Unspeakable Things(17)
“Yes,” Mom said. “It’s the most important thing at your age.”
“I know,” Sephie said, wiping her face, eager to agree. “I made a mistake. Mrs. Tatar is impossible, but I should have gotten tutoring.”
“You think I should help her, don’t you, Dad?” My liver felt yellow at this, joining in coddling Dad like he was a babyman, but it’s what worked.
He took a swig of his drink, finishing half in a swallow. “You’re lucky I’m a rational man, Persephone, and I want you to listen to this, too, Cass. My own stepfather was an asshole. He’d beat me bloody if I failed. I want better for you girls.”
Mom put her arm around Dad’s waist. Sephie and I donned our sympathetic faces, except I think she really meant hers. We’d heard this story a hundred fifty zillion times.
“You know how reasonable I am?” he continued. “I stopped my outside work to help our new neighbors move a couch. Isn’t that right, Peg?”
Mom smiled. “Lovely people, we think. Their last name is Gomez.”
“Salt of the earth,” Dad said, his words gone woolly around the edges, “but not too educated.”
He and Mom nodded at each other. They were proud of the master’s degree they each held, Dad’s in art history and Mom’s in education.
“The old Swenson place?” I asked. We passed it on our bus route, right before turning at Goblin’s and then a straight shot to our place. Mrs. Swenson used to have a beauty parlor off her kitchen where she’d make extra money. She’d pierced my ears for five dollars an ear, though one of them had grown so infected that I’d had to remove the stud and let the hole seal up.
Mom nodded. “That’s the one.”
“The ‘For Sale’ sign is still out front,” Sephie said.
“They’ll take that down soon,” Dad said. He was relaxing, his tone growing high-minded. “They have three kids and said they’ll need babysitters from time to time.”
Sephie lit up. She was saving for a Make Me Pretty Barbie head. For sure this wasn’t the time to tell Mom and Dad that she’d decided to forgo college to pursue her dream of being a hairdresser.
“I can do it!” she said.
Dad snorted. “Not if you don’t pass chemistry. Cassie can babysit.”
“All right,” I said, too quickly.
He finally acknowledged me, his eyes beady with vodka. “How’s school going for you, Cassie?”
I knew what he was after. He liked to end his lessons with a glob of shame, no matter how they started. I didn’t want to answer him, didn’t want to take part in humiliating Sephie. “Fine.”
“You still have that best friend? Lynn? Haven’t seen her for a while.”
My cheeks burned. Now wasn’t the time to mention the birthday invitation. “Naw, not anymore.”
“Her parents finally came to one of our parties last fall, isn’t that right, Peg? Didn’t seem too good for us then.”
Mom patted his arm. “Can I get you some more water?”
He finished his drink and handed it to her. Seph and I watched tensely to see if she’d add vodka. She didn’t, thank god, holding the glass under the ceramic water dispenser. We filled ten five-gallon jugs at the public spout in St. Cloud. They filtered the water straight from the Mississippi, and it tasted clean as clouds. Way better than our metallic well water.
“Girls,” Mom said, “why don’t you both go study until suppertime? Your dad and I have some planning to do for the next party.”
“What?” I asked, clutching my hands together. The previous one had been in September, the first and only one Lynn’s parents had attended and Sergeant Bauer’s first. I could have guessed another party was coming, but I always hoped the last was the last.
“Yep, Saturday,” Dad said. “We’ll celebrate the beginning of summer. This party is going to be big. Bigger than any before. Maybe our last, before the state puts in those power lines and we lose all our privacy.”
Sephie and I didn’t look at each other, but I didn’t need to see her face to know that she—like me—would be just fine if this were the last party. We trudged off to her room and dug right into chemistry. A couple hours of me quizzing her and she had the basics down. She’d been dumb about it because she hadn’t tried, but she was smart underneath that. If we worked together again tomorrow night, I knew she could pass.
“Hey, Sephie,” I asked, once she had the periodic table as memorized as she could in a single sitting. “I tried to tell you on the bus. Clam was the boy who was attacked, the one Betty talked about yesterday morning. We had a symposium about it at school, even though they didn’t tell us exactly why we were there. There’s going to be a curfew in town.”
“I know,” she said.
I could tell she didn’t. “Evie said he was hurt pretty bad. She doesn’t think it was a gang. She figures it was the Peeping Tom. You’ve heard about him?”
“Everyone has.”
I sighed. Sephie really needed to feel smart. “Sure. But here’s what I think. I think that it doesn’t matter if it’s one man or a whole gang of ’em. If someone hurt Clam and got away with it, they’re going to try again.”