“Or it could mean they’re separated and are still trying to work things out,” Phoebe said.
“Or it could mean they’re married, and he’s going to pick her up at the airport,” I said. “No matter how you slice it, it’s not good.”
“You’re right, Violet,” Phoebe said. “You thought he had a secret, and he does.”
I should have felt triumphant, but to tell the truth, I felt kind of glum. What would it do to my mom to find out that Dudley was just one more jerk to add to the jerk pile?
We reached Jean-Paul’s street and stood for a moment on the sidewalk in the drizzle.
“What are you going to do?” asked Jean-Paul.
Phoebe and I looked at each other. “Well, he is coming for dinner tonight,” I said.
“Careful,” Phoebe cautioned. “Remember Jonathan.”
“Jonathan got what he deserved.”
“All I’m saying is, don’t make a scene,” Phoebe said. “Be a little more subtle.”
I nodded. “I can do subtle.”
Three hours later, our house started to fill up with guests. The first person to arrive was The Wiener. He was wearing his hideous mallard sweater again.
He handed my mom a bottle of wine. “Homemade,” he said, like this was a good thing. Then he handed Rosie and me small bottles of pink stuff. “It’s peppermint foot cream,” he told us. “You’d be a heel not to like it.”
Mom laughed. “Dudley, you’re such a goof.”
I tossed my cream onto the hall table.
“Violet, aren’t you going to introduce Phoebe?” Mom asked.
“Oh. Sure. This is Phoebe, my best friend,” I said, indicating Phoebe, who was standing in the entranceway to the living room.
“Pleased to meet you,” Phoebe said.
Dudley shook her hand. “You look familiar,” he said to her. “You were in my shop today, weren’t you? Skip to My Loo? On Main?”
Mom shot Phoebe and me a look.
“I was studying today,” Phoebe lied. “Perhaps it was my evil twin.”
The doorbell rang again, saving us from further questions. Cathy and Günter stood on the front porch. “The bell’s working,” Cathy exclaimed as they entered. Behind them, Amanda and Cosmo were making their way up the walk. They were holding hands and giggling, not looking at all like a couple who were having problems. Karen tottered in on her high heels a moment later.
The front hall was filled with bodies as people took off their coats and handed over food and bottles of wine. Mom introduced everyone to Dudley, and they all tried to look like they weren’t checking him out in a big way. I could see beads of sweat forming on his freckled forehead, and, for a moment, I almost felt sorry for him.
Until I remembered his wife.
“Hey, Violet,” Karen said as we made our way into the living room, “do you know a girl named Ashley Anderson?”
Phoebe and I shared a look. “She’s a girl in my class. Why?”
“I had a friend request from her on Facebook. We have one friend in common, and it’s you.”
Ew. There was something creepy about knowing that Ashley had viewed my friends list. And why would she try to “friend” one of them – someone she didn’t even know? “You didn’t friend her back.”
“Sure I did.”
“But you don’t even know her!”
“So? I broke the three hundred mark. Now my goal is four hundred friends! Besides, what harm can it do?”
I shook my head. Karen was an idiot. But on the other hand, she had a point: What harm could it do?
After the adults had a predinner drink, Dudley helped Mom add the leaves to the dining table. Phoebe, Rosie, and I brought up extra folding chairs from the basement. Soon we were all sitting around the table eating my mom’s roasted lemon chicken, along with Amanda’s Caesar salad, Günter’s roasted vegetables, and Karen’s store-bought bread. The adults, minus Cosmo, drank a lot of wine. Phoebe and I kept kicking each other under the table as we watched one of Cosmo’s tattoos move on his biceps while he ate.
“Ingrid, this chicken is poultry in motion,” Dudley said.
A few of the adults groaned. See? I wanted to shout. This is what I’ve had to put up with!
“Dudley’s a bit of a punster,” my mom said.
“Lettuce not forget Amanda’s salad,” said Cosmo with a grin.
“And the roasted vegetables are parsnip-ularly delicious,” Cathy added. “I yam very impressed.”
