The Truth According to Us (44 page)

“I made sure Felix was away before I called.”

“That was smart.”

For a moment, they were silent. Then Sol said, “I'll be right over.”

“You mean
now?”
cried Jottie.

“Well. Yeah.” He hesitated. “Or we could go later if you want.”

Listen to him, changing his ideas to suit her! She laughed. “No. That's all right. That's fine, but listen, Sol, I'll meet you. I'll meet you at the corner of Winchester Avenue and Morgan Street. By Maple Shade. Okay?”

“When?”

She looked at the clock, feeling the exhilarated racing of her heart. It was an adventure, an escape, a getaway. “An hour. I got to get the girls fixed up, and then I'll come.”

She hung up with the sound of his smile in her ear. “Willa?” she began. “Bird?”

I knew it was Mr. McKubin even before she said his name. She was talking softly to him, and she didn't talk that soft in general. And I knew she was going to leave, too, but of course that was because she said about the Horse Show. I wished I could go. I liked to watch the sleek horses thunder round the track and the jockeys in their bright silk clothes.

I went into the hall and leaned against the wall.

Jottie put down the telephone receiver and stood still. Then she whirled around and looked at me. She smiled in an excited kind of way. “Willa, honey, here's a secret, but you got to promise not to tell, not anyone.”

I nodded, and then in case that wasn't enough, I said, “Cross my heart.”

“I'm going to the Horse Show. In Charles Town.”

“Why is it secret?”

She wrinkled her nose at me. “ 'Cause I say so.”

“ 'Cause you're going with Mr. McKubin?”

She raised her eyebrows. “How'd you figure that one out?”

“I heard you call him Sol. That's his name, ain't it?”

“Yes. But don't tell anyone. Not that there's anyone to tell.” She laughed like that was a joke.

I nodded, but inside I was remembering Mrs. Jungle Gardenia at the parade. “Good thing old Felix ain't here.” Jottie thought Father was out. But he was home, and only I knew it.

“Here's what we're going to do, honey,” she said busily, shuffling in the mess drawer for a pencil. “I'm going to write Minerva a note saying I've taken it into my head to drive to Moorefield and see Irene for a little birthday outing, and I want you girls to stay with her while I'm
gone. You and Bird can just walk on over there—can you pack up your toothbrush and your nightgown and Bird's, too, while I get my things? Where is Bird, anyway?” She glanced up.

“Down at the Lloyds'. Can't I come with you? I won't bother you.”

She swooped down and hugged me. “You don't ever bother me, honey. But not this time. Next time, though, for sure. This here is just a jaunt. I'll be back by tomorrow afternoon. When you and I go, we'll stay longer, and we'll bet on every race.” She grabbed up my hand and swung it. “Let's us go pack our cases, and then I'll write to Minerva.”

Suddenly I thought of something. I didn't say it, though. What I said was, “What about Miss Beck?”

“What about her?”

“Well.” I looked as innocent as I knew how. “What about her dinner?”

Jottie gave me the fish-eye. “You're worrying about Miss Beck's dinner?”

“You're supposed to feed her dinner, aren't you?” I said, real prissy. “I'm just trying to keep you out of trouble.”

“Good thing I got you around,” said Jottie, grinning. She reminded me of Father, the way she was fizzing. “I'll leave her a note, too. Will that suit you?”

“I guess,” I said. I was starting to get an idea.

She nodded, not really paying attention, and then she moved toward the stairs, almost dancing.

Slowly, I followed her upstairs and put a few things on my bed. Nightgown, toothbrush, and toothpaste. Jottie whirled in before I was half done and swept all of it into a little case, along with Bird's things. Then she pulled me downstairs. “Now,” she said, handing me an envelope with Minerva written on the front, “when she asks what happened, you just say I got restless and called Irene. Minerva'll never think to telephone long distance. Tell her I said I'd come and get you and Bird tomorrow. Tell her it's a birthday whim.” She looked at me closely. “And don't breathe a word about—Mr. McKubin, all right?”

“I said I wouldn't.”

I watched her set another envelope on the hall table. Layla, this one said.

“You got your locket?” I asked. I wanted to hang on to her skirt, the way I used to.

She turned around and smiled at me. There it was, shining against the front of her dress. “You want to see?” she asked.

I nodded.

She sat down and slid her fingernail between the little doors. They opened, and she held the locket up for me to see. There was Bird with her chin sticking out, and there was me, too. I wasn't smiling. “I love that picture,” she said, tapping my side of the locket.

“How come?”

