All Good Children - Catherine Austen [87]
Back at home, my dad is sitting at the kitchen table.
“Told you I was top of my class,” Celeste says.
Dallas smiles. He beams. He radiates joy that pierces through all the makeup Celeste has packed on his face.
I can barely speak I’m so impressed. “I can’t recognize you.”
“That’s the idea.”
“How’d you get so blond?”
“It’s a wig,” Celeste says. “A woman’s wig, but I cut it into shape. Do you like it?”
“Yeah. I should have gone to you for haircuts all these years.”
“He’s right, Celeste,” Dallas says. “You could have been doing us regularly.”
“That’s just damaged now that you’re middle-aged,” I tell him.
“Keep it down,” Mom calls from the living room.
“Ally’s upset,” Dallas whispers.
“You have to work on your voice,” I tell him. “You sound too young.”
“My daughter’s confused by my return to life,” he says, deep and smiling.
I can’t smile back. I should be happy because this plan is sure to work, but it saddens me to see my father at the table. I want to tell him what I’ve been up to for the past three years.
Mom comes in and kisses my cheek. “You’ll get used to it.” She stares at the face of her dead husband and sighs. “Well, no you won’t. Just get your bags.”
“What’s with Ally?” I ask, peeking into the living room.
“Is she asleep?”
“Just resting.”
“Your mom had to give her a sedative,” Celeste whispers.
“She freaked out when she saw her dad. I don’t know why— you said it was her Christmas wish to be with him one more time, right?”
“Right,” I say. “That’s why we’re doing it.” I wish we could tell Celeste the truth, but it’s better this way. If the police interview her, she might say we played a sadistic prank on my sister, but at least she won’t say where we’ve gone.
“She doesn’t seem happy about it,” Celeste says. “Maybe I should take it off and try again Christmas morning.”
“No!” I shout with Mom and Dallas.
“It’s the best present we can give her,” Mom says. “Besides, we’ll be in Atlanta on Christmas morning.”
My eyes return to Dallas. My father smiles at me. I shudder. “Are we ready?”
He pulls a stained towel from his shirt collar, brushes off his hands, rises tall and pale beside my mother.
“You look forty years old,” I tell him.
“Forty-six,” he says. “I like to keep fit.”
“Was Dad really this tall?”
“Almost,” Mom says.
“Why am I so short?”
Dallas laughs. “You got my artistic genes, son.”
“Let’s go,” Mom says. “Thank you, Celeste. Thank you so much.” She practically pushes Celeste out the door. She checks that our passports, ids, immunization records and birth certificates are in her handbag. She keeps her money and the jewelry Dallas stole from his brother in a suitcase with files of papers for Rebecca. “Get rid of your RIG,” she tells Dallas. “We all should.”
I groan and fret. “Can’t we just take the batteries out?”
We all stare at our RIGs with no idea how they work.
“I’ll ask Xavier,” I say.
“I’m throwing mine out,” Dallas says. “But first I have to write my father and tell him I’m headed for Dallas.”
“I thought you were going to California,” I say.
“No. That coast is toast and zombies don’t aspire to acting careers. I’ll fulfill my destiny in Dallas.”
“Because of your name?”
“It’s something a zombie would do, don’t you think?”
“They do whatever they’re told.”
He shrugs. “Mr. Graham said, ‘Go home, Dallas.’ I could have misheard.”
“We’re supposed to be zombies, man. Not morons.”
“Have you got a better idea?”
I admit that I don’t.
I head down the hallway. “I need to say goodbye to Xavier,” I tell Celeste. Xavier sits at his white desk, fingering his projection and muttering. “He’s doing really well,” Celeste tells me. “He’ll be ready for school in January.”
I nod. “I’m sure he’ll be fine eventually.”
That’s what Mom says about everything now: It’ll be fine eventually. She has nightmares about the kids in detention that day she gave the shots. She says Tyler is haunting her, and I think she’s right. That’s what I’d do if I were him.
“Xavier?” I say. “Can you help me with something?”
He stiffens and turns to me, annoyed. He’s still shockingly handsome