The Quarry Girls(27)

Hello, Heinrich, Mom said. Is your mother home?

Ricky’d looked over his shoulder. She’s not feeling good.

I understand, Mom said, but she walked into the house anyway, like she didn’t understand at all. She set the rice-and-burger hotdish on the nearest table, took Junie out of her carriage, set her on the floor, and told me to watch her. Then she walked into the Schmidts’ bedroom like it was her own house.

Ricky, Junie, and me stared at each other.

Want to see my train set? Ricky finally asked, Mrs. Brownie rubbing against his ankles, her orange eyes never leaving squalling Junie. It’s the best in the neighborhood, he promised, only he pronounced it da best because that’s how he talked back then.

Sure, I said.

I helped Junie toddle to her feet, and we followed Ricky to the bedroom he shared with his brothers. On the way, I caught a glimpse of Mrs. Schmidt in her bed, one eye bruised and puffy, her lip split so deep the cut was black. She caught me staring and turned her face away, toward the crib next to her bed. Mom got up to close the door, shooting me a warning glance, her face as tight as a buttonhole.

The quarry bonfire popped, bringing me back into the moment. I swallowed and looked away from Ricky and Brenda. Ant was taking a puff of the joint Ed had handed him. When Ant was done, he offered it to me. He looked as scared as I felt. Was this his first time, too? I gripped the doobie between my thumb and pointer finger and held it near my mouth. My eyes met Brenda’s across the fire. Ricky was going at her ear like he was digging for gold, but she was staring at me, her expression clear.

You don’t have to do it.

I took a puff, a small one, and held it in the back of my mouth. I didn’t want to cough and embarrass myself. I didn’t want to get high, either. I just wanted to belong. I’d seen my mom smoke a hundred million times. I would sip at the joint like she did a cigarette.

“All right, girl,” Ed said, approvingly.

I smiled, standing up to walk the joint over to Ricky. He disentangled himself from Brenda and took a drag. I returned to my rock, wondering if my head felt fuzzy or if I was imagining it. Someone hooted in the distance, followed by a splash.

“We should go swimming,” Ant said when I sat back down next to him. He sounded desperate, but he always seemed to these days.

I made a noncommittal noise.

“You know there’s a cabin through the trees?” he asked.

I peered in the direction he was pointing, seeing only shadowed forest, and then looked back at him. He’d gotten his dark hair cut like Ricky’s, short in front, long in the back, and something about him reminded me of a toy Junie’d gotten from Grandma a few Christmases ago. Four-Way Freddy. Freddy was a wooden rectangle twelve inches tall and two inches across. He had four sides, a different man drawn on each one, and each of those men was split into three movable parts: head, torso, and legs. When you pushed down on the handle at the top of Freddy’s head, the three sections would spin, all separate. Very rarely would they match up at the end. Instead you’d get something like a bald man with a little boy chest and muscular legs.

Ant lately reminded me of that toy, a blur of becoming, never landing quite right.

“Cabin belongs to a friend of a friend of a friend,” Ed said, chuckling darkly. “He lets me use it when he’s out of town.”

He reached into his coat, removed his bottle of Anacin, and popped a couple in his mouth, his jaw muscles working.

When he caught my expression, he winked.

“How can you chew those pills?” I blurted out. I’d taken adult aspirin only once in my life, when we were out of the chewable kind. Dad had told me to get it down quick because it was bitter.

“I like the flavor,” he said. “Reminds me I’m alive.”

He’d been drinking Grain Belt ponies that Ricky’d brought, called them “hand grenades” and made exploding noises when he opened one, but they must not have been doing the trick because he grabbed the brown paper bag at his feet and dragged out a bottle of Southern Comfort. He unscrewed the cap and took a swallow, then leaned forward to offer it to me.

I took it. The outside was sticky. I put it to my nose and sniffed. It smelled like baby diarrhea.

“Try it,” Ant said. “Tastes better than it smells.”

I took a swig. It did not taste better than it smelled. If anything, it tasted like a duck had pooped in my mouth. Squirt. I kept it down, though.

“What’s wrong with your ear?” Ed asked.

I opened my eyes. He was staring at me, his gaze intense.

“It was burned off in an accident,” Ant said. “I told you.”

“I know who your dad is,” Ed said, ignoring Ant.

I handed the bottle back to him, but he shook his head.

“Might as well take another swig,” he said, cracking open an RC Cola. “You can chase with this.”

The harsh liquor slid down smoother when followed immediately by the pop.

“Thanks,” I said, wiping my mouth with my wrist before handing them both back.

“I suppose you want to split this town soon as you’re old enough,” Ed asked, taking the Southern Comfort back this time.

My skin felt flushed. “What?”

He smiled, and it seemed genuine. “I can tell you’re smart. The quiet ones always are. And a smart girl would hightail it out of this backwater hole soon as she could.”