Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(43)

She looks up at me and flashes the very same vague smile she gave me before. “What is it, hon? Where’s Helen?”

“I, um . . . She’s taking a shower.”

Mrs. Harriwick gestures at her computer. “Should I shut this down?”

“No, I uh . . . I just . . . I texted my friend, Sean. He said he’d love to do a quest with you. If you could give me your e-mail, I could pass it on to him so you guys could, you know, coordinate all that.”

“Great. You have a pen?”

I walk over to the couch and hand her a piece of notebook paper and a pen. I didn’t notice it before, but Mrs. Harriwick is wearing some seriously chunky perfume. It’s like someone shoved rotten roses up my nose. It’s odd that she would even be wearing perfume, considering Helen says she rarely leaves the house. Who is she trying to smell nice for, I wonder?

Mrs. Harriwick scribbles something down on the page, her hand shaking a little as she writes. Like she’s forty years older than she actually is. When she’s done, she passes the paper and pen back to me. “Make sure he mentions you or Helen in the subject line or I’ll think it’s spam.”

“Sure,” I say, trying to work up some kind of saliva in my mouth. “There’s, um, something else.”

The water upstairs shuts off with a clunk and a rattle of the pipes. How much time will it take Helen to dry off and get dressed? All of a sudden, the image of her stepping naked from the shower ambushes me. It occurs to me and my stirring divining rod that at this very moment Helen is upstairs, with no clothes on, probably toweling off her round breasts and her —

“Yes?” Helen’s mother says.

“Yes, what?”

“You said there was something else?”

I blink, bringing myself back. “Right. Yeah. Our Health teacher, Mrs. Turris . . . She requires some kind of documentation every time Helen and I meet.” I’m starting to feel light-headed. Have to get this over with fast. “So, usually Miss Jerooni, the librarian, signs our confirmation slip. But, since we’re meeting here . . . I’m sort of in charge of getting the signatures and . . . I was wondering . . . if you could sign it for us today?” Oh, Jesus, there it is. I’ve done it. Could I sink any lower?

“Of course.” Mrs. Harriwick laughs. “The way you were acting I thought you were going to tell me you got Helen pregnant or something.”

“No!” I say. “We’re not even . . . no!”

“Okay, sure, whatever. You’re not even. Until you are.” She gestures at me. “Give me that pen back.”

I hand her the pen and present the school form, which I keep a tight grip on. I’ve folded down the page so only the signature line is visible. “Right here,” I say, indicating where I scribbled a star.

I hold my breath and pray.

Mrs. Harriwick barely even glances at the paper as she scrawls her name. Her eyes half on her computer screen. “No, no, no,” she says, passing the pen back to me. “What are you doing? You idiot.” She looks up at me and smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. I just get so involved in this thing.”

“It’s okay. I understand.” I start to leave, then remember the baptism question and figure I might as well go for broke. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.” I turn back and see Mrs. Harriwick with one eye on me, and the other on her laptop screen. “I’m doing this survey for my World Religions class. Would you mind telling me what religion your family is? It’s completely anonymous, don’t worry.”

“Oh, I don’t care about that,” she says, typing something on her keyboard. “Technically, we’re Methodists. Though, to be honest, I can’t remember the last time I was at church.”

I scribble Methodist down on the notebook paper like I’m writing down the survey answers. Though I don’t think Mrs. Harriwick even notices. “And, um . . . was Helen baptized?”

“She was. That was Stephen’s idea. My ex-husband. Back in Baltimore. He was the devout one. When it was convenient.” More typing on the laptop.

I draw a few squiggles on my page to show I’m taking this all down. “And do you remember the name of the church?”

“Goring United. We used to call it Boring United.” She laughs. “Obviously, you can tell I’m a faithful follower.”

“No. That’s cool. Not too many people in the class are very religious either. That’s sort of why we’re doing this survey.” I quickly write the name of the church. “That’s, um, everything, I think. Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Any time.” Mrs. Harriwick returns her full attention to the computer.

“Any time, what?” I hear Helen say as she comes down the stairs, all freshly cleaned and showered.

Oh, crap. A jolt of adrenaline surges through my veins and I freeze. How am I going to explain this one?





“YOUR MOM WAS KEEPING ME COMPANY,” I say, stealthily tucking the school form and notebook page into my pocket. “She gave me her e-mail to pass along to Sean so they could play World of Warcraft together.” I force a laugh. “So, should we get to work?”

Helen glances at her mom, who’s completely focused on her computer again. “Okay, sure,” she says.

And that’s that, thank God. A little bit of truth to hide the iceberg of lies.