The Mutual Admiration Society(53)
Of course, because I gave her the promise of all promises, she had to believe me, even though she does not look at all convinced that I am the picture of health when we do the fifty-yard dash across the road. And by the time St. Kate’s bells start nagging all the bad kids in the neighborhood that they better drop whatever mischief they got themselves into because they only have a half hour before Father Ted hangs out a NOT IN SERVICE sign outside his confessional, even though I’ve somehow corralled Birdie into the bushes that run along the cemetery fence, she keeps stopping to ask me every few seconds, “You still fine and dandy, Tessie?” and if I don’t immediately say, “Yes, Birdie. I’m still fine and dandy,” she tries to take my temperature again.
When we’ve made slow but steady progress and we’re almost to the place where we’ll monkey up the black iron fence and jump down into Charlie’s backyard, I’m feeling happy but not thrilled beyond belief, because now we got a new problem. I wasn’t born yesterday. I know this plan I came up with is not foolproof, and, as usual, it boils down to nothing more than bad timing.
There’s gonna be about ten seconds or so that my sister and me will be on top of the fence, and even a guy holding onto the leash of a seeing-eye dog wouldn’t miss us up there, for cripessakes. So could our mother and most of the parish gals, which includes the black evil lump that I spotted in the #2 position graveside, next to the widow Peterman. The veil on her black pillbox hat was thoughtfully hiding her ugly puss, but I’m sure it was Gert Klement. I know she would’ve much rather stayed back at her house, watching and waiting to swoop down on the Finley sisters, but she had to show up today. It wouldn’t look too good if the president of the most powerful club at St. Kate’s missed the funeral of the head of the ushers unless she had a very great excuse, like she was on her deathbed or something, which is too much to ask for.
So it looks like what I’m up against now is one of those six-of-one, half-a-dozen-of-another, flip-a-coin situations. Heads, Birdie and me stay hunkered down in these bushes until the service is over and it’s too late for me to go to confession, which means that Jenny Radtke will tattle and we’ll have to take our medicine when Louise gets home tonight smelling like red sauce and garlic after her date with what’s-his-name. Tails, the Finley sisters risk climbing to the top of the fence where we could so easily be seen before we drop into the yard of my darling future husband, who I’m wanting to see so much that my heart feels swollen and ready to burst out of my chest.
Q. Is the famous saying “Love conquers all” really true?
A. You may rely on it.
Well, then. Tails it is.
15
PROVE IT
Of course, I’m not worried about anybody at Mr. Peterman’s funeral catching sight of coordinated me on top of the fence before I drop quickly into Charlie’s yard. But when spazzy Birdie is out in the open for those ten seconds, that’s gonna take a real leap of faith. (No joke.)
I sweep her shaggy bangs out of her eyes and say, “You’ve done a pretty good job doing what I told you to and I need ya to keep up the good work. I’m gonna boost you up now.” She can make it over without help from me, the way she did this morning, but it just about gives me a nervous breakdown when she does. “Remember to be really careful around the pointy spears, and . . . and please don’t yell out Charlie’s name four times the way you always do. They might hear you at the funeral.”
Dear patron saint of pots and pans, just this once, could you help her keep a lid on it?
“Okay, Tessie. I’ll be really careful around the pointy spears and I won’t yell Charlie’s name out four times the way I always do, Roger that,” Birdie says. “But before I don’t do those things, I gotta ask you an important question, then hope to die, I’ll do whatever you tell me to.” She makes a big X over her heart and then she points to the top of her shorts, which is where she stuck the Stover box when she needed her hands free to crawl. “Did you hear what I yelled when I was runnin’ down the top of the cemetery hill toward Mr. Lindley’s grave to get these chocolate-covered cherries?”
This is an example of the famous saying about water being under the bridge, because who cares what the hell she loonatic-yelled now? She made the right turn. “Just because I forged a card that says I am, and just because I pay deaf Jeffy Lanfre a quarter to teach me to read lips, that doesn’t mean that I’m really deaf,” I remind her. “So yeah, of course, I heard what ya yelled when you were runnin’ down the hill. Now would you please put your foot in my hands and—”
“Prove it.”
“Prove what?”
“Tell me what ya heard me yell when I was runnin’ down the hill.”
Damnation!
Because she was moving so fast, I didn’t catch all of it, so I’m just going to tell her what I did catch and hope that’s good enough. “At first I thought you mighta yelled sister and run and tree, but now I’m pretty sure you yelled mister and fun and free.”
“Aha!” Birdie says, like she’s Sherlock Holmes who just solved the mystery of the turn of the century. “Just as I suspected!”
“Okay, good, that’s a load off.” I bend my knees with a grunt and get ready to give her an alley-oop. “Remember, you hoped to die if I answered your question, so unless you wanna croak in the next few minutes, ya better put your foot back in my hands so I can boost you over this fence!”