Unspeakable Things(72)

We’d do it today, we’d do it tomorrow, we’d do it forever.

I muttered a swear word as I chucked each of those four eggs at the back side (I wasn’t stupid) of the studio, one cracked egg for each cracked person in this family. Their mucousy orange slid down the side of the studio. I drew a hitched breath and wiped my face.

Happy birthday, Cassie.

I was headed back toward the house when I decided to step into the granary. I hadn’t been inside since I’d run into Sergeant Bauer there at the party. He’d seemed very familiar with the layout. I yanked open the front door. The three-headed dog drawing was still up on the chalkboard.

I crawled up the steep wooden stairs to the bed that had looked slept in.

It still did. Penthouse and Easyriders magazines lay on the table next to it, along with an ashtray full of roaches and a single slip of paper. The information written on it was organized into three columns: first names on the far left, numbers and ounces in the middle, and dollar amounts in the far right. Some of the dollar amounts had a line through them, some didn’t. The first names matched up with some of the party regulars. Dad must have been selling them weed or shrooms, except the handwriting on the sheet wasn’t his.

I shoved the paper into my back pocket and shambled to the house.





CHAPTER 48

“I’m going to work,” Mom declared after supper.

Dad was too lit to argue.

“I thought all your grading was in,” I asked.

“Of course it is,” Mom said absentmindedly. “But I forgot to bring my plants home for the summer.”

Sephie and I both glanced out the window. The sun was low in the sky, turning the air lavender. It was unusual for Mom to go to work at this time, but she had keys.

“When will you be back?” Sephie asked.

“Late,” Mom said, kissing the top of Dad’s head. He pulled her in for a mouth kiss. Her shoulders tensed up like chicken wings, but she let him finish before grabbing her purse and heading out.

It took Dad another hour to slip into pass-out drunk, lying back against his recliner, mouth open, spit glistening on his bottom lip. That left me in control of the television. The Empire Strikes Back was showing. It’d be my first chance to see it. Every single kid in the world but me and Sephie had viewed it at the movie theater three years ago. I’d had to pretend I knew what they were referring to when they made pewpew noises and talked about the dark side.

“I’ll make popcorn,” I told Sephie when she appeared. She’d been in her room or on the phone since Mom had left.

“I’m going out.”

“What?” I tore my eyes off the television. Sephie’s hair was curled as pretty as Farrah Fawcett’s. I could see the outline of her nipples through her tight T-shirt. “Who with?”

“Wayne and Chaco.”

“Did Dad say it was okay?”

She grimaced at him. “I’ll be back before he wakes up.”

“What about Mom?” I was frantic. I didn’t want to be alone in the house with Dad.

“I’ll sneak back in. She won’t even know I left.”

“Sephie, please,” I begged.

She frowned at me like she was thinking about it, but then headlights flashed off the wall. “It’ll be okay, Cassie. Go to bed early. He won’t bother you.”

I watched her go, my mouth hanging open. The NBC Friday Night at the Movies opener appeared on the screen, all fireworks and snappy music. The peacock flashed its pretty feathers above a golden “NBC.” I glanced at Dad. The spit was beginning to dry.

“Tonight, on NBC Friday Night at the Movies . . .”

The words thrilled me. I returned my attention to the television. I was going to get to watch The Empire Strikes Back! Either Mom or Sephie would get home before Dad woke up. If they didn’t, I’d just do what Sephie said and go to bed early.

I tamped down the clammy twisting in my belly.

Everything would be fine.





CHAPTER 49

I was sitting so far forward on the couch that a feather would have knocked me off. Luke and Darth Vader were battling in the bowels of Cloud City, their lightsabers crashing and screaming against each other, Luke’s blue dragging up underneath Vader’s red. It was the best thing I’d ever seen in my life, the whole movie.

“That’s not real fighting.”

I swallowed hard. My eyes were hot from going too long without blinking. I didn’t want to tear my attention away from the screen, but Dad wouldn’t be ignored. “It’s The Empire Strikes Back, Dad. I think you’d like it.”

“I don’t like fighting, Cassie. I had to kill men when I fought. It’s not play. Do you know that?”

I braved a glance. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t even licked the crusty white spit off his mouth. Only his eyes were open, hunting on me. “I know, Dad. Real fighting isn’t fun.”

His laugh was ugly. “Not in Vietnam, it’s not.”

Dad’s drunk had stages. One of the worst was when he talked about his parents, the same story over and over again. He blamed his mother for him getting drafted. Sometimes after that he’d sink lower, talking about getting beaten by his stepdad, purple bruises that his stepdad would keep punching until Dad’s skin split, but only sometimes would he go that dark. And even more rarely, he’d skid into a monologue about how he was magic and could control the wind and the rain and make animals understand him.