“Yeah, I know.” At least not since we had been at camp as far as I knew, but our room was beginning to smell a little funky. I flopped his bedroll onto the rack. “Just make sure you use tissue and not your finger, okay? Or else Skippy’s mom won’t invite you back.”
He tugged a wad of toilet paper from his pocket.
“Good.” I fastened the strap. “You know Dad’s coming up to camp tomorrow?”
He shrugged. “Yeah?”
“Just thought you might miss him.”
He shrugged again. “So?”
“I’m just saying, is all.” I tucked his overnight bag into the front basket. “C’mon. Let’s get going.”
He mounted his bike, wobbled over to the road and took a left turn. A few feet down the road at the bend, he waited until I caught up.
“Keep riding,” I said. “You have a quarter-mile stretch ahead. Skippy’s house is before the next turn. You know their car, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll keep walking till you get there.”
As soon as Frankie skid to a halt at Skip’s driveway, he waved. One less complication to my day, and for the next two days.
The rest of the afternoon would have gone pretty well if at 3:30 I hadn’t gone into the house for a snack. Avoiding the last can of Spam, I smeared some Marshmallow Fluff on a slice of bread and was about to take it outside, when Mom came out of her room. I cringed as I looked up, expecting the worst.
She smiled. Now her hair, even though greasy looking, lay flat and smooth under her headband. She hummed her way over to the sink as if she had been behaving as normal as ever for the last three days.
She poured a glass of plain lemonade and asked, “Where’s your sister?”
“She went for a bike ride.”
“Well, would you please go find her and tell her it’s time to come and help with supper?”
Supper? Now we were going to eat supper together? “What are we having?”
“Oh, never you mind,” she said, chipper as could be. “Just go get your sister.”
I stared at her for a moment as she continued smiling, her bright pink lipstick a little off its mark. She smoothed her hair.
“Okay, Mom. But it might take a little while to catch up with her.”
“That’s fine, Benjie. Now run along.”
I stepped outside, taking a bite of my sandwich and scratching my head. Maybe Mom wanted me out of the house so she could spike her lemonade. Without my bike, the three-quarter-mile walk to the beach would take forever, but at least I might see Amelia or Sunshine at Whispering Narrows.
On my way downhill, I thought about tonight, about me and Amelia on the island. About what a great time it was going to be. The closer I came to Doc’s place, the more my imaginings turned into cautious glances and hoping the Mercedes—Ricky—had not yet arrived. To my relief, only the Jag and Lenny’s ride sat in the driveway. Candace came from a door beside the garage, carrying a couple sleeping bags. When she saw me, she waved. I guessed she was packing up for the big love-fest.
Now that I was in the clear, I started a slow run for the beach. I barely had a chance to work up a sweat before a car came up from behind. I recognized the sound of the black Eldorado I had met up with a few weeks ago. Its grill and hood came into view, and then the whitewalls. It slowed as the automatic window rolled down.
Swerving Irving leaned over the passenger seat. “Hey! How ya’ doin’, kid?”
I paused and bent to look in. Candy-red interior. “Good, Mr. Irving.”
“Just plain Irving,” he corrected as his cigarette smoldered. “Hey, where’s your bike today?”
“It had an accident.”
“Oh, that’s a real shame—she was a cherry.” He took a drag off his cigarette.
“Yeah. I can probably fix it when I get home.”
“Where ya’ headed?”
“Down to the beach.”
“Well, I’m going right past there,” he said in a puff of smoke. “Why don’t you hop in and I’ll give you a lift.”
The door swung open.
“Sure. Thanks, Irving.” I climbed in, scooting onto the seat. “Wow.” The dashboard looked like the Cessna control panel. “This is really boss.”
“You like Caddies, do ya’?”
“Yes, sir.” I chuckled. “Right now, I like pretty much anything mechanical, but this is sweet.” I stroked the red leather.
He smiled, a gold tooth glinting. “A clever boy like you will have cars like this and better when you grow up, I bet.”
“I wish.”
