Chapter Fourteen
Picture
Perfect
THE NEXT DAY, Wendy whined quietly to her mother, “Mom, I’m so
bored.”
“Why don’t you read a book?” Aunt Lori said.
“Mom, it’s summer!” Wendy seemed offended by
the suggestion.
I was entertaining myself by watching Oreo trying to catch a fly.
I thought reading a book was a good idea. I loved to read.
“It’s not against the law to read over the summer, you know,” Aunt
Lori encouraged. “Go look in the trunk in my bedroom. I think there are some
books in there. They might be old, but sometimes the oldies are the goodies.”
“I don’t want to read,” Wendy said, pouting.
“Well, there are probably some games in there, too. Just go have a
look.”
“Okay,” Wendy surrendered. “Come on, Chris.”
I scooped up Oreo and took him with us. The trunk was at the foot
of the bed, and we flipped the latches and opened the top. We rummaged through
paperback books and a few games that looked old and unfamiliar, and then we
found some larger hardback books. I pulled one of those out. “What’s this?”
“Let me see.” Wendy took it from me. “Hey, this is my mom’s old
yearbook.”
She opened it up. “Let’s look at it.” She jumped up on the bed.
“Come on.” She patted the bed, motioning me to sit next to her.
“Okay. I bet my mom’s in here too,” I said as I got on the bed,
Oreo close behind me. We lay on our stomachs next to each other so we could
both see the pages. Oreo found some fringe on the throw pillows to entertain
himself. I loved him, and I whispered my secrets nightly into his furry ear. He
kept me from the shadow world for the most part. I couldn’t wait for Mom to
meet him. Lisa was going to go crazy when I returned back home with a kitten.
Wendy flipped to the section where the mug shots were lined up in
rows alphabetically by last name and by class. We looked through the freshman
class first, and then sophomore, and then we found my mom in the junior year
section.
“There she is.” Wendy pointed.
I bit my lip, trying to keep from laughing
until Wendy giggled.
“Look at that hair!” It was up in a beehive.
Then we flipped through the sophomore class, looking for Aunt
Lori. My eyes spotted her long blond hair first, and I pointed to her photo.
“There she is. Gosh, she’s so pretty.”
“Thank you sweetie,” Aunt Lori said from the doorway. I didn’t
know she was there.
“I think you’re pretty too, Mom,” Wendy said.
Aunt Lori laughed and went back to cleaning.
“Hey, isn’t that your dad?” I pointed to the opposite page.
Wendy looked at the photo. “Yep, that’s him.”
His hair was too much to ignore, and I had to say something. After
all, one small stab at him was a drop in the bucket compared to what he did to
me.
“What did he use, motor oil?” I giggled.
His hair was jet black and slicked back on his
head, except for the one thick curl that hung down on his forehead. You could
see where the teeth of the comb had left their impression.
“That’s the way they wore it in the fifties,” Wendy said.
I looked at the next page. “Hey, is that him too?” Uncle Butch was
standing on a platform in the middle of a gym, but it didn’t look like a
sporting event.
Wendy slid the book over to where she could see the page better.
“Yeah. What does he have in his hand?”
“It’s a trophy. What’s it for?” I asked.
“I know what it is,” Wendy said. “It’s a dance trophy. Remember,
he said he was a dance champion or something.”
I looked closer at the picture. There in the background was a
banner that read: Winter Dance Competition. Then it hit me. That was the same
photograph my uncle was looking at in Mount Adams! I shivered and looked away
from the yearbook. I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to block the memories of
that night. But it was no good. I couldn’t shake the queasy feeling that had come
over me. The urgency in Uncle Butch’s eyes and his red spider webbed nose
appeared so clearly on the back of my eyelids that I gasped. I kept reminding
myself that every day I survived was one day closer to my mom.
“Are you okay?”
No, I wasn’t okay and I wished everyone would just stop asking me.
I wanted my mom, but I knew that was unlikely. So I did what I did most days,
and I pushed the thought out of my head. I tried to act normal.
“Yeah. Just peachy.”
I remembered that my mother also had high school accomplishments.
“Hey, let’s find my mom in the sports section.” If I couldn’t be with her, at
least I could look at her photos to feel close to her.
“Okay.” Wendy flipped to the section.
There she was, beautiful and young, and the depths of the photo
captured my mother’s smile, which was unmistakable and unique. The smile she
had before my dad left. It made me homesick immediately.
“Hey.” Wendy pointed to another picture of her on the opposite
page. “Isn’t that her, too?” She had found what I had hoped to find.
