What I Saw and How I Lied

by Judy Blundell

  “I thought you might be spies,” I said.

  She grunted a laugh. “Maybe we were.”

  “Why does he want to get away?” I asked.

  She didn’t say anything for a minute. She noticed the cut on my forehead. “What happened to you?”

  “I ran into something tonight,” I said.

  “Do you know what Yom Kippur is?” she asked, and after I shook my head, she said, “It’s a holy day for us, the Day of Atonement. Tom was 4-F, but the war left its mark on him, too. On Yom Kippur last year, he just…went to the movies. He wouldn’t stay with us. He said it standing in his mother’s living room. ‘Atone?’ he said. ‘For what he did, God should atone to me.’ You should have seen his mother’s face. Poor Elsa.”

  “What did God do to him?”

  “Killed his cousins,” she said. “Samuel was like a brother to him. Sam’s wife, Nadia. And Irene, their daughter. She was just your age. She had your same birthday, October thirty-first.”

  “What happened to them? To Irene?” I pronounced it like she had—Ee-wren. So much prettier that way. And I could see her, this girl I didn’t know. Not her face, but her. I could see her lying on a bed on her stomach, her ankles crossed, listening to the radio. Just a girl like me.

  “We tried to get them out, all of them. We didn’t know what happened to them until after the war. A family friend contacted us, someone who made it through the camps, who knew what happened.”

  A girl with my birthday died in the camps. A girl I didn’t know. I could see her on the bed, swinging her feet to a tune on the radio. I couldn’t see her taken away. I couldn’t see what happened after that. I knew about the camps, but I hadn’t really thought about them. I’d seen the articles, but we’d had so much of war. I hadn’t wanted to think about it after it was over, after all the men were coming home. I hadn’t wanted to listen to the whispers about Ruthie Kalman’s cousins. I didn’t want any more of the war. I was sick of the war. I had wanted to listen to Joe saying, It’s over, over there, and here is where it’s happening now.

  “So where will you go?” I asked.

  “Home. We’re going to drive home.”

  “I don’t understand any of it,” I said. “Why they won’t let you stay. Why any of this can happen. I mean, we just fought a whole war.”

  “It wasn’t about the Jews, kiddo,” Arlene said softly.

  “Joe is so angry. He says he’s going to talk to the manager in the morning—”

  “Sure. That’s swell. But he’s staying, right? He’s not checking out.”

  I was quiet. The idea of checking out hadn’t occurred to him. Or Mom. Or me.

  “I’m glad you saw it, Evie,” she said. “It’s a good thing for someone like you to see.”

  “Why? I hated seeing it! It made me sick!”

  “That’s exactly why. Do me a favor?” She gave me a piece of paper, folded twice. It was a letter written on the back of a page torn from a calendar. Because I bet they wouldn’t even use the hotel stationery now. “Give this to Joe. It’s from Tom.”

  “What does it say?”

  “What Joe already knows. Tom’s pulling out of the deal. We have to go home now.” She smiled and leaned over to kiss me. “It was nice getting to know you a little bit, Evie Spooner.”

  Our faces were very close. “You be careful now,” she whispered. “Or better yet, go home. It’s time for us all to just go home.”

  Chapter 22

  In the morning Joe got up and left early. I heard the door click shut, and it was just beginning to get light. I heard a car engine start through the open window. After another minute or so, Mom crawled in bed with me.

  She didn’t say anything. She pulled me to her and kissed my temple, right in her secret spot. Then she held me, my head on her shoulder. We just lay like that, not talking.

  Then finally she spoke. “One thing I was always happy about, Evie. I was happy you grew up plain, all knees and elbows. You weren’t some curly-headed doll. It meant you’d use your brain. And you did. I wanted to keep you that way for as long as I could. When you started getting pretty, I didn’t want you to know it. I was just watching out for you, you see, the best I could. You’ve got to understand something. Mothers don’t want their kids to make their mistakes.”

  “Your mistake was what? Being pretty?”

  “Maybe liking it a little too much. And finding myself in trouble.”

  In trouble. I didn’t get it at first. I thought maybe she was talking about detention at school.