“Because you look like you're thinking about something interesting. And, I guess, because you look like me, and that makes me proud,” she said. She closed the locket and held out her hand. I took it. “It's lucky I got this locket today,” she said, and stood up. “Whenever I miss you, I can just whip it out and look inside.”

I looked away. “Maybe you won't miss me.”

Her hand held me tight. “I will.”

“You'll come back tomorrow?” My voice wasn't too good. I was used to Father leaving, but not Jottie. It was like the air leaving.

“I promise.”

“You never went away before.”

“I know it. So you have to depend upon my promise. Have I ever broken a promise I made to you?”

I tried to recall. She didn't promise much, except I'd be sorry if I did such and such. So far, she'd been reliable. I shook my head.

“All right, then.” She bent down to look in my eyes. “All right?”

I nodded. I couldn't talk.

“I'm going to go now. You go get Bird and walk over to Minerva's, okay?”

I nodded again.

She put on her hat. Then she kissed me quick and went to the front door with her satchel in her hand. “My God,” she said as the heat
poured over her. “This
day
,
”
she said, but she sounded happy. She smiled at me and then she was gone.

—

My handwriting was pretty, but it didn't look a thing like Jottie's. Jottie's was perfect, except you couldn't read it. She once told me that it was her revenge against a penmanship teacher she'd hated.

I practiced for a long time, making loops and curls like hers and driving sharp, meaningless crosses over the tops of the words the way she did. No matter how I tried, it was still legible, but maybe Minerva wouldn't notice.

I took my things out of the little case, leaving Bird's, and let myself out the front door, closing it carefully behind me to keep out the heat. On the Lloyds' front lawn, Jun and Frank were leaning on their shovels, looking down at what they'd dug. I didn't see Bird anywhere. “Where's Bird?” I called when I got near.

Jun and Frank glanced at me and back to their hole.

“It ain't big enough.” Bird's voice came from the grave.

“But it ain't for you,” said Jun like he'd said it before. “It's for Neddie.”

“I'm your sample. You said I was,” Bird argued. “And I can't even stretch out.”

“It's plenty big for Neddie,” said Frank.

“You need to take out some more up here,” Bird commanded.

“Whyn't you just shut up?” yelled Dex. He was sitting under a tree. He looked about melted.

“Dex,” said Jun. He was the oldest, so he was in charge of their manners, such as they were.

“Bird,” I called. “You got to go to Minerva's house.”

“What?” she yelled. “Why?”

“Jottie and I are going to Moorefield to see Cousin Irene.”

She sat up, her hair matted flat against her head with dirt and sweat. “Moorefield? Today? Why can't I come?”

“ 'Cause last time we went, you said you missed Minerva so much. Jottie thought you'd like to stay at Minerva's better.” I closed my mouth
and waited. This was one of the spots where my plan could smash to smithereens. If Bird got into a snit, I'd have to pretend it was all a joke.

Bird swiveled her head around the edge of the grave. It looked pretty deep to me. Poor Neddie. “Where's Jottie?”

“She went to the United Garage to get some gasoline for the car.” I made that one up on the spot, and I was proud of myself.

Dex flicked a clod of dirt at the grave. It hit Bird on the nose. “Hey!” she yelled.

“You gonna lie down or not?” said Jun.

“Ashes to ashes,” said Frank enthusiastically.

Bird stood up. “I ain't letting the likes of
you
bury
me
in a puny baby grave. You can just stick old Neddie in here and sample it that way.” She flung one leg over the edge of the grave and hauled herself out. I had never seen her dirtier. “I am going to my aunt Minerva's house, who is named after a Greek goddess, so there!”

Dex flicked another clod of dirt at her. I picked up a rock they'd grubbed out and tossed it a little in my hand, looking at him.

“All right, all right,” said Jun, holding out his hands. “It's too hot to fight.”

“Let's turn it into a pool,” said Frank, looking at the hole.

“Small-potatoes pool,” huffed Bird. “Minerva will probably take me swimming in the river, won't she, Willa?”

“Maybe,” I said, taking up her hand. “We'd better get you over there.” We walked slowly, in the shadiest parts of the streets, but each step was like pushing through warm cream. It was the hottest part of the hottest day. I felt a drop on my cheek and looked up, but it wasn't rain. The trees were sweating, too.

I stopped at the corner of Governor Street and pulled my letter out of my pocket. “Here's a letter from Jottie to Minerva. Make sure you give it to her.” I handed her the little case.