“Sure is. She was a runner,” I said with great pride. The photo
was glorious. My mother was breaking the finish ribbon; her head thrown back
with chest pushed forward to claim first place. She was wearing her track and
field uniform.
“That’s so cool!” Wendy said.
“Yeah,” I added, but turned the page because I didn’t want to
start feeling the pain of being away from her.
We flipped through the yearbook until we got to the last page. It
turned out to be a dedication page. We spent a longer time looking at this page
because it was a mystery. There were two photographs on it, but one was
scratched out.
“Who’s that?” Wendy asked, fingering the photo that had become a
scribble of black ink. Whoever owned the pen that did the scratching was full
of rage.
“I don’t know, but someone sure didn’t like her,” I said.
Wendy read aloud
This yearbook is dedicated to the memory of
Charles Weaver, and to his generous wife Mary, without whom the publication of
this yearbook would not have been possible.
I remembered the name “Weaver” painted on Mrs. Weaver’s weathered
mailbox. “Is that Crazy Mary?”
“I can’t tell, it’s all scratched out.” Wendy looked closer,
trying to distinguish a face.
“I know who would know.” I jumped up with the book in my hand,
scaring Oreo. “Your mom can tell us.” We raced each other to the kitchen where
Aunt Lori was sitting at the table playing solitaire. Wendy grabbed the book
from me and threw it down on the table, open to the last page.
“Mom, is that Crazy Mary?”
Aunt Lori took the book and looked closer at the photo. “Well, I
suppose it is. You’re father scratched out her photo.”
“I knew it,” I said under my breath.
“Oh my gosh, this brings back memories.” Aunt Lori flipped through
the yearbook and found one of the pages that we had been looking at, the one
with Uncle Butch receiving the dance trophy. “Well, there he is in all his
glory. I believe this might have been your father’s finest moment. He was the
dance champion that year. No one in the school could come close to his
ability.”
“Mom, why did Dad scratch out her photo?”
“I’m getting to it, honey. You see, at the end of every school
year we had a big, and I mean, big dance contest in the spring. Your father was
a sure win since he won the winter contest. Every girl in school wanted to go
with him to the dance. But not just for the glory. There was a two hundred
dollar prize to be won—a contribution from the Weavers. Anyhow, your father was
disqualified.”
“Why?” Wendy asked
“Skipping school. He was caught skipping school by Mrs. Weaver, or
Crazy Mary, as you guys like to call her. I remember it like yesterday. It was
quite a scene. She marched him into the principal’s office, mad as a hornet.
She was banging her fist on the desk, demanding that the principal call the
police.”
“Did he rob her or destroy something on her property?” Wendy
asked.
“Not to my knowledge. I still don’t know what she was so
infuriated about. Your father never told anyone. He just said, ‘That old bat is
crazy.’ I guess that’s how she got her nickname.
“Anyhow, plenty of girls were mad that your father wouldn’t be
dancing. I wasn’t too happy either. We had started going out that year, and I
was expecting to be his date. I would’ve won half of the prize money. Anyway,
the principal said that he preferred to handle the matter within the school,
and he suspended your dad. As the rules go, if you are suspended, you can’t
participate in any school-related activities. Oh, you should have heard your
father throw a fit. I believe by that time the whole school was trying to get a
peek at what was happening in that office. Mrs. Weaver was not too pleased. But
I guess she accepted it, because she turned tail and stomped out of the
building.”
“So that’s why dad hates her,” Wendy said.
“I guess it is,” Aunt Lori said and proceeded to flip through the
pages.
“Lori, what are you girls doing in there? Send someone out with
another beer would you?” Uncle Butch called from outside where he was talking
to Bob. They were sitting at the picnic table.
“You take this and put it back where you
found it.” Aunt Lori handed Wendy the yearbook and resumed with her cards.
She came back with a game I had never played before, Mystery Date.
We spent half the night trying to figure out the rules, but they were just as
confusing as the ones in real life.
Chapter Fifteen
Screened
In
WE WERE ON the porch playing with Oreo when Julie showed up.
“Hi, guys. Got your note.” She was wearing her red one piece
bathing suit with a whistle around her neck and a towel over her shoulder.
I walked over to the screen where she was.
Wendy followed me.
“Hi, Julie.”
“Heard you guys were in jail, had to come by and see for myself.”
She was actually gloating. Seeing Julie out there with her freedom and her
beauty made me ache to be like her, but I knew now that I never would be.
