Good Graces - Lesley Kagen [108]
Eddie is not here with us because he spends all his time when he’s not working at the cookie factory cruising North Avenue with Melinda Urbanski in his pride and joy—his souped-up Chevy.
Keeping her eyes on the crowd, Troo digs into her food with a lot of gusto. I don’t know how she can. I have no appetite at all.
If I look out at our neighbors sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the table benches, all I see is a flock of bleating lambs that don’t even know they’ve been fleeced.
If I look at the cross high up on the church, I think about how God has let me and everybody else in the neighborhood down.
Positively, I cannot look at Dave, who is next to me at the table with his sleeves rolled up. I know I should say something to him about Troo’s plan, but if I ever tattled on my sister she’d spend the rest of our lives sucking in her breath when she passed me in the hall so her skin didn’t touch mine. She’d treat me forever like I should take the next boat to Molokai, which I gladly would. I’d rather be a leper than not have my sister by my side.
And if I look at Father Mickey, all I can see is exactly what Daddy warned me about. The devil in the details.
“As always, there are a few announcements,” Father says. Our pastor is standing in the middle of everything, turning slowly so all of us can hear what important thing he has to say. He doesn’t have on his regular black dress. He’s being sporty tonight in a short-sleeved black shirt and black pants.
“The Ladies Club has called off its meetings until mid-September,” Father Mickey says, reading from a piece of paper. “Sister Raphael would like to remind all you mothers that school uniforms are available through the J.C. Penney catalog this year.” When he sees what’s next on his list, he puts on a sad face. “Please remember to keep our beloved parishioner, Mrs. Bertha Galecki, in your thoughts and prayers.”
Hearing how concerned he sounds, so caring, so . . . he’s a better actor even than Charlie Fitch. I can barely keep myself from doing the same thing that poor orphan did. I want to grab my sister and run for our lives. We could stop by the Latours’ table and get the address of that family that Charlie went to stay with. Troo and me, we’re farm kids. We know a lot about digging and planting and selling vegetables in a roadside stand, especially corn. We could be a real help.
“And . . . ,” Father Mickey says, brightening back up again, “I’ve saved the best for last.” He points over our heads to the big hole in the ground next to the rectory that’s got the rope around it and the DANGER signs hanging off it. “As a result of your generous contributions and the discounted price we’re receiving from Mr. Fazio’s construction company, I’m happy to announce that bright and early tomorrow morning the foundation will be poured for the new school!”
Everyone just goes nuts, jumping off the benches and slapping each other on their backs. I think because they really are happy that their kids aren’t going to be jammed into the classrooms anymore, but also because they won’t have to drop so much of their paychecks into the collection plate this Sunday.
Somebody yells, “Let’s hear it for Father Mickey,” and starts up, “For he’s a jolly good fellow . . . for he’s a jolly good fellow . . . for . . .”
Next to me, Troo is singing along and just radiating. It’s not the heat tonight that’s making her glow. It’s the revenge plan that’s incubating inside of her, just dying to burst out like an about-to-hatch chick.
She leans over, pinches both of my cheeks and whispers, “You’re looking a little green around the gills. You better go over it all in your head one more time to make sure