The Mutual Admiration Society(71)

Never in a million years would I let #1 on my TO-DO list, who I promised Daddy I would take tender loving care of, live the rest of her life in a padded room.

Because I wasn’t BE PREPARED for something like this to happen, I’ve got to come up with a plan ASAP! I’d normally spend hours puzzling over a new list, but I don’t have that luxury right now. I’ve got to act fast, but my usual genius brain is so shocked and stunned that it can only think of four solutions to our predicament off the top of my head:



Stick some of this money in my shorts pocket and the two of us could run away right now to California.



Bring the stolen loot to Mr. McGinty’s shack tonight and beg for his help.



Follow the original plan I had when I found the culprit to stick the money under some bushes at the church and then come across it after Mass this Sunday so I can be a big hero.



Sneak out of the house and return the money to the collection box tonight all by myself.





I reach for my Magic 8 Ball that I keep hidden from Louise in the closet behind a shoe box because it is a sin to ask questions about your future to anybody but all-knowing God.

Q. Which plan should I pick? #1, 2, 3, or 4?

A. When I turn it over, Reply hazy try again later floats up.

Damnation!

We need to act now, not later, and I’ve just about had it up to here with these watered-down answers.

“Tessie!” Birdie shouts from down the hall. “Come practice your dead man’s float!”

Please, Daddy, please help me know what to do . . . what to do . . .



I like the idea of making a run for it, but first I’d have to talk Birdie into it, and that could take forever on account of how much she loves Louise, and I would really miss Charlie so much.



If I involve Mr. McGinty, that could make him guilty of the crime of accessorizing after the fact, the way I am, because I let Daddy drown, and I wouldn’t wish that awful feeling on anybody, except for Jenny Radtke and Gert, and, of course, Butch Seeback, but he probably wouldn’t even feel bad because he has the mind of a maniac.



Hiding the money under the bushes at church and then pretending to find it this Sunday after Mass is too risky. Somebody, say Gert Klement, would start telling everybody how suspicious she thinks it is that Theresa Marie Finley, of all people, was the one to find the stolen money. Dog smells its own dirt first is probably what she’d say.



Yes, returning the money tonight to the collection box when Birdie and Louise are snoozing seems like the best idea.





Thank you, Daddy. Amen.

“Tessie . . . Tessie . . . Tessie . . . Tessie!” my sister calls from the bathroom.

St. Kate’s keeps its doors open all through the night so the workers at the Feelin’ Good Cookie factory and American Motors can stop by when their second shift is over to do their praying, so not getting noticed by one of them is going to be very tricky. I’ll wear my hobo disguise or pull one of the black stockings over my face, and then, when the time is right, I’ll . . .

“What’s takin’ you so long?” the little thief says from right behind me.

I gasp and jump about a foot because I was so caught up in trying to form a plan I didn’t notice that I wasn’t hearing her splashing in the tub anymore. I try to slam the dresser drawer shut so she doesn’t see the money, but one of the T-shirts I piled to the side has gotten caught in the runner, so all that’s left to do is try and shield the drawer with my body.

I very carefully wiggle around to face her, then I say, with a huge smile, “That was a great Gotcha! honey. I think you mighta even scared some poop outta me, ha . . . ha . . . ha!”

“Thank you, Tessie. I wanted to show you my bubble beard!” Birdie strikes a movie-star pose. “Do I look like Burl Ives?”

I don’t know why she loves that movie star so much, but she does. “That’s a doozy of a Burl beard, honey, but you can do better.”

“Can I?”

“Yes, lots, lots, lots, lots better. So you should hurry and get back in the tub and work on it a little more before all the bubbles are gone.”

“What are you lookin’ for in the dresser?” she asks, stepping closer and dripping all over me. She’s trying to peek over my shoulder. She’s such a shrimp that she’s never taller than I am and never will be, except for when I’m on my knees, like I am right now, so I sag over to my right side to keep her from seeing the money.

“Remember? We’re going to visit Mister McGinty tonight, so I’m lookin’ for some spy clothes.” When I’m attempting to sweet-talk her into something, I normally do my Glinda the Good Witch impression, because that gal has the nicest voice I ever heard, but I’m so off balance that I’m afraid I’m going to topple over at any second, and when I do, my sister will see what I’m trying to hide, and then I’m going to have to tell her what she did and that would be the worst thing to happen, so I end up sounding like the Wicked Witch of the West when I say, “You know how important cleanliness is next to godliness is to him. We can’t go over there to return his medal if we’re sinfully dirty, so get back into the tub right this minute or I’ll have to—”

“You found the Pagan Baby money!” Birdie joyfully shouts when she knocks me down and snatches it outta the dresser drawer. “Like you and Zorro are always sayin’,” she sticks her bare chest out and crows, “it’s okay to take from the rich and the church is very rich and give to the poor and we are very poor.” She waves the green wad in my face. “I’m gonna give it all to Mommy so . . . so we can keep our house that still smells like Daddy in the nooks and crannies and she can stop going out on dates with what’s-his-name and . . . we can buy lots of food at the Red Owl and we won’t have to run away!”