My Best Friend's Exorcism(21)

“Okay, stand up. Get out of the tub, and stand in front of the mirror. Stand on a white towel.”

Dee Dee tugged Abby’s sleeve.

“We’ve got a line,” she said.

“One sec,” Abby mouthed, waving Dee Dee away, because frozen yogurt was really not a priority right now. She heard splashing over the receiver, then dripping, then silence.

“Are you looking?” Abby asked. “Is there blood on the towel?”

A long pause.

“No,” Gretchen said, relief in her voice.

“You’re sure? The towel’s fine?”

“Yes. God, I’m losing my mind.”

“Watch TV and I’ll talk to you tonight,” Abby said. “Don’t forget to call me.”

“I’m sorry I bugged you,” Gretchen said. “Go work.”

Abby hung up and, having solved a major crisis, she happily pulled vanilla cones and spooned Heath bar crunch over them until nine o’clock, when she and Dee Dee locked up. When Abby got home she turned on the tail end of The Jerry Lewis Telethon, got into bed, and held one finger on the cradle of her Mickey Mouse phone until exactly 11:06. This was her nightly phone date with Gretchen. She could never call Gretchen’s house this late, and technically Gretchen wasn’t supposed to call either, but as long as Abby kept her finger on the cradle and let go the moment the ringer vibrated, her parents never had a clue.

But that night, the phone never rang.



Seven twenty on Monday morning and mist clung to the Old Village, creeping up from the harbor, forming a white scrim that hovered over the ground, blurring all the hard lines. Abby pulled onto Pierates Cruze and rolled to a stop in front of Gretchen’s house, singing along to Phil Collins because nothing put her in a better mood. In the back seat was a tray of rice krispie treats to give Gretchen a soft landing after the hard weekend.

Gretchen usually waited for Abby on the street, but this morning there was only Good Dog Max. He’d tipped over Dr. Bennett’s garbage can and was up to his shoulders in trash. When Abby put on the parking brake he started and spun around, standing stiff-legged, staring at the Dust Bunny until she opened her door, at which point he leapt over the white trash bags, caught his front legs, and face-planted into them. Abby ran to the front door while he flailed around.

Instead of a sleepy Gretchen ready for her Diet Coke infusion, the glass door unsealed and Mrs. Lang stood there in her housecoat.

“Gretchen won’t be coming to school today,” she said.

“Can I go up?” Abby asked.

She heard a rumble as Gretchen avalanched down the stairs, dressed for school, bookbag over one shoulder. “Let’s go,” she said.

“You hardly slept,” Mrs. Lang said, grabbing Gretchen’s bookbag and dragging her to a halt. “I’m the mother and I say you’re staying home.”

“Get OFF me,” Gretchen yelled, twisting away.

Abby’s skin felt hot and clammy. Their fighting always embarrassed her. She never knew how to make it clear whose side she was on.

“Tell her, Abby,” Gretchen said. “It’s vital to my education that I go.”

Mrs. Lang looked in Abby’s direction, forcing Abby to stumble over her words.

“Well,” she said. “Um . . .”

Mrs. Lang’s face fell.

“Oh, Max,” she said.

Abby looked behind her. Good Dog Max had trotted up the path and was staring at the three of them as if he’d never seen them before. A stained Maxipad was stuck to his muzzle.

“Gross,” Abby said, laughing. She grabbed Max’s collar and pulled him toward the door.

“No, Abby!” Mrs. Lang said. “He’s covered in yuck.” She took hold of the collar, and in the confusion Gretchen slipped from her grip and broke for the Dust Bunny, dragging Abby along in her wake.

“Bye, Mom,” she called over her shoulder.

Mrs. Lang looked up.

“Gretchen—” she said, but by then they were at the end of the driveway.

Dr. Bennett was squatting by his garbage cans; he looked up as they ran by.

“Keep that dern dog out of my yard,” he said. “I’ve got my air rifle.”

“Morning, Dr. Bennett,” Gretchen said with a wave as the two of them slammed into the Dust Bunny and Abby pulled out.

“Why didn’t you call last night?” Abby asked.

“I was on the phone with Andy,” Gretchen said.

She handed Abby two sweaty quarters and reached between the seats to pull out the Diet Coke that Abby always brought her.

Abby was annoyed. Gretchen had come back from Bible camp talking about nothing but Andy, her great summer love. Andy was so cool. Andy was so studly. Andy was so living in Florida and Gretchen was so going to go visit him. By the first week of July she’d forgotten about him, and Abby assumed it was over. Now here he was again.

“Great,” Abby said.

She hated that she sounded sour, so she put on a smile and cocked her head like she was interested. Abby hadn’t seen any pictures of Andy (“Andy says that taking pictures is like clinging to the past,” Gretchen said, sighing) and she hadn’t talked to him on the phone (“I’m writing him letters,” Gretchen crooned. “They’re so much more meaningful.”), but Abby could picture him perfectly. He was a gimpy hunchback with one eyebrow and braces. Maybe headgear.