Good Graces - Lesley Kagen [34]
“Oh, for chrissakes.” Mrs. Callahan throws up her hands. “The kid’s not responsible for her sister, isn’t that right, Sally?”
“I . . . I . . .” Don’t agree with her. And neither did Daddy.
“I am my brother’s keeper,” Mrs. Kenfield says, holding her teeth closed so tight that I can’t believe the words got through them. “I believe the Lord would have the same apply to sisters.”
“Oh, you do, do you? You got a direct line to Him now?” Aunt Betty says, losing her cool. “Outta anybody in the neighborhood . . . you should know ya can’t take heat for whatever foolishness somebody in your family is doin’, Joyce. Get off your sanctimonious horse. You used to be the life of the party. When’d ya get that goddamn stick up your butt?”
Not waiting to hear Mrs. Kenfield’s answer, which I was interested in because I would like to avoid that sort of thing happening to me, Mrs. Callahan spins toward me and says, “I’ll tell ya what I’m gonna do, Sally. I’m gonna give you an advance on your baby-sittin’ money and a few pennies more for what I lost to Troo playing rummy a coupla nights ago.” She snaps open her shiny black pocketbook. On the bottom, I can see the peppermint schnapps she keeps in there. She tells people it’s just to freshen her breath. She sets the bottle carefully on the top of the candy counter, slips out her coin purse, which is one of the leather ones Troo made at camp, and slaps down two quarters. Looking her right in the eye, Aunt Betty flicks them with her pointy red fingernail too hard toward Mrs. Kenfield, who doesn’t put up her hands to block them. The coins go tumbling down to the floor. One of them rolls away for a long, long time. “And that should cover whatever Troo took.” Aunt Betty sets her jaw the same jutting way my sister does when she won’t back down, and starts unscrewing the schnapps cap. After she’s taken three deep swallows, she dabs at her mouth and giggles. “Care for a nip, Joycie?” she says, thrusting the bottle across the counter. Mrs. Kenfield’s arm stays as frozen in place as her face, which looks like an ice-skating rink, cold and flat like that. “Not right now? Well, maybe you’d like to take some home to holier-than-thou Chuck. I’m sure he’d have no problem finishin’ it off.”
It goes midnight-in-a-cemetery quiet. The parakeets stop chirping and even the corn has stopped popping. All I want to do is get out of there and catch up with Troo and be on our merry way, but then I remember why I got sent up here in the first place. Mother’ll blame a flight of imagination if I forget to pick up her afternoon “nummy,” which she takes very seriously and goes even grumpier without. I’ve had my fill of cod liver oil this week.
“I . . . I’m sorry . . . Mrs. Kenfield . . . I . . . ah . . . forget something.” She doesn’t notice that I’m talking to her so I reach up to tap her on the shoulder, but then I’m not sure that’s a good idea, so I ring the bell next to the cash register instead. “I’ll take one of Mother’s usual please, if you don’t mind and that’s all right with Mother’s usual please, if you don’t mind and that’s all right with you.”
The owner of the Five and Dime doesn’t take her eyes off Mrs. Callahan when she grabs the candy out of the case and pitches the Snirkle at me.
“Thank you, Mrs. Kenfield. You, too, Aunt Betty,” I say, fast as I can. “If I don’t see her first, tell Nell we’ll be there next Friday night to sit for the baby. I hope you have a nice time eatin’ and dancin’ with Detective Riordan,” and then I scramble out of the store.
Heading back down North Avenue toward Troo, who I can see a few blocks down bouncing her ball again, I’m feeling sorry for Mrs. Kenfield. First she had problems with her daughter and then her husband starts falling down a lot and now she’s gotta run the Five and Dime looking like a rag picker with a stick up her butt.
I guess, just like Granny says, when it rains, it pours.
Mrs. Kenfield really could use an umbrella.
Chapter Ten
It’s not just Troo and me, all the kids who go to Mother