I envied her long-boned confidence. She was all curves and I was
all angles and sharp edges. I would never have the wide-eyed innocence I had
when I arrived. I had finally seen myself through the black eyes of Uncle Butch
and I knew I came from a hard-boiled madness.
“Yeah, we shouldn’t have left the dance early without telling my
parents,” Wendy said.
“How long are you guys locked up?”
“Don’t know,” I said, looking out of the screen that separated us.
I had Oreo in my hands.
“What’s that?”
“It’s my kitten, Oreo.”
“How cute,” Julie said, moving away from the
screen that served as the bars of our jail and sitting on top of the picnic
table. A flash of light sparkled in my eye. Next to her was a patch of dried
blood speckled with fish scales shinning like diamonds in the sunlight. It was
Uncle Butch’s fishy killing ground.
“Where’s everyone else?” Wendy asked.
“Freckles’ dad sent him to military school. He’s training to
become a marine or something like that. His dad really knocked him around. He
had a black eye when he left.”
“That’s too bad,” Wendy said.
With Freckles gone and us being on restriction, we didn’t have the
chance to drink, or smoke, or get into any more trouble, which was fine by me.
I was tired of being in trouble, tired of being grown up.
“What about the others?” I asked, trying not to show too much
enthusiasm.
“You mean Reds, don’t you—you sly fox. And you want to know where
Owl is. Right, Wendy?”
“Yeah,” we echoed.
“I’ll let them know where you are.”
Uncle Butch pulled up in front of the cottage. I didn’t know it
was so late.
He got out of the car and walked over to Julie at the picnic
table.
She stood up and stretched.
“Well, hello, Julie. It’s been a while since you’ve been over
here. This is a nice surprise.”
“Hi, Mr. Morgan. How are you?”
“I’m better now. I didn’t know a pretty girl was in my front yard.
I would have come home sooner.”
“Thanks, Mr. Morgan.” I hated when her voice got all sugary. She
loved attention and loved flirting, but she was flirting with the wrong person
and I had to let her know. I didn’t want her on my conscious too.
“I didn’t know you were a life guard.”
“Yeah.” She fiddled with the whistle hanging around her neck. “I
work at the pool here at camp. It’s a good job. Plus I get to work on my tan.”
Uncle Butch couldn’t stop looking at her whistle.
God. How much longer could I watch this?
“I see you at the dances.”
“I see you too. You and Mrs. Morgan are really
good dancers.”
“Thanks. Save me a dance, next time. I’ll show you some moves.”
I had to stop this. But before I could speak, Wendy spoke up first.
“That reminds me, Dad. Can we go to the dance tomorrow?” Her voice
was louder than it needed to be, but it did the trick. It seemed to break the
spell he seemed to be under. Had she felt the same uncomfortable feeling I had?
He hesitantly peeled his eyes from Julie’s
whistle
and
looked over at us.
“Nope.”
“How about the Fourth of July. Can we go to that dance?” Wendy
asked.
He thought about it for a moment. “I suppose so, if you promise to
be good. I want to be able to see you two young ladies the entire time. Got
it?”
“Yeah, we promise,” Wendy said. Although I was
defeated about Friday, at least we had the Fourth of July to look forward to.
“Well, when you guys get sprung, come over to the pool. I’ll be
life-guarding,” Julie said. “Bye, Mr. Morgan.”
“Bye, Julie. See you around.”
I hope not. For being such a Monster, he sure was good at blending
in and acting normal.
FRIDAY AFTERNOON, WHILE we were scarfing down a peanut butter and
jelly sandwich, Reds and Owl showed up outside the porch.
“Hey, Chris,” Reds said. “Good to see you. I was wondering where
you’ve been. Did you hear about Freckles? He’s in military school.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“How long are you on restriction?” Reds asked. “Do you think
you’ll be at the dance tomorrow?”
I thought I missed Reds, but now as I looked at him, I was kind of
afraid to be around him. I was glad for the company of Wendy, because I didn’t
know how I would feel if it was just the two of us.
“I doubt it. My uncle is still mad at us for disappearing at the
last dance.”
“The bicentennial celebration is coming up soon. Do you think you
guys will be off restriction by then?” He put his hand up to the screen and I
put mine up on top of it.
“I hope so,” I said.
Then he put his lips to the screen. He looked funny, but innocent,
too, so I kissed him back.
I tasted dust. The pressure of his lips on mine felt good. Safe.
But ever since Mount Adams, I wasn’t sure how to feel about Reds.