He Started It(10)

Yet he hurt her in so many other ways. Later for that.

But I knew what he was doing. I was twelve, for God’s sake, not four. “You lied to Grandma,” I said. “So you wouldn’t upset her.”

“That’s right. I always told your grandmother she was beautiful. And she was, even in ugly clothes.”

I stared at him. “People do bad things. I know that.”

“People do bad things for the people they love. There’s a difference.”

“That’s what Bonnie and Clyde did? Kill because they loved each other?”

He nodded. “I think so. Yes.”

I didn’t. In fact, I thought he was a little bit crazy for comparing pineapple blouses to shooting people.



* * *



–––––

“Who’s up for the Bonnie and Clyde museum?” Eddie says.

This time we aren’t lost, and won’t get lost, because we have GPS.

“Good God,” Portia says. She lying in the back, her foot raised and still wrapped.

“You’re joking,” Krista says. “There’s no such thing.”

“Oh yes there is,” I say.

“Are you serious?” Felix asks.

“Of course I’m serious. Bonnie and Clyde are one of the greatest love stories of the twentieth century. Don’t you know that?” I say.

Krista turns around in her seat to face me. Her eyes are wide, the gold flecks shining. “I saw the movie,” she says. “So romantic.”

I smile at her, nodding my head. Maybe she’ll be shocked when she sees the truth, just as I had been. Or maybe her belief in them is already so ingrained, so fully believed, that nothing will change it.

That’s how Grandpa was. You can do bad things if it’s for love.

It didn’t make sense then, but it does now.





AUGUST 13, 1999



What is your biggest accomplishment?

I’ve beat my whole family at Risk and I’ve done it more than once. And that’s no joke. Dad makes us play at least once a week. Always after dinner, always together, and no one is exempt.

The night I first beat everyone, I was accused of cheating. It’s not a win if you cheat, just like in life. Dad’s always saying stuff like that. He says people are all wrong about chess, because that game isn’t the “pinnacle of strategy.” The best strategic game is Risk. Especially Secret Mission Risk, because that’s when everyone has their own mission but no one knows what it is.

That’s why we play, Dad says. The game is about making allies and keeping your word right up until you can’t. In other words, it’s about life. He says that, not me. I’d never use those words. I’d say you have to screw them before they screw you, but if I did, Mom would give me a look and Dad would try to punish me, so I just keep my mouth shut. Sort of.

Still. I did win, and I’ve done it more than once. That’s skill, not luck.





Sometimes I forget Grandpa’s ashes are in the back. I’ve pushed them deep into a corner of my mind, and when they creep out, I push them back in. Ignore the ashes. Ignore him. Start talking.

“Isn’t this fantastic?” I say.

We’re in the Bonnie and Clyde Ambush Museum, which looks as I remembered it except it doesn’t feel as scary.

Portia refuses to come in. She’s outside on her phone, supposedly calling someone in New Orleans who may or may not be a boyfriend. Even when she was six years old, Portia wasn’t impressed by Bonnie and Clyde or by the museum. Everything about them was too old-fashioned.

“I can’t believe you’ve been here before,” Felix says. We hold hands as we walk through, which feels as odd as it sounds. “You never told me about this.”

“Slipped my mind, I guess.”

Felix stops when he sees the car with the bloody dummies inside. “Whoa.”

Krista gasps, which makes Eddie laugh.

“I knew you would freak out,” he says. “They probably didn’t show this in the movie.”

Krista shakes her head. Her dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail and it swings back and forth, reminding me of a cheerleader. “I don’t remember that part,” she says.

Eddie looks at me and winks. I roll my eyes, because I know where we’re going next.

Down the road a bit from the museum is the place where Bonnie and Clyde died. There’s a marker for it and everything. Grandpa thought it was great.

“This is crazy,” Felix says. The memorial looks like a tombstone, and it marks the exact place where Bonnie and Clyde’s bullet-ridden car rolled to a stop.

“People are crazy,” I say.

“You’re right.”

That includes us. When we go to lunch, we eat fried bologna sandwiches in honor of Bonnie and Clyde. It was their last meal, some said. Bonnie died with half a sandwich still in her hand.

Portia is the only one who refuses. She orders soup. “You guys are sick,” she says.

“I have to admit, I’m starting to wonder what I married into.” Krista side-eyes Eddie, who shrugs.

“This is a totally normal American thing to do,” he says. “If it wasn’t, would there be so many Bonnie and Clyde attractions?”