“What’cha gotta do is stay away from fast women and vices—” he nodded at the cigarette butt he held up, and then flicked it out his window. “They’ll squander your money faster than anything.”
“Yes, sir.”
In a few seconds, he pulled up and stopped beside the beach parking lot. “Well, here we are.”
“Thanks.” I let myself out, shut the door, and leaned back in. “I appreciate the ride.”
“No problem.” He put the car in gear and then paused. “Oh, hey, when’s your dad coming up again?”
“Actually, he’s coming tomorrow afternoon. You should stop by.”
“I just might do that!” He smiled and then drove away.
If I hadn’t been so taken with the Cadillac emblem centered on the broad rear trunk between two slender vertical taillights, I would have noticed the Mercedes, sooner.
Chapter 30
Beside my half-eaten sandwich, the small jar of Marshmallow Fluff remains unopened. On an impulse, I unscrew the red top and give it a quick whiff. After the visceral reaction I had to Spam, I would have thought the sweetness of Fluff might smell good, at least benign. Instead, the mingling aromas turn my stomach. Now the mere sight of the blue and white label makes me queasy. I tighten the lid back on and set the container in the sink.
I turn to my memorabilia sprawled across the table. An unused carnival ticket, a heap of papers, a radio, a faded old Polaroid—and a card. While I’m tempted to spread out my bedding here on the floor and rest my eyes and maybe doze, I reach for Sunshine’s note, instead.
… I hope Penny is doing better ….
I stroke the painted daisy. How had I, in the course of a few weeks, lost my sister? Not only had I lost track of her, but I think she lost track of her, too. I got my first real sense of that on the night of the carnival and over the course of the next few days, but it really struck me that afternoon when I went to look for her at the beach, after my ride in the Eldorado.
A lot of things seemed off that day; Mom’s mood, and even Frankie’s—the fact that he was staying over at Skip’s when he knew Dad was coming up. Then there was my ride in the Eldorado—I mean, it wasn’t as if Irving had tried anything weird, but now that I thought about having climbed in a car with a virtual stranger—it creeped me out. What if he had been a molester? And to top it off, some other guy sat in Percy’s lifeguard stand. Maybe Percy had quit and planned to go off to Woodstock with Candace and Lenny.
Worse still, when I looked for Penny’s bike on the rack in front of the split-rail fence, it wasn’t there. The only other bike rack sat far across the lot, over in front of the spooky picnic area. Sure enough, her blue Schwinn stood alone—but for a silver Mercedes.
Penny had always said that creeps hung out over there—pervs. I guess she was right; not that my sister was a perv, but sitting right next to her was Ricky. As far as I could tell, neither of them had noticed me yet. Ricky lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and then passed it to Penny. I had seen enough of those cigarettes—joints—to recognize how they differed from Pall Malls or Marlboros. People who smoked joints didn’t wedge it between their fingers, waving it around nonchalantly as they talked, but they always pinched it with its glowing end hidden in their palm. Until that day, I had assumed only hippies smoked weed.
I walked closer to the picnic-area bike rack, hoping Penny would spot me sooner than later, but she had her back to me as she fa
ced Ricky. It was he who spotted me first. I forced myself to keep moving ahead, though I didn’t know what I would do if I ended up standing right in front of them. Ricky stared at me, took another long suck, passed the joint to Penny and exhaled as she looked over her shoulder at me. I stopped walking and waited. She took another puff and said a few words to Ricky before she stood. She smiled as she made her way past the divider fence toward me as I neared the bike stand.
She folded her arms, standing in front of me with a condescending tilt to her head. “What, Ben?”
“Mom wants you home to help with supper.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am serious.”
She glanced over her shoulder and back to me. “Just tell her I’m not hungry.”
“You tell her you’re not hungry.”
She waited a few seconds as if hoping I would reconsider. When I didn’t, her tone changed from flippant to concerned. “Is she out of her room?”
“Yes. And she’s acting weirder than usual.”
She clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. “Hitting the bottle again.”