Bird tilted her head to one side. She didn't often care to, but when she tried, she could see through me like water. I smiled as blankly as I could. “Whyn't you coming to the door?” she asked.

“Jottie's in a hurry.”

She tilted her head to the other side, her blue eyes so narrow I could hardly see their color. “Huh,” she said.

“Bye,” I said. “See you tomorrow.” I turned and walked away, leaving her to stare at my back. It was another smithereen-smashing place, but nothing happened. I looked back when I got halfway up the block, and Bird was gone. For a second, I fussed because I hadn't actually seen her go into Minerva's house, but then I laughed. Bird wasn't the kind to sneak off. I was.

I slipped in the front door without a sound and took stock. What I really wanted was a bath, but I didn't dare go upstairs. Father was asleep in his room, and Miss Beck could very well be up there, too, writing away at her book. Sometimes she went out to interview folks, but plenty of times she stayed home all day, typing or scribbling notes on her big yellow notepad.

It was a little after three, according to the hall clock, and still as a tomb. For now, my only job was to be quiet. I tiptoed through the front room to the bookcase. They thought they could hide
Gone with the Wind
behind
The Decameron of Boccaccio
, but I was too smart for them. Suddenly it occurred to me that this was an opportunity to broaden my horizons, and I plucked out
The Beautiful and Damned
, which I wasn't even supposed to touch. Also
Private Worlds
, which Jottie said would give me nightmares, and
Crime and Punishment
, which she said I might as well hit myself over the head with as read. That's what you get for leaving, I told her silently. I walked without a sound like an Indian brave to the front parlor. I had noticed, that morning, that if you sat behind the door but left it half open, you could see right smack into the front hall. The wood of the floor was cool, even if it was hard. I opened
The Beautiful and Damned
.

I was on
this page
when the clock struck five. I couldn't see why they
were damned, unless it was because Anthony Patch made nasty remarks about his grandfather. Or maybe it was the cocktails. Still, I liked it. I liked it that they all seemed so desperate.

A few minutes later, Father came down the stairs, patting himself on the face the way he did when he'd just shaved. “Hey!” he called, as he reached the front hall. “Jottie. I'm home!”

Of course I didn't answer. Nobody did.

He mumbled something—or maybe he was humming, I don't know—and looked at himself in the mirror for a moment. “Jesus,” he muttered. Then he saw the envelope marked Layla. After a second, he slit it open with his finger and read it. Then he laughed. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding the note in his hand. “Layla!” he called. “You up there?”

A door opened upstairs. Good thing I hadn't taken a bath. “I'm here,” she called. “Is that you, Felix?”

“Yeah, come on down a minute,” he said. I could see him smile, standing there at the bottom of the stairs, looking up. I knew it was her he was smiling at, even though I couldn't see her.

“You're home,” she said.

“Uh-huh.” He waved Jottie's note at her. “Got some terrible news here, honey.”

“Oh?” She sounded worried. “Oh, dear.”

“Just terrible. Jottie's gone to Moorefield for the night. The girls are staying over at Minerva's house. Mae's at the farm.” He got closer to the stairs. “It's just you and me.”

I saw her hand on the banister. “Oh, that's terrible,” she said. I could hear her smile. “Just you and me?”

“Come down here,” he said.

She did what he said, and then I could see both of them. She laughed and then she stepped up against him and lifted her face to his. “That's terrible,” she repeated. I felt a little sick. I hadn't really thought this part out.

He kissed her. “We might starve to death,” he said. Then he tipped back her chin and kissed her neck.

She shook her head. “I can make toast.”

He laughed. “That's breakfast food. We've got the whole night to get through.”

She blushed.

“Mmm, you're pretty when you do that,” he said. He was so happy. He pulled her close and kissed her again. Then he leaned away and said, “Hey. I got an idea. Are you hot?”

“Of course I am. Roasting.”

“Let's you and me go swimming.”

“Oh, Felix, where? I'd kill to be cool for just one minute.”

“You would, would you? I know a nice place on the river. Got some shade trees, too.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingertips. “How 'bout that?”

She nodded. “I'll run get my swimsuit.”

“No,” he said.

She laughed. “It's a pretty snappy swimsuit. You'll like it.”

“No, I won't,” he said. I hid my eyes then. I didn't want to see what they were doing. After some time passed, he sighed. “Sure you want to go?”

“Yes. Please. It's so hot.”

“All right, honey. Go get your snappy swimsuit, and I'll run around and get the car.” He kept his car in the alley behind our house. He started off, but she didn't let go of his hand. He glanced up at her, his face a question. “What?”

