“My grades did not drop, Daddy,” Harriet said. “I have a 3.9 average. The last two years, a 4.0. I happen to want to treat animals. I think they're really interesting, and I think the science is interesting. I like animals, and I like being around them. I respect them, which is more than you can say about your patients.”

Edward drew breath, but Harriet went on.

“Why can't I decide what it is I want to do?” she asked. “And why are you such a snob?”

“Please,” Katharine said, desperate. She was shaking her head back and forth. “Please stop this. Just stop it, both of you.”

Edward shook his head, his face bleak. “I'm happy to stop. I have nothing more to say about this. Harriet, of course, may do as she wishes. It's her life.”

He walked across the room to the small armchair by the window, where he sat down in silence. He did not look at them.

“Harriet,” Katharine said, but Harriet shook her own head stubbornly and said nothing.

During dinner no one spoke. The air was frozen, they could hardly breathe. The only sound was knife, fork, plate. Julia heard everyone swallow. Katharine closed her eyes while she drank from her water glass, her face a mask of grief. Julia would not be drawn in. She would not come to Harriet's public defense, when she had been so carefully excluded from Harriet's private plans. Julia hardened herself against her mother and her sister.

That night, when Julia heard Harriet come upstairs, Julia didn't open her door. Why had Harriet not told her? She heard Harriet go into her own room. Julia lay on her bed, listening, as Harriet moved quietly about. It seemed as though Harriet had deliberately jumped overboard, off the family ship, and now was being carried far out to sea. She was too far away to be saved, and it had been her own choice to jump.

As she heard the small noises of her sister, Julia's heart felt tight, compressed. She was furious at her sister for being so stupid—she agreed with Edward, Julia told herself. It was stupid to go to veterinary school, it was lowering your sights. Harriet was flying in the face of everything, and why should Julia take her side?

She felt virtuous and sensible about what she was doing, keeping herself quiet, keeping this distance between herself and the miscreant. But really she was hurt: Julia felt utterly betrayed by Harriet. She did not let herself admit this, nor did she admit that there was something terrible about what she had done.

Edward paid for Harriet's tuition at veterinary school, but he disparaged it. He did this lightly, as though he were only teasing, and in a way he actually was only teasing, but in a way he was not, and Harriet grew increasingly acerbic in response. Disapproving, resentful, Julia watched her defiant younger sister and kept her distance from both her and Katharine. She had taken sides, it would be dishonorable to renege.

Edward had triumphed that night, standing by the cold fireplace, and Katharine had been reduced to misery and silence. In a way this was familiar: Katharine was always in pain, and this was not to be discussed or even acknowledged, since there was nothing to be done about it. They put it from them, they had always done this.

It seemed that Edward's rationality was the way of the world, the way life had to be lived. Allying herself with her mother, her mother's pain, her mother's feelings, had been a part of Julia's childhood, but now she was pushing herself into adulthood. She disclaimed her younger, weaker self. She was trying to become adult, not to allow herself to be held by these terrible, painful chains of emotion. She began to withhold herself from her family, to keep a cool distance from all of them.

Harriet began to use the same acerbic tone to her sister that she used to her father. Harriet seemed scornful of every aspect of Julia's life—marriage, children, New York, teaching, the art world. Harriet did not get married, though she had a series of long-term boyfriends. Julia did not understand Harriet, who was so brisk and dismissive, so ironic and cool, so disengaged.