Traitors, I thought.
Cosmo started tapping the side of his water glass. “Since we’re all gathered here tonight, Amanda and I have some news.” The table went quiet. “I’ve asked Amanda to marry me.”
“And I’ve said yes,” Amanda said.
The room burst into spontaneous applause. Rosie leapt up and crawled onto Amanda’s lap and kissed her cheeks, then she kissed Cosmo’s cheeks, too, and everyone laughed.
I was so happy, I felt tears spring to my eyes. Then just as quickly, I was hit by a wave of anxiety. What if it didn’t work out?
“Ingrid, I’d like you to be my maid of honor.”
“Absolutely.”
“Karen, would you be one of my bridesmaids?”
Karen shrugged. “Story of my life. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.” Then she grabbed Amanda’s hand. “I’d love to.”
“Who’s going to be your best man?” Phoebe asked Cosmo.
“A kid named Ambrose. He’s my downstairs neighbor, and he’s the reason Amanda and I met each other.”
“You know how I told you Cosmo canceled a date on me recently? He was picking out a ring with his mother,” Amanda said. “And those times when it seemed like he wanted to tell me something –”
“I was getting up the nerve to propose. I was terrified you’d say no,” he said.
Karen sighed heavily and knocked back the rest of her wine. “Where can I find a guy like you, Cosmo? Or like you, Dudley, or you, Günter?”
“Not at the clubs you hang out at, that’s for sure,” said Mom, and everyone laughed, even Karen.
I couldn’t take my eyes off Amanda and Cosmo. They looked so unbelievably happy, it made my heart hurt. And then I remembered that Mom and Dad had probably looked that happy, too, when they’d decided to tie the knot.
“Kind of funny when you think about it,” I heard myself saying. “You two are getting married; my mom was married; and Dudley is married.”
Dead silence. Phoebe kicked my shin under the table. Hard.
“What on earth are you talking about?” my mom said.
My body was shaking, but I could hardly stop now. “A friend of mine just happened to be in your store today,” I said, looking directly at Dudley, “and he overheard you on the phone. You said you were going to visit your wife tomorrow.”
Dudley put down his fork. My mom put her head in her hands.
“Violet,” my mom said, “I’m going with Dudley tomorrow. And I’ve gone with him before.”
My head was spinning. “You’ve met his wife? You’re having an affair with a married man? Didn’t you learn your lesson with Larry the Unibrow?”
“My wife is dead, Violet,” Dudley said quietly. “I go to visit her gravesite once a month.”
Oh.
Amanda finally broke the silence. “I’m so sorry, Dudley.”
“Yeah, man, that’s rough,” Cosmo added.
“Do you mind telling us …?” Karen began.
“Not at all. It was ovarian cancer. She died five years ago.”
Rosie climbed off Amanda’s lap and hurried around the table to crawl onto Dudley’s. “That’s sad,” she said to him, as she gently stroked his cheek.
“Yes, it is,” he replied, and he looked like he was going to cry. My mom laid her hand on his shoulder. “She was a knitter too, you know,” he said to Amanda. “She knit almost all my sweaters, including the one I’m wearing. It’s my favorite.”
Great.
No one glanced my way, except for Phoebe, who
sat on my left. “Smooth. Like butter,” she murmured.
I waited for my mom to shout at me or send me to my room. But she didn’t. She didn’t even look at me. “But back to the good news. I’d like to raise a toast to Amanda and Cosmo. You make a wonderful couple, and I wish you great happiness together.” She raised her wineglass.
“Cheers!” everyone shouted.
I just sat very still in my chair. When people stood up to clear away dishes, I slipped upstairs to my room.
I half-expected my mom to follow me and give me a big lecture, but she didn’t. No one came up, except for Phoebe. She knocked on my door a few minutes later and handed me a piece of cake. “That was your idea of subtle?”
I just dipped my finger into the icing.
Phoebe sat across from me on Rosie’s bed. “Violet, I have to say something, and you’re probably not going to like it.”
“Then don’t say it.”
