I think Mary Lane knows how let-down I’m feelin’ because she says very kindly, “C’mon, we gotta go. Time to meet Dad in the parkin’ lot.”
On the ride back home, I’m wondering if Sampson acted cool toward me because he’s living in a much better place than he used to. Sorta the same thing happened when Troo and me went to visit our old Vliet Street friend Louise Greely after she moved to a much bigger house near Enderis Park that had a huge yard and a swing of her own hanging off a tree. We didn’t have much to say to each other anymore either.
Sampson’s snub woulda cut me to the core in the olden days, but for some reason I’m going to have to think long and hard about, when Mr. Lane pulls up in front of our house I notice that my heart isn’t feeling shattered into a million pieces. More like one of its wings fell off.
Chapter Thirty-two
Dave is out on our front porch steps, reading the evening newspaper. He calls out a friendly “Thanks, Phil” to Mr. Lane when he drops us off, but when Troo and me try to scoot past him, Dave sounds more like Joe Friday from
“Girls, wait a minute. I need to talk to you,” he says. When I slow down, Troo pokes me in the back, so Dave follows us into the house, straight through to the kitchen.
I say to Mother, who’s standing in front of the stove, “We’re home.” Whatever she’s cooking is making it stink worse in here than the lions’ den up at the zoo. “Did you get my note?”
Mother says, “It’s about time. Supper’s in ten minutes,” and goes back to stirring.
“What happened to you two last night?” Dave asks, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the counter in front of the sink. “Why didn’t you come over to the park?”
The O’Malley sisters knew he’d ask us this.
Just like we planned it out last night under the sheets, Troo says, “Didn’t Father Mickey tell you this mornin’ after Mass?” Dave almost always attends the eight o’clock. “He kept me later than he usually does and then he couldn’t give us a ride over there because he forgot he had an important meeting, so Sally and me came straight home, took our baths and went to bed.”
I can’t wait to tell him all about the new zoo, but I ask him, “How was the concert?” because that’s the polite thing to do.
Troo grins and says, “Wait, before you go into all that-after we finished up last night, guess what? Father Mickey told me I don’t have to come back anymore. Isn’t that great?!” Instead of being in a freak show or a drummer in Sal Mineo’s band or a professional Kleenex-flower maker, my sister could be a movie actress when she grows up, that’s how easy she can turn the truth off and on. “You’re gonna have to order me a new school uniform, Helen. I did such a good job on my religious instructions that I’m purer than Ivory soap! I’m going back to Mother of Good Hope next month!”
See, that’s Troo genius at work. I never would’ve thought of adding that part.
When they don’t congratulate her, Troo says, “Call Father up and ask him if you don’t believe me.” Both Mother and Dave do look pretty stunned.
Dave says, “I’m afraid that would be… I have some bad news, girls. Father Mickey appears to be missing.”
Troo brings her hands up to her cheeks and says, so concerned, “Oh, no! That’s terrible. Really?”
“Did Father happen to mention who he had that important meeting with last night?” Dave asks.
Troo and me decided that she would be the one to answer any hard questions he had. She is very good under pressure. And even though I haven’t told her that I adore Dave, she knows. She doesn’t trust me not to fall into a heap and confess what we did and she shouldn’t.
“The meeting? Uh… I can’t remember if he… oh, yeah,” Troo says, snapping her fingers. “That’s right. Father told us that he was goin’ to see Mr. Fazio to thank him again for startin’ work on the school.”
Dave is about to ask something else, but Mother says, “Wash your hands and set the table, girls,” and then to her husband-to-be, “Could you join me in the bedroom for a minute?”
They’re gone for a while and come back into the kitchen just as I’m filling the last glass with milk. Mother looks so pretty in her Peter Pan-collar blouse and freshened-up face that I forget and smile.
“What happened to your tooth?” she shouts, taking my chin between her fingers.
“Oh, I… I…”
Troo says, “She broke it on the swings over at the school playground when she was waitin’ for me to finish up with Father Mickey. She should be more careful, shouldn’t she.”
“She certainly should.” Mother is tilting my head this way and that to get a better look. “I’ll make an appointment first thing tomorrow with Dr. Heitz. I’m not sure there’s anything he can do about it, but… oh, damn… the pot’s boiling over,” she says when she hears the lid clatter.
During supper Dave doesn’t talk much except to say, “Please pass the… what is this dish called again, dear?”
Mother says, like it’s the best thing she’s ever made, “Cow tongue in turnip sauce.”
That sorta takes the spunk outta all of us except for Lizzie. But she eats shoes, too.
Neither one of them asks us anything else about Father Mickey. I think they agreed in the bedroom not to talk about it anymore because it’s not suitable supper conversation. They wouldn’t want to scar us for life. Only once does Dave say, like he’s thinking out loud, “I’m going to have to question Tony Fazio first thing tomorrow morning.”
They spend the rest of the supper discussing Dave’s sister, Betsy, and her husband, Richie. Dave helped them move boxes back into their house today. Mother also tells us that she is going to look for a wedding suit like the kind Jackie Kennedy wears with a matching pillbox hat. Of course, her mentioning pills makes me think about Ethel and Mrs. Galecki’s coma. I know I should, but I’m too yellow-bellied to ask what’s going on with them. If it is fatal news, that will be the last straw.
Between going over and over in my mind whether Troo and me have any chance of getting caught burying Father Mickey and my worrying about what’s to become of Ethel, I barely notice how disgusting the food is. Not until Dave throws his napkin down on the table and does a little lying himself. “Delicious as always, dear.”
Mother says, “I’m so glad you like it. I’m thinking of entering it in the cook-off.”
I have to work hard to keep myself from groaning. The cook-off is held during the celebration that marks the end of summer. In two weeks, we’ll have the biggest party we have around here. The neighborhood ladies bring all the food and there is a contest for the best dishes. All I can see is bodies littered all over Vliet Street if Mother serves her cow tongue in turnip sauce to the crowd. We’ll never even make it to the crowning of the queen or hear any good rock ’n’ roll from the Do Wops. I won’t get to dance with Henry. It’s hard to do the box step when you’re throwing up.
When Mother lights her after-dinner cigarette and Troo and me get up to do the dishes, now that supper is over, Detective Dave is free to go back to interrogating us.
He asks my sister, “You sure Father Mickey was still at the rectory last night when you left?”
Thank goodness, I can always count on Troo to cover her tracks, even in an ambush. She scrapes a plate into the garbage and says, “
“Sally?” he asks. “Is that how you remember it, too?”
It’s my turn to wash, so I’m already at the kitchen sink filling it up. I’m so glad that I’ve got my back to him and he can’t see my face or my goose bumps. “Yes, sir.” Most sins are about doing or saying something you’re not supposed to, but there are also sins that are about
