Telling

by Marilyn Reynolds

  I smiled back. It was our first smile of the day. But hearing Daddy talk like that made me wish I could be a baby again. I told him so.

  “Yeah, I know. Sometimes I think it would be easier to be a kid again, too. But we’ve all got to grow up. It would be turning our backs on the gift of life not to grow up, or not to stay grown up once we get there. That’s not for us, Cassie.”

  “Daddy?”

  “Yes, Cassie?”

  “I’m glad you know.”

  “I wish it had been sooner,” he said. “That’s something else I thought about all last night. I don’t think parents should have to be mind readers, but I sure should have picked up on your clues.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Well, like why were you suddenly wearing that jacket, zipped up all the way to the top, no matter how hot it was outside? And why were you suddenly so reluctant to babysit? And why were you, who had always been Miss Independence personified, all of a sudden dependent on Lisa? There were lots of hints that things weren’t quite right with you, and I didn’t even ask. I was so caught up in my own little world, work mostly, that I was not being much of a father. I was not remembering any of my promises to that precious gift of life. I think that’s what’s happening with Mom, too. I know she loves you. We’ve all got to work on this together.”

  “But Mom’s so hard to talk to. And she’s always bossing me around. And I really do think she likes Robbie and Lisa better than me.”

  “Maybe it seems that way, Cassie. But I know she loves you a lot.”

  “She sure doesn’t act like it,” I said. I was almost crying again.

  “You’ll see. Give her a chance. She feels as badly about all of this as I do. We talked for a long time last night.”

  I didn’t say anything. I felt sorry about the things I’d said to my mom. But even though we’d sort of made up last night, I wasn’t sure things were really okay with her.

  “Are you hungry, Cassie?” Daddy asked. “I am, and I’m tired, too. Let’s go get some breakfast.”

  I stood up. My legs were practically asleep from sitting there so long. We must have been there for about two hours on the same bench. Daddy looked at me and laughed. “As usual, you look a mess after hanging around this planter.”

  He picked me up and put me over his shoulder and started walking to the men’s room. Just as we got to the door he put me down, laughing. I noticed he didn’t look so fresh and neat himself. He looked tired, and older than I usually thought of him as being. His face was still kind of puffy. I put my arms around him.

  “You really are the best father I could ever have,” I told him. He just held me for a long time.

  When I came out of the restroom, we both looked a lot better. It had been a hard, hard morning, but I somehow felt lighter and fresher, younger maybe, than I had since the whole Fred Sloane thing had begun. I knew there were more hard times ahead with Mom, and then what about the next time Angie called for a babysitter? But I believed my dad, that things would somehow be okay.

  Chapter

  9

  When I saw all that food lined up in the cafeteria, I realized I was starving. I started loading up my tray ― jello salad, potato salad, spaghetti with meatballs. I wasn’t even thinking, just taking whatever looked good to me. I was reach­ing for a baked potato when Dad said, “Remember, your favorite dessert awaits you at the end of the line.”

  I left the baked potato.

  “You can always come back for more if you’re still hun­gry after you’ve finished that 18,000 calorie meal.”

  I smiled at him. I felt closer to him than I had for a long time. I didn’t even mind hearing the same old “You can al­ways come back for more” talk.

  The food was great. And I did go back for a baked potato, with lots of butter. And I ate it all. There’s nothing like about thirty-six hours without food to make everything taste totally delicious. I probably could have even eaten a helping of Mom’s yucky chicken enchilada casserole.

  “I talked with Robbie this morning, before I came to drag you out of bed,” Daddy said, as I took my last bite of chocolate cake. “I asked him if Fred ever touched him in private places, or in ways he didn’t like.”

  “What did he say?” I asked, feeling the cake go dry in my mouth.

  “Well, I asked him a lot of specific questions, and I’m convinced that Fred wasn’t messing with Robbie.”

  I felt another of those heavy, invisible layers of fear floating away.

  “I think we should call the police and tell them what’s been going on,” Daddy said.

  The layer of fear hovered then, near me, but it was noth­ing like before.

  We got home about 12:30. Mom and Robbie were at the breakfast bar eating tuna sandwiches.

  “Want some?” Mom asked as we walked in.

  “No thanks,” Dad said, laughing. “Cassie and I just ate. And ate. And then Cassie ate some more.”

  “Oh, good. I’m glad you’ve got your appetite back,” Mom said, smiling at me.

  Daddy looked at Robbie, who had a pitted olive over each finger, and said to Mom, “Let’s talk some, after Robbie goes outside.”

  Robbie began to eat the olives, very slowly, starting with the one on his pinky finger, left hand, and then taking one from his right hand pinky.

  “Hurry up, Robbie,” Dad said, “so you can go play.”

  “I don’t want to play,” Robbie said, through his mouthful of olives.

  “Oh, come on, Robbie. You’ve been telling me all morning about how you wanted to build a fort out back. Now’s your chance,” Mom said.

  “But now I want to stay with you guys. I want to hear your talk.”

  Daddy picked Robbie up off the stool, sat him on the floor, and told him to leave the kitchen. He could go outside and play, go into the den and watch TV, or he could go take a nap.

  “Nap!” Robbie said defiantly. As he stomped out of the room he yelled, “How come you guys get to have a talk and I don’t?”

  “Robbie ...” Daddy said, in a way that meant no questions asked.

  As soon as Robbie was out of hearing range, Daddy said, “I think I need to talk with Sloane, Helen. What do you think?”

  “You mean you just handle it? Instead of involving the police?”

  “Yeah, or at least talk to him before we call the police. Just let him know we’re on to him. Maybe that’s all it would take.”

  I was relieved. The thought of calling the police on Fred Sloane really scared me.

  Mom started cleaning up the dishes. “I don’t know, Les. You can’t predict how he’ll react. What if he gets violent?”

  “He’s a bully and a coward or he wouldn’t be picking on twelve-year-old girls to begin with. He won’t stand up to a man! Besides, I wish he would swing at me. It would give me an excuse to do what I most want to do!”

  Daddy’s voice was getting louder, and his face was set hard.

  “Les, please,” Mom said. “You can’t mean that. You’re the one who always tells Robbie not to hit back, that fighting never solves anything. You’re talking crazy.”

  “Oh, it won’t come to that. I tell you, he’s a coward,” Daddy said, more calmly. “I want you to go with me, Cassie.”

  “Why?” I squeaked.

  “Because I want him to know that we’re together. I want you to be there in case he thinks he can lie his way out of this.”

  “But Daddy,” I pleaded. “Please don’t make me go.”

  My stomach was tight and I could feel all of the morning’s food rolling around inside.

  “Listen to me, Cassie. Maybe if you never went over there again that would solve the immediate problem. But what about the next babysitter, or the next? What if Fred gets more and more aggressive and ends up raping some girl?”

  “Dad’s right, Cassie. Fred has to know that he can’t get away with that kind of thing, that people know about him,” Mom said.

  “But Daddy . . .”

  “No buts, Cas
sie. I know it’s hard for you, but it must be done. I’m going to call Fred right now and tell him we want to come talk with him.”

  Daddy went into the den to call. I was so nervous, my hands were all sweaty and my stomach felt awful. I went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. It didn’t help. When I came back out, Daddy was in the kitchen again.

  “No one was home, Cassie,” he told me. “We’ll try again later.”

  I hoped they’d be gone for a month, but I was pretty sure they wouldn’t.

  “Anyone home? Come on, we know you’re in there.”

  As usual Aunt Trudy started talking before she even re­ally got inside the house. Robbie came running out of his bedroom at the sound of her voice, and she came barreling into the kitchen, with Lisa sort of dragging along behind her. She took one look at us and stopped.

  “I can see you’ve had a nice morning,” she said. “Are we close to the last and final round?”

  “Trudy, this is serious,” Daddy said.

  “I know, Les.”

  “It is, Trudy,” Mom said.

  Aunt Trudy went over to Mom and put her arms around her. She looked down at Mom. “I know, little sister. I know.

  But how serious can you be all at once? You’re probably all exhausted right now. Am I right? I know I’m right. If you’re not exhausted, you should each rush to the nearest plastic surgeon because you have some very bad face problems.”

  I laughed. That’s one of the things I liked about Aunt Trudy. She could always make me laugh. I could feel us all start to relax a little.

  “I told Lisa I’d drop her and Cassie at the Old Bijou. They’re doing a Woody Allen festival. These girls need a little good, clean fun in their lives, huh, Cassie?”

  She winked at me and gave out with this window-shatter­ing laugh of hers. As soon as Aunt Trudy suggested a movie, I knew that was exactly what I needed ― just to get away from the whole thing for a while.

  “Woody Allen?” Mom frowned. “Not exactly wholesome family fare, would you say?”

  I was already on my way to take a quick shower and get cleaned up. I could tell that my parents would go along with Aunt Trudy’s idea. They almost always did. I’d hardly even looked at Lisa. I felt sort of strange with her.

  After my shower I felt a lot better. By the time I was ready, everyone was out on the patio drinking iced tea. Robbie was working on his fort in the backyard and Lisa was trying to chin herself on the old clothesline pole.

  Mom came over to me and kissed me on the forehead. “Things aren’t so bad, Cassie. It will all work out,” she said, smiling.

  I wasn’t really over the fight we’d had the night before. I could see that Mom was trying to be nice to me though.

  Lisa dropped from the clothesline pole