Home Front(55)

Michael smiled. “Good to talk to you, Seth. Tell your dad I say hi.”

When the kid walked away, Michael added, “You should come around sometime, see Betsy.”

Seth turned to him. The sadness in his dark glance surprised Michael. “I wish.”

*



If Dante had lived in modern times, Michael had no doubt that going to the mall with your daughters would have qualified as one of the circles of hell. Especially when you were there to find a birthday present for your twelve-year-old daughter’s on-again best friend. So far, they’d been here an hour and found nothing. He was so tired of looking at glittery headbands and ripped-neckline tee shirts and posters of boy bands he could scream.

They were in Wal-Mart now, drifting through the makeup aisle. Lulu was like a pitbull straining on a leash; she kept grabbing Michael’s hand and surging forward, yanking him toward some cheap, sparkly thing.

“There,” Betsy said, pointing to a small, neon-pink case that held an array of makeup items. “She’d like that.”

“Is Sierra allowed to wear makeup?”

Betsy gave him the Look. “I’m the only one who can’t.”

He looked at her, seeing the mascara smudges beneath her eyes and the blush that looked like war paint. “Right. And you don’t. Fine. Get it. Let’s go.”

“It’s expensive.”

“Get it.” He would have paid anything, really, just to get out of there.

Lulu said, “I want something, Daddy,” and tugged at his hand.

“I need wrapping paper and a card,” Betsy said.

Michael was pretty sure he groaned aloud. Still, he followed her out of the makeup aisle and toward whatever came next, all the while listening to Lulu shout: Stop, Dad! I want that and that and that!

In the gift-wrap aisle, Betsy stopped so suddenly Michael ran into her. Lulu yelled, “Geez, Betsy—”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Betsy said.

“Come on, Betsy, can you wait ’til—”

She turned on him. “Now.”

She said it so forcefully, he frowned. With another sigh, he followed her to the restrooms, although it set Betsy off, caused her to hiss at him to stop following her, but what could he do? Lately he’d developed an irrational fear that he’d lose one of the kids. He had nightmares where he said to Jo, I don’t know, I just looked away for a second.

He sat down in one of the uncomfortable chairs to wait.

“Daddy, play patty-cake,” Lulu said, raising her hands like a mime.

“Huh?”

Before Lulu could start whining, Betsy came out of the bathroom, looking pale and terrified. She moved awkwardly, as if her knees didn’t bend right anymore.

He rose, instantly worried. “Betsy?”

She glanced around. When he said her name again, louder, she flinched. “Shhhhh.”

He moved closer. “Honey? What is it?”

Betsy looked up at him. Her mouth was unsteady, her eyes huge. “I started my period.”

Michael’s stomach literally dropped. “Oh.”

“What’s a period?” Lulu said loudly and Betsy clamped a hand over her sister’s mouth.

Lulu immediately shrieked.

“Stop it, Lulu,” Michael hissed. To Betsy he said, “What do we do?”

“I need … something.”

“Something. Right.” What she needed was a woman, but that wasn’t going to happen. He took hold of her hand and led her back through the store. She walked woodenly, kept putting her hands behind her, hiding the back of her pants.

Feminine Products.

There was no doubt about that. He stared at the rows of multicolored packaging, trying to figure out what she needed. Wings! Adhesive strips! Absorbent!

Betsy looked like she was ready to vomit. “Hurry, Dad. Pick one.”

Come on, Michael. Step up to the plate. She needs you now. “Okay,” he said firmly, moving closer to the products, reading the packages.

“Dad,” Betsy said under her breath, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Come on.”

He had no idea what made one product better than the other, so he chose the most expensive and handed it to her.

Betsy gasped. “I can’t buy it. What if someone I know is there? Oh, my God.”

“Right.” He nodded. “I’ll meet you at the restrooms.”

Betsy flushed with gratitude and ran off. Michael hefted a wiggling, complaining Lulu into his arms. All the way to the checkout, she sang “periodperiodperiod” at the top of her lungs. He smiled awkwardly at the lady who rang up the sale, and then hurried back to the bathrooms, carrying a small plastic bag.

Betsy waited for him by the back wall, tapping her foot.

“Do you … uh … know how to use these?” he asked.

“It’s not rocket science, Dad.” He could tell that she wanted to be sarcastic, but her voice wasn’t sharp enough. She took the package and ran into the restroom.

At least fifteen minutes later, Betsy came out of the bathroom slowly, staring at Michael. She looked scared and young; ironic, since this was supposed to be the start of womanhood. Slowly, she turned around. “Can you see anything?”

“No,” Michael said softly. “Your pants are fine.”