Good Graces - Lesley Kagen [99]
After Mr. Gary shuffles and deals and we get our cards straight, he draws the Milking Maid out of my hand with one of his beautiful ones that God musta given to him to make up for his ears, which are only somewhat smaller than Dumbo’s.
He says, “I understand you were the belle of the ball at the Fourth of July party this year, Troo.”
My sister, who is next to him on the little wicker couch in her baby doll pajamas, says, “See?” and points down to her neck. She’s wearing her blue ribbons that she never takes off even when she’s in the tub. “And that’s not all.” She brought over her trophy that she won at camp for being so talented. Troo lifts it out of the shopping bag and sets it down. She spent an hour yesterday trying to clean off the green color it’s turning, which didn’t work, so now it looks like a lucky tomahawk instead of a golden one.
Mr. Gary wolf whistles, picks up the trophy and lets his hand drop almost to the floor. He’s pretending it’s too heavy for him. At least I think he is. He takes his tortoiseshell glasses from his shirt pocket and reads the writing stuck to the side. “First place . . . Heap Big Talent Show . . . Camp Towering Pines 1960.”
“And I’m going to be Queen of the Playground this year, too, right, Sal?”
When I say, “Saaaright,” just like Senor Wences on the Ed Sullivan Show, that makes Mr. Gary crack up, which was exactly what I was trying to do. His face is longer than it usually is. I’ve already given him plenty of lanyards, so the next time I come over here I’m going to give him one of those leather coin purses I made at camp and a matching one to take back to Father Jim. Because they’re going steady, they should match. Those purses could be the silver lining of the dark cloud that’s hanging over him.
Mr. Gary says, “Ethel tells me there’s going to be a wedding in September. You must be so excited. Helen will make a lovely bride. She’s got such beautiful coloring.” He went to high school with her so he’s known Mother for a long time. They weren’t friends because he wasn’t popular like her. Mother told me Mr. Gary was kind of a twerp. “I always liked Dave. Great basketball player. He was smart, too, and kind. Different from the other boys.” He plucks a card outta Troo’s hand, but winks at me. “You know what they say, Sally, the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”
I want to ask him to tell me more about Dave, but Troo says, “My turn,” and changes the subject because she still is not thrilled about the wedding, but most of all because the sun isn’t shining unless it’s on her.
“How’s your mother feelin’?” I ask. That’s the same thing everybody always asked us when our mother was in the hospital, even more often than they do now.
“Mom . . . she’s . . .” When Mr. Gary leans forward with his elbows on the knees of his nice slacks, I can see all his cards, which I will try not to use against him. “Do you understand what’s going on, girls?”
I take a sip of milk out of my favorite lilac metal glass that Ethel so thoughtfully also left out on the counter next to the brownies and say, “The only thing we know is what Dave told us.”
“Your mother’s in a comma,” Troo says. I don’t want to embarrass her and Mr. Gary must not either because neither one of us corrects