“I don’t know, Penny. She hasn’t even put away the last bottle she bought. I think you should come home. She’s going to be really upset if you don’t.”
“Fine,” she sighed, more sympathetic than irritated. “Wait here a sec.”
I had a good mind to start walking but I wanted to make sure she would follow through. Ricky remained sitting on the tabletop as she walked over and stood before him, swaying as she talked. He said a few words. She giggled. He said something else and then she leaned forward and kissed him. I wanted to barf. How could my sister like him, let alone kiss him?
As she strode over to the bike rack, he smirked at me, licking his lips. Now I really wanted to puke.
Penny yanked her bike from the slot and mounted it. “Do you want a ride on my handle bars?”
“Yeah, right,” I said with disgust.
“Suit yourself.” She flung her hair back and took off. I followed, glancing behind at Ricky who hadn’t taken his eyes off me. I picked up my pace; the last thing I needed to top off my afternoon was another run-in with the Mercedes.
I lost track of Penny as she cycled her way around a bend where the road forked at the gigantic boulder. I needed to do something about Penny and Ricky. I had to convince her of how evil he was. My anxiety drove me forward. I picked up my pace and started to jog, but by the time I reached the sign, Swaying Pines—Private Drive, I was winded. Up the road, Whispering Narrows’ roof poked above distant treetops, but Penny had disappeared. Perhaps she had already made it to camp. As I reached the first stone pillar marking Doc’s driveway, I heard girls’ voices, but not until I approached the second pillar did I see Penny behind it. She straddled her bike, gripping the handlebar as she talked with Candace.
“Okay, bye,” Penny smiled and waved as she pulled away, “Have fun!”
I caught up to her and asked, “What was that about?”
Penny came off her bike to walk it up the hill.
“Oh, Candace just wanted to apologize about the thing with Percy. She really feels bad that I might have gotten my feelings hurt.” She sighed, short of breath as the incline steepened. “I told her I was over it.”
Should I try to say something about Ricky? About how she needed to get over him, too? I was just about to open my mouth when she cut in. “Candace really is pretty nice.”
“Yeah,” I said. Although I didn’t consider Candace a good influence, I was more concerned about Ricky.
“She even invited me to go along with them tomorrow morning, if I wanted.”
“To the music thing?”
“Yeah.” She let out another sigh, dreamily rolling her eyes, clear to the back of her head. “Oh, how I wish I could.”
“Yeah, well, you can’t.”
“As if I didn’t know.”
I kicked a stone in our path. “So do you still want to be a hippie or do you want to be with Ricky?”
“What are you even talking about?”
“Ricky hates hippies.”
She huffed. “He does not. He has never said an unkind word about anyone. And he’s never been anything less than a gentleman with me.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
She quit walking and stared me down. “Ben. You are obviously too young to understand these things, and I know it’s hard to see your sister spending time with someone besides you … but that’s part of growing up. You’ll get over it.”
“I’m already over it,” I said as we walked the rest of the way in silence. How did she always manage to turn everything around and make me seem like the immature jerk who didn’t understand the grown-up world?
When we reached the dooryard, she leaned her bike against a tree near the cottage and asked, “What’s for supper, anyway?”
“Beats me,” I said with attitude. “The cabinets are getting pretty bare. I think there’s only a can of Spam and some other crap.”
She stepped onto the front stoop. “Great. Hopefully Dad will pick up some groceries on his way up tomorrow afternoon.”
She pushed through the front door and I followed.
“Hello, children,” Mom sang out, swooping around the table, laying down plate after plate—four in all. She looked like some TV commercial set to music, except for her smeared lipstick. Penny glanced at me. I shrugged.
“What do you want help with, Mom?” Penny stood over the sink, washing her hands as I went to the bathroom.
“Nothing dear. It’s all ready.”
I listened for conversation as I took care of business and then washed my hands. I heard only the sound of chairs dragging the floor as they took their seats. When I stepped out, Mom sat in her usual place with her back to me. Penny’s shoulders stiffened, her eyes wide and mouth agape as she looked at me. I glanced at Mom as I sat, and then noticed what lay on my plate.
