A Thousand Acres_ A Novel - Jane Smiley [134]
At that point, of course, I didn’t know about Harold or the blood alcohol level. I didn’t even know that Pete hadn’t come home the night before, or that he’d done his drinking in Mason City and driven almost thirty-five miles after leaving the bar. I sat at the table. I thought about getting up and going into the living room and looking at the photo on the piano of the old Pete—the young Pete, that is—the lost funny handsome Pete who was the kind of boy mothers are especially fond of, full of tricks and jokes and talents and energy, whose darker side hasn’t shown itself. But I didn’t.
Pammy came out of her room, entirely dressed with her shoes and socks on. She didn’t seem surprised to see me. She sat in her place, took a muffin off the table, and began to butter it. I said, “How’d you sleep?”
She said, “Fine.”
I said, “Your mom should be back in a little while.”
She said, “Okay.”
She said, “Is there any juice?”
“Why don’t you check?”
She got up and opened the refrigerator and took out the juice and the milk. She climbed up on the counter and got out two glasses, then poured a glass of each for herself. She brought them to the table. Time was getting shorter. She said, “It’s supposed to get really hot today, Aunt Ginny. Do you think you might take us swimming? We haven’t been for three days.”
“We’ll see.”
“Doreen Patrick called me yesterday to go, but Mommy said no.”
“Are you and Doreen friends now?”
“I don’t know. She has a boyfriend.”
“Who’s that?
“Joshua Benton. He’s going into ninth, but he drives already.”
“Only to school, right? Doesn’t he have one of those special licenses for kids going to school?”
“Yeah, but he looks older, and his mom lets him drive other times, like to take Doreen places. He took her to the A and W in Zebulon Center last Friday.”
She buttered another muffin. I saw that my fists were clenched. I put them in my lap. Pammy would have said that Pete was her favorite parent, in spite of his temper. She looked something like him, too, though her features weren’t as finely cut as his, and her hair was a different shade. I heard Linda’s feet hit the floor. She came out of her room in her nightgown. She said, “It’s nine o’clock. Where’s my mom?”
“She’ll be back in a little while. Want an apple muffin? I sprinkled cinnamon sugar on the tops.”
“Where’d she go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where’s Daddy?”
“I don’t know.”
“Daddy said he was going to take us to the sale barn today to look at some baby pigs.”
“You can come down to my place and look at all the baby pigs you want to see.”
“Not Yorkshires, Hampshires.”
“Oh.”
“I might have a 4-H project.”
“What about school?”
Pammy said, “We might not go back to school.”
“That would be good.” For a moment, I forgot that things around here wouldn’t be good for some time to come.
Linda said, “I don’t know. I was used to it. The teachers were pretty nice, and we made popcorn in the dorm at night.”
“I want to stay home.” Pammy spoke with authority. Linda looked at her and shrugged, then said, “Can I use your glass?”
“Get your own glass. You know Mommy said that was dirty to use other people’s glasses.”
“Daddy does it.”
“Well, it’s a bad habit.”
Time was getting shorter.
Linda got up to get her own glass. She said, “I want to have a pony for my 4-H project.”
“You know they won’t let you do that.”
“Lori Stanley had a pony. She taught it to pull a cart. She said—”
“Where would you put it?”
“Daddy said maybe we could build it a little stall. He said maybe. He didn’t say no.” She poured herself some of the juice and began to drink it in deep gulps. I said, “Slow down.”
Pammy said, “Maybe means ‘probably not’ with Daddy.”
“Not always.”
“Well, I know I can have a baby pig, and when it’s grown up, I could get three hundred dollars for it.”
I said, “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about things we’re going to get.”
“I’m going to name it Wilbur.”
“That’s a dumb name.”
“It’s from Charlotte’s Web.