  “You mean…you were pregnant when you got married?”

  She nodded. “I thought you figured that out a long time ago.”

  Who, me? Sister Mary Evelyn?

  “Your father had to marry me. Uncle Bill made him. Oh, I don’t know, I guess he loved me, in his way. But I loved him different. I loved him like a fever. Then he left. He kicked through love like it was dust and he kept on walking. So I had to raise you alone—and let me tell you, it wasn’t easy. Because I was pretty. I had a kid and no husband, and people’s minds get dirty. The men look and the women talk and it doesn’t matter how straight a line you walk. It makes you so…tired.”

  Before Joe, if she had a date, she said good night with the door open. She’d never let them in. She had some boyfriends, but nothing took. “One louse after another,” Mom used to say. “I’m being choosy this time.”

  I had always loved my neighborhood. I loved that I knew all the shop owners, that Mr. Gardella in the candy store would toss me penny candy if my pockets were empty, that if Mr. Lanigan was heading home and had change in his pocket he’d buy me an egg cream. Beverly Plunkett’s kid got egg creams and candy, and I always thought it was because I didn’t have a father. Or was it because they liked looking at my mom?

  “Joe was a good bet for us, sweetie. I saw it right away. I thought, here is a place to rest. Make a real life. Pot roast and potatoes, church on Sundays.”

  “Did you ever love Joe?” I asked.

  “Sure, baby,” Mom said. “But not as much as you did.”

  Joe came back, and we all went down to breakfast, like usual. We sat at the table we always sat at. It was almost like being a family. Except for the no talking part.

  Joe’s coffee cup rattled in its saucer. The lifeguard fished Mrs. Grayson’s cigarette out of the pool. A breeze ruffled the palm trees and the napkins on the tables.

  I tried to remember what it had felt like before we left. The steamy kitchen, both of us on Joe’s lap, him offering the trip, the sense that the road was right outside the door and he would take us on it and it would be adventure and fun and everything he promised.

  The letter sat in the pocket of my skirt. Some of the ink had run, but you could still read it.

  Sorry to pull out like this. Look me up in New York.

  Maybe we can get something going in a place

  we know something about.

  At the bottom was the name of the hotel, the Metropole, and an address on West Forty-eighth Street. If I gave it to Joe, I knew what would happen: We’d be packing up the car that morning, following the money. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to find a way to make it all work. I had to get around Joe and Mom and show Peter that I was the one for him. He’d known it last night, even if it was just for a second.

  I had to fix Mom and Joe. I’d done it before. The fights they’d had, even before they married, I could always fix them. Everybody had to go to the places they belonged.

  I knew that last night Peter had come close to telling me he loved me. I could feel it in the way he’d said Okay, baby, we’ll stop. I saw it in his face when he protected me from Mom.

  Joe noticed the small cut on my head.

  “What happened to you?”

  “Bumped it.”

  Mom met my eyes over the coffee cup.

  The door to the courtyard opened, and Peter walked in. He was exactly the last person I expected to see. I stood up. I thought, right then, that he’d come to see me.
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  He said hello and held out my chair again, then pulled up one for himself. He raised a hand to the waiter for coffee. His hair was brushed straight off his forehead, his pale blue shirt open at the neck.

  He seemed completely relaxed as he added cream to his coffee. “Good morning, all,” he said. “I came to say good-bye to the Graysons, but Wally tells me they checked out. I think it’s time I took off, too.”

  Mom slipped her dark glasses out of her purse and put them on.

  “Tom told me I should look them up in New York,” Peter said. He took a sip of coffee. “Now that I’ve got old times to talk about with them.”

  What had happened? Peter was leaving? I tried to figure this out.

  Was he threatening Joe? Even though he said things so nice and easy. Old times—did that mean he’d spill the beans to the Graysons? For what? Spite?

  Or was it absolution?

  Was it because of what I’d told him last night?

  Did that mean it was my fault if Joe lost the deal, if Peter went away?

  I needed more time with Peter. If he told the Graysons, Joe would never let him in the door again. There had to be another way to make things right.