“Oh, dear—we forgot to call Frankie in for supper. Would you mind, Benjie?”
My stomach tightened. “Mom, Frankie’s at Skippy’s. Remember?”
Mom twitched. “Of course I remember. He’s staying for two nights. Just slipped my mind.”
Penny stared at her plate, and then both of us warily set our sights on Mom. She picked up two slabs of Spam, sliced like bread and stacked, with Marshmallow Fluff oozing from between them. Holding it like a sandwich, she took a big bite and chewed.
With her mouth full, she said, “Mmmm. Eat up, children,” dipping the Spamwich into her glass of lemonade—like a cookie into milk. Her cheeks bulged as she crammed another bite. Marshmallow syrup seeped from the corner of her mouth. She wiped her chin with the back of her hand.
Penny pushed away from the table, wide eyes filled with horror. “I’m not hungry, Mom.”
A wave of nausea turned my stomach. “Me neither.” I barely made it to the bathroom in time.
Chapter 31
All at once, my stomach contracts. I toss the card aside and fling the front door open, pushing through the screen just in time to grab the stoop railing and throw up into the bushes. Rain dripping from the overhang wets the back of my neck. The sight of my mother returns in flashes. With each image, I puke again. Oh God, how did I bury that memory for so long? Combining the sweet, salty, and sour, of Fluff, Spam, and lemonade was revolting enough, but the notion that its abnormality did not register with Mom—that she had checked-out—horrified me. At that moment, I knew my mother had lost it.
Now that I understand the term Borderline Personality Disorder, I can, in hindsight, see the signs, but for the most part, I didn’t pick up on her textbook behaviors as they were occurring; they were simply part of our life. Just the same, I had always suspected our home life wasn’t normal. I gathered that much from hanging out with my friends. Their mothers weren’t moody and didn’t have hairy fits. Then again, Mom usually managed to behave normally in front of my friends, and so I assumed that behind the scenes, their mothers probably behaved badl
y, also. Normal became a relative concept.
The clinical descriptions of Borderline Personality Disorder also cite binge spending and abandonment issues. Sure, there were money disputes that often flared when Mom came home with new shoes and purses … and there was that fur coat that Dad made her return, the cruise she booked on a whim and had to cancel, not to mention the constant redecorating, including new furniture. But there was always food on the table and a roof overhead, so why would I question the family finances? Besides, I think both Mom and Dad competed for the Poor Money Management Award.
As for abandonment issues—who wouldn’t feel abandoned if they had been left up in the boonies with three kids for the entire summer? That aside, Mom never talked much about her childhood. Most of what I know—about her growing up in the Dust Bowl during the depression and being passed around to abusive relatives—I learned from Mom’s sister. But even Aunt Wanda didn’t like to talk about their miserable childhood.
And then there’s a more prominent manifestation of a borderline personality: Promiscuity. I hate to say it about my own mother, but I do believe she slept around. From the parental arguments I had overheard, and my own speculations, I think there were reasons why Dad wanted her up in the sticks, away from her social element. Dad had quit paying for the tennis lessons, and he never liked the milkman or the mailman or the grocer or any other young and good-looking fellow around town. I guess Dad figured that the hick locals like old Earl Garver or even Doc were not her type.
I had always found Mom’s flirting embarrassing and hypocritical, especially given the fuss she made about Penny’s decorum. I suppose Mom was also the queen of subterfuge. What’s the saying—“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”?
Looking back on it, there were a lot of symptoms that fit Mom, but none of that matters at this point. The proof of Mom’s illness sat in the dayroom at Pleasant Meadows up until last year. Now she’s out of her misery, resting in an urn, buried at Birch Acres cemetery.
If I understand Mom’s diagnosis correctly, the actual psychotic break didn’t occur until after the Spam episode. And given the final events of that pivotal week, it’s no wonder I recall the milestones and blocked out some of the ‘minor’ events.
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