“You want your mom to be happy, right?”
“Duh.”
“So, maybe Dudley makes her happy. I mean, now that I’ve seen him and your mom together … he’s not a bad guy. He’s easygoing. He’s funny in a dorky, old-fashioned kind of way. And he’s almost cute, if you look at him in the right light –”
I slammed my hands over my ears. “La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la!”
Phoebe stared at me till I stopped. “Very mature. I’m just giving it to you straight, Violet.”
“Well, don’t.” I could feel tears well up in my eyes. “You’re supposed to be my best friend.”
“I am your best friend. Would you rather I be like Lauren and just say whatever you want to hear?”
“Right now, yes! Your parents are together. They’re happy. You have no idea what it’s like.”
“I do know what it’s like. I hear it from you every day!”
“Well, I’m sorry to bore you. I won’t anymore.”
“Now you’re being an idiot.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Violet –”
“Seriously. Get out.”
Phoebe stared at me for a moment. Then she marched out of my room and slammed the door.
I had never fought with Phoebe before.
After she left, I locked myself in the upstairs bathroom and rearranged all the items under the sink, from largest to smallest. Then I rearranged them again, from smallest to largest. Then I cried a little. Then I went back to my bedroom and crawled into bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
— 18 —
All was quiet when I woke up the next morning at ten. Rosie wasn’t in her bed. Eventually I forced myself to get up and tiptoed down to the kitchen.
The house was empty. For a moment I was filled with panic, and a pile of irrational thoughts raced through my head: Aliens had taken Mom and Rosie in the middle of the night; Dudley was really a mass murderer, who’d killed them and stuffed the bodies somewhere; or, and in some ways this was the worst thought of all, they’d just got so fed up with me that they’d packed their bags and left to build a new life somewhere else.
Before I could get to a full-on panic, I found the note on the kitchen table.
Gone to cemetery with Rosie and Dudley.
Might check out some yard sales afterward.
Back later this aft. I have my cell. Love, Mom.
The word “love” filled me with relief.
I ate a bowl of cereal, then I rearranged all the food in the cupboards according to food group. Afterward I went upstairs and washed my hair, twice.
I didn’t know what to do with myself. Normally I’d call Phoebe, and we’d rehash the evening in minute detail, but for the first time in seven years, we weren’t speaking.
I spent the afternoon in my bedroom, reading The Pigman and eating beef jerky from an enormous Costco bag.
I heard a car pull up around three. I didn’t have to look out the window to know it was the Rust Bucket, since the muffler was still broken and you could hear it coming from a mile away.
I braced myself for a lecture. Sure enough, two minutes later there was a knock on my door. I didn’t answer. Eventually the door opened, like I knew it would.
But it wasn’t Mom. It was Dudley.
“Can I come in?”
No. “Free country,” I said.
Dudley perched on Rosie’s bed. He had to duck so his head wouldn’t hit the sloped ceiling. “I just want to say, I’m not angry about last night. Or about the fact that you’ve been spying on me. I knew I’d seen your friend Phoebe before.”
Silence.
“Your mom, on the other hand … she’s pretty upset. So I asked her if I could speak to you instead.” He clasped his hands together. “I rather admire you, Violet. I know you’re just trying to protect your mom and your sister. But I also want you to know, I really care about Ingrid. And as long as she’ll have me, I plan on sticking around. So I’m hoping you and I can call a truce.”
He held out his hand. It took me a moment to realize he was waiting for me to shake it.
I picked up my Magic 8 Ball instead and gave it a good shake.
“Don’t count on it.”
His shoulders drooped. He stood up, forgetting about the sloped ceiling, hit his head, and left.
I didn’t want to go downstairs, so for the rest of the afternoon and evening I survived on beef jerky and tap water, and the combo gave me wickedly smelly farts.
When I heard Mom climbing the stairs with Rosie to put her to bed, I flipped off my light and pretended to be asleep.
“She’s not really asleep,” I heard Rosie whisper. “She’s pretending.”
“It’s a good thing,” my mom replied, not making any attempt to whisper, “because if she was awake, I’d have to kill her.”
Nice.
“Not really though, right, Mommy?”
“Right.” I heard her give Rosie a kiss. “Good night, Rosie.”
Then, to my surprise, I felt her lips on my forehead, too.
“Good night, Violet.”
— 19 —
Rosie was very pleased with herself as we walked to school on Monday. “My pull-ups were dry again this morning! That’s three mornings in a row.”
“That’s great, Rosie,” I mumbled.
We were walking past Phoebe’s house. “Aren’t we gonna pick her up?” asked Rosie.
“Not today.”
“Daddy called yesterday morning,” Rosie said. “He told me he could still get us plane tickets for March Break. All you need to do is say sorry.”
I didn’t answer.
Once I’d dropped Rosie at kindergarten, I made my way slowly up the stairs. Jean-Paul was at his locker. I stopped at the water fountain and had a drink, trying to focus my thoughts. The Sadie Hawkins Dance was only two nights away. And Phoebe was right: I did want to go with him, no matter how much I denied it.
“Hey, Pamplemousse.”
I jumped up, almost losing a tooth on the fountain.
“How did things go on Saturday night?”
“Terrible,” I confessed. “Dudley’s wife died a few years ago. He was going to visit her at the cemetery.”
He frowned. “That’s awful. I never would have thought of that.”
“Me, neither.”
We didn’t say anything for a moment. And then, in what seemed to be the story of my life, I just blurted it out. “The Sadie Hawkins thingy this Wednesday, I thought – maybe – if you aren’t busy – we could go. Together.”
The words seemed to hang in the air between us.
“Wow,” he said finally. “The thing is … Ashley called me last night and invited me. I thought – I mean, I didn’t think you were going to – I said yes.”
Oh.
“Sorry, Pamplemousse.”
I tried to smile. “Hey, no biggie. I didn’t really want to go, anyway. I hate dances. Oh, is that the time? I’d better run.”
I fled toward the classroom. Oh, well, I thought, at least the day can’t get any worse.
I wa
s so, so wrong.
——
As I neared our class, I heard laughter, which was unusual. Normally there was nothing to laugh about at school on a Monday morning.
A bunch of kids were gathered around our sole computer terminal at the back of the class. Ashley was in the middle, showing them something on the screen.
“Oh my God!” I heard one girl say.
“Ouch,” said Claudia.
Lauren turned away from the computer screen for a moment. Our eyes met. She smirked and tapped Ashley on the shoulder. Ashley turned around.
“Violet, you poor thing!” Ashley said, her voice dripping with false concern. “Have you seen these photos on Facebook? Your mom’s friend Karen posted them on the weekend.”
It felt like I was walking in slow motion as I made my way toward the computer.
I looked at the screen.
The photos were almost a year old. In one, Mom and Karen were in crop-tops, their midriffs showing, drinking shooters. In another, they were drinking more shooters, and two guys had their arms around them. I recognized the guy who had his arm around my mom. It was Carl, the alcoholic.
But the worst photo showed my mom bending over Carl to kiss him. The top of her red thong underwear was clearly visible in her low-cut jeans.
I felt like I was underwater. I could see my classmates’ faces – some laughing, some feeling sorry for me – but I couldn’t hear anything. Jean-Paul stood near the doorway. Phoebe was nowhere to be seen.
I turned back and looked at Ashley. Suddenly I crashed to the surface again and could hear her shrieking with laughter. “You poor thing, Violet! I mean, irregardless of these photos –”
“Regardless,” I said quietly.
“What?”
“It’s regardless. Irregardless doesn’t make sense. It’s a double negative,” I said, louder this time. “Anyone with half a brain knows that.”
Her features hardened. “Irregardless of those photos, Pancake,” she said, her voice like ice, “your mom is a total skank.”
I had never swung a punch before in my life. But I guess there’s a first time for everything.
— 20 —
FOR THE RECORD: I did not mean to break Thing One’s nose.
Dear George Clooney Page 10