  We had to leave today, too. I could figure things out on the way up to New York.

  I reached into the pocket of my skirt and took out the letter. “Oh, Dad, I forgot to give you this. Mrs. Grayson gave it to me.”

  “You forgot?” Joe grabbed the letter from me and read it quickly. “Well, there you go. That Grayson is a stand-up guy. We can still make a deal somehow.”

  “That’s good, Joe,” Peter said. He leaned back in his chair. “I’ll tell him you said that when I see him. I’m taking off right after breakfast.”

  “We should all go home,” I said. “Right, Joe?”

  “What?” Joe said. “And miss the fishing trip?”

  Peter’s surprise made him jerk slightly back in his chair, like he was the fish on a line.

  “Joe?” Mom said.

  “I already talked to the kitchen—they made a hamper, chicken sandwiches.”

  “But the Graysons are gone,” Mom said.

  “So? We’re going to pass up a trip because of that? After all, Pete is leaving. We don’t want to leave without a fishing trip.”

  “No, thanks,” Peter said. “I’m all gassed up and ready to go.”

  “You’re not still sore about last night, are you, buddy?” Joe asked. “You’re not the type to hold a grudge, are you? I was a little tight. I’m laying off the Scotch from now on, let me tell you.”

  “I’m not going,” Mom said. “I have a headache.”

  “It’s a nice breezy day. We’ll have a ball. Won’t we, Pete? You’re the sailor, am I right?”

  Peter didn’t say anything. It was the first time I’d ever seen him look unsure.

  “Come on, it’s all arranged. I talked to Wally—his dad has a boat for hire. I’ll drive us down to the dock.”

  “Joe—”

  “No wet blankets allowed,” Joe said, cutting Mom off. She clammed up.

  I waited to see if Joe wanted me to come, too. I saw that he was in charge. Everyone was a little afraid of him, a little afraid of his mood. Even Peter.

  “Evie can stay here, do her homework,” Joe said. “Just us three today.”

  “All right, Joe,” Peter said slowly. “If that’s the way you want it. I’m game.”

  We all drove down to the dock together, even though it was within walking distance. The wind was stronger now, ruffling the gray water in the lake. It didn’t seem to be the best day to take out a boat. I noticed that men were tying up their boats, not taking them out. Joe stopped at a dock with a sign. CAPTAIN SANDY, BOAT FOR HIRE. It was a white boat with a small cabin. A compact man in a cap was coiling rope on the deck.

  “Permission to come aboard, captain,” Joe said.

  “I don’t know about this,” the man said. His legs were planted wide on the deck as the boat rolled. He tipped his chin toward a flag on a flagpole. “Small craft warnings. The harbormaster wants us to stay in port. Sorry Wally sent you down here for nothing.”

  “I’m not asking for a rowboat,” Joe said. “Just your pretty little cruiser there.”

  Wally’s dad shook his head. He had a big face with gray stubble, and his gaze was clear as he sized us up. I couldn’t see Wally in him at all. “Find another boat.”

  “Come on, chum, we only want it for a couple of hours, tops. Give us a break, we’re leaving tomorrow. Wally said you’d be glad to do it.” Joe reached into his pants pocket and took out a bill. I couldn’t see how much it was. He slipped it into the guy’s shirt pocket.

  “You know anything about boats?” Wally’s dad asked.

  “I do,” Peter said. “I can handle her fine.”

  “We’ll be back by two, three at the latest,” Joe said.

  “Maybe sooner,” Mom said.

  “Stay in the lake,” Wally’s dad said. “The inlets out to the ocean can get tricky in weather like this. Don’t try it.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it,” Joe said. He reached into his back pocket for his wallet as the captain began to load the boat with some fishing gear.

  Mom looked out at the water. “I don’t know about this, Joe,” she said.

  “We’ll have a ball,” Joe said. “Here, Captain Sandy, let me give you a hand.”

  “It will be okay,” Peter said to Mom. “I grew up around boats. It’s not bad yet. We won’t stay out long.”

  Mom looked seasick, and she was still standing on the dock. “It’s better not to argue with Joe,” she said, not so much to him, but to me.