“I'm glad you're back,” she said.

He smiled. “Me too.”

She skipped up the stairs and he watched her go. Then he turned on his heel and went out the front door without making a sound, the way he did.

Then I went back to being alone.

—

I took a bath. I could have read
The Beautiful and Damned
in the tub if I had wanted to, but I didn't. I just sat and looked at my legs. They stretched almost the length of the bathtub now. I could lean back
against one end and stuff my washrag into the faucet with my toe at the other. When I scootched down, I had to bend my knees. There was no one to tell me not to get my hair wet, and it bobbled in the water against my neck.

It was impossible to know if what I thought was the truth. I thought Father would never choose Miss Beck instead of us. I thought she had bewitched him, made him not himself. I thought if I could recall him, show him the light, he'd thank me. But I wasn't sure. In books, even in books like
The Beautiful and Damned
, things were connected; people did something and then something else happened because of that. I could understand them. But outside, here in the real world, things seemed to happen for no reason that I could see. Maybe there was no reason. Maybe people just drifted here and there, aimless and silly. But no, people had been thrown out of the Garden of Eden for
knowing
, so there must be something to know, reasons, all the time and everywhere, for the way they behaved. Reasons I couldn't see yet, no matter how hard I tried. I had always hoped that Jottie would call me into her room and tell me the secret, the thing I needed to know to understand why people did the things they did. So far, she hadn't. When she called me into her room to explain where babies came from, I thought I was about to get wind of something good, but I was disappointed. What I wanted was bigger, a giant blanket that would hold the world. I had become ferocious and devoted so I could learn the secret truths, but I still didn't know them. Did Father love Miss Beck? More than he loved me? I couldn't understand why, I couldn't understand how, I couldn't understand if. It seemed so hard that I had to work out the answers on my own, but that's what I had to do. I had to keep at it, finding out, guessing what would happen next, fighting for the right ending, trying to save them all.

I didn't know how long Father and Miss Beck were going to be gone, so I got out of the tub and even dried it with my towel in case they checked. That was pretty clever of me, I thought. I was feeling kind of hungry by then, so I went to see what I could rustle up in the kitchen. If they appeared suddenly, I could slip down the cellar stairs. They
didn't, and I ate some tomatoes and bread and butter, carefully wiping up my crumbs. I washed my milk glass and plate and put them away. Even Mr. Sherlock Holmes would be hard-pressed to find evidence of my existence. Frank and Joe Hardy would be stumped, too, but they stumped easy.

There was still plenty of light to read by in the parlor. I got a pillow to sit on and picked up my book. I couldn't believe how much fuss that Anthony Patch made about kissing Gloria in a taxicab. You should come around here, I told him. You'd go out of your mind.

—

It was almost dark when they came in; there was only a thin band of hot orange on the very edge of the world. I had gotten tired and was sort of stretched out on the floor. I was still behind the door, but they could have seen my foot if they'd looked toward the parlor. Which they didn't.

“You sure you're not hungry?” Father was saying as they walked in.

“Not a bit. I ate all that ice cream.” I thought of the ice cream we were supposed to have for Jottie's birthday.

“Wasn't much.”

“It was plenty.”

“You want some coffee?” I could see him but not Miss Beck. He looked cool and clean.

“No.”

“Want anything?”

I could hear her breathe. “You,” she said, real low. He stepped away, toward her, where I couldn't see, but I don't think I would have wanted to anyway. I had thought that I would stop them, but I didn't. I didn't jump out and I didn't frighten her away. I didn't do any of the things I'd planned. I curled up and let my tears drip sideways over my nose and onto the pillow beneath my head. I did that without making a sound.

After a while, she said his name and he said, “Upstairs, all right?”

I could hear the stairs creak as they went, and then she sort of laughed and said, “Whose room?”

Father said, “I'm not doing it in Emmett's bed. Come on.”

“Is that whose room I've got?” Her voice faded. “Emmett's?”

“Shh,” Father said.

It was quiet a second and then she gasped.

Father laughed.

Charles Town was bustling with jockeys, breeders, and racegoers. The track had closed at five-thirty, but that seemed only to spur the crowds to new heights of gaiety. They surged out of the clubhouse and descended upon the quiet streets to celebrate their wins, their places, and their shows, or, failing that, their prospects for tomorrow. Now, at eight o'clock, the orange sky was paling to blue, and the sidewalks were thronged with hoarse, ebullient men and ladies who'd been in the heat too long.

Sol stopped before a restaurant. “I'll just check,” he said, ignoring the pack of humans within.