The Quarry Girls(67)
“Sorry,” I said. “I thought you were sleeping.”
“My responsible girl,” Mom said, coming over to caress my cheek and then gently guide me back to my chair. My spine tensed in alarm. “My poor girl,” she continued. “Your father told me about Maureen. No one can carry another’s burden, but we can bear witness to the pain. I’m here now, Heather. Your mom is here.”
I blinked, the room so quiet that I could hear the soft click of my lids. She had been asleep when Nillson told us about Brenda. She thought we were up because I was upset about Maureen. But that awareness barely registered.
She was mothering me.
“Gary,” she said, smiling vaguely at him, “I’m thinking I’ll bring Gloria a hotdish. That poor woman. And all the times she’s tried to apologize to me, and I wouldn’t let her. It’s time we put the past behind us, don’t you think?”
Dad nodded, his face gone marionette.
“That’s what I thought,” Mom said. She floated into her chair across from Dad, the one she rarely occupied. “Now who wants to deal me in?”
CHAPTER 40
Mom insisted she was well enough to attend church the next morning. Maureen’s funeral was supposed to immediately follow the service, but it came down the party line that it was being postponed out of respect for Brenda’s family and the search for her.
We were all quiet on the drive to Saint Patrick’s, the steamy morning air clouding the windows. When we reached the church, I couldn’t find the Tafts’ station wagon in the crammed parking lot. It appeared as though the rest of Pantown had decided to show up, though, along with some outsiders, reporters asking questions. Dad steered the three of us under the tree to wait for him while he talked to one of the journalists he recognized. It was hot. I was miserable. For the first time I questioned—in my head, at least—why it was we couldn’t enter a building without Dad. It was at least ten degrees cooler inside.
I was questioning a lot of things lately.
Claude and his parents were striding across the lawn. I waved frantically. Claude looked away. I could have sworn he saw me.
“Mom, I’m going to say hi to Claude.”
She nodded, her skin translucent in the undulating shade.
I jogged over. “Claude!”
He refused to look. He must have heard me. Both his parents were turning, smiling.
“Claude, can I talk to you?” I asked when I reached their side. “Alone?”
“Go on, Claude,” his dad said. “We’ll meet you inside.”
Claude looked uncomfortable in his button-up shirt and necktie, and it wasn’t just the heat.
“You heard about Brenda?” I asked after his parents stepped away.
He nodded.
“Claude, why won’t you look at me?”
He turned, his eyes fierce, then he dropped them, a flush crawling up his neck. “I had something to tell you at work the other day, but I suppose you don’t want to hear it now.”
I felt lines of confusion dig into my brow. “What are you talking about?”
“Ed and Ant stopped by the deli counter after you left. Ant showed me the photo of you.” His glance shot up again, pleading, then angry. “You coulda told me you and him were dating.”
My hand flew to my throat, and I glanced up at the cross. I might not love going to church, but I was a Pantowner. I’d been raised with a healthy fear of God. I knew we should not be talking about that snapshot on holy ground.
“I’m not. We’re not. It was a stupid night.” My shame flipped to rage at Ant. Too bad Claude was here instead. “What business is it of yours anyhow, huh?”
His jaw dropped like I’d slapped him. “I guess it isn’t,” he said, heading into church.
I stood there for a few beats, somewhere between crying and screaming. I couldn’t believe Ant had shown Claude that picture. It shouldn’t even matter, not with Maureen dead and Brenda missing, and it didn’t, not anything like those losses did, but it stung at a time when I didn’t have room for more hurt. I shuffled back under the tree next to Mom and Junie, wondering who else here had seen me in my bra, crying, in that dumb-bunny photo I let Ant take.
After a few minutes, Dad waved us over and we followed him into church.
“What did the reporters want to know?” Mom asked him.
She’d played two rounds of Life with us in that quivering cavity of twilight time, chatted with Junie about hairstyles and me about work, asked Dad about his cases. It felt like she soul-shined all of us, just like the old days, but I was wary. With Mom, what went up must come down, and it was a mystery what exact combination would make life too much for her.
It’s time for a vacation, Gary, she’d say, her voice sounding like it was coming from a deep well.
That’s why I was so horrified Dad had told her about Brenda on the drive to church. What had he been thinking? We couldn’t shield her from everything, but we could usually control the rate at which bad news reached her. She’d seemed to take it in stride, which made me uneasy. But then I thought maybe it was for the best, given that Father Adolph would surely mention Brenda’s disappearance during the sermon. Mom could take a lot of bad news in church. She said she felt supported here.
“They wanted to hear if there were any updates on the missing girls,” Dad said, making the sign of the cross and guiding us into our pew. Mom, Junie, and me followed suit as the last bells tolled overhead. The rustling of movement inside the church stopped on cue with the final clanging echo of the bell. I breathed in the comforting smells of frankincense and wood soap while the candles were lit. The choir began the entrance song as Father Adolph approached the pulpit, followed by his altar boys. He bowed and swung his incense holder before nodding at a helper to take it away.