  Looking out at the whitecaps, I was suddenly scared. “Don’t go,” I said.

  “It’s going to be okay, pussycat,” Peter assured me. “Trust me. This could be just what we all need.”

  I looked into his eyes. Maybe he was right. Maybe he could win Joe over, or they could make a different kind of deal. Maybe he could show Mom that she could trust him. Maybe they could come back a little more friendly than they were right now.

  The three of them went aboard. Joe first, Mom next, settling herself nervously in a chair at the back. Peter got the bowline and jumped aboard. He saluted me.

  He lifted a hand in good-bye. “We’ll be back, Evie!” he shouted. “We’ll be back!”

  Chapter 23

  “Big storm coming,” Wally said.

  I stared at the pool. I wished he’d go away.

  “Hurricane. They’re thinking it might hit us. Or maybe south of here. Miami if we’re lucky.”

  It was hard to believe. The wind had picked up, but there was blue sky overhead.

  “Did your folks take out my dad’s boat?”

  I nodded. “Just for a couple of hours, though. They’ll be back.”

  “So you’re on your own for a while. I just got off.”

  He had brown eyes and was tanned, with freckles across his nose. He needed a haircut. His chest was slender, his skinny legs ending in large sneakered feet. I wondered if I could ever be interested in boys again.

  But, as Joe sometimes said about women, the basic equipment was there, even if Wally didn’t know what to do with it. Was there something I could learn from him, something I could take back to Peter, that knowledge I’d almost gotten last night?

  I saw wanting in Wally’s eyes. Now I could recognize it as easy as Margie waving at me across Hillside Avenue. What would happen if I got hold of that want and rode it like a raft to see where it could take me? Joe had left me behind like a kid. I didn’t want to be a kid.

  Anger built up behind my eyes. I kept thinking of Peter’s kiss, so long and deep. What happened after the kiss? Sure, I knew the birds and the bees, but I needed more. I needed practice.

  “Do you want to go for a walk?” Wally asked. “Look at the surf?”

  I nodded.

  No one was on the beach. The wind sent the sand stinging against our legs. The green water was pounding the shore. We walked past wh
ere the hotels were, back where the shuttered mansions faced the sea from behind the dunes. Wally picked a spot between two high dunes, a place where we’d be sheltered.

  “What will happen if the hurricane comes here?” I asked.

  “Depends. If it’s a big one, they’ll evacuate the island. They take people to the courthouse over in West Palm. I’ve been through hurricanes before—it’s not too bad.”

  “You’re just being brave. Boys are braver than girls.” I said this without shame. I looked up at him sideways and saw him swallow. Be dumb! Margie always scolded me. It works!

  I trailed a finger in the sand. “We’re probably leaving soon.”

  “Yeah? That’s too bad.”

  “I know. I wanted to get to know you better.”

  “You did? You always seemed to be chasing me off.”

  “I don’t know. I guess I was shy.”

  I waited for him to kiss me then. I had Joe’s impatient voice in my head: Let’s get this show on the road.

  But Wally just cleared his throat and looked out at the ocean. So I gave up and kissed him instead. Right on the cheek. He turned and our noses bumped. Then he planted one on me, right on the mouth.

  The sand scratched my legs and I could feel it blowing against my back. We ground our mouths together until my teeth hurt. I put my hand experimentally on his leg, and I felt him shudder. We kept up the kissing until the boredom got to me and I started thinking about how his knee was grinding against mine. I wanted to tear my mouth away and scream.

  But something was happening to Wally. He was breathing hard through his nose. I could smell him now, all sweat and a little bit of salt and maybe the hair tonic that kept his hair so wet. I started to wonder if Forney the manager kept a bottle of it behind the desk for himself and the bellboys, a snort of Vitalis instead of whiskey every couple of hours.

  He put his hand on my chest and squeezed.

  This was where I was supposed to stop him, but I didn’t. I wanted to know.

  I felt a surge of the power my mother had. I could see that Wally wasn’t thinking anymore. He was heading straight for what he wanted with a determination that was out of his control, a train jumping the tracks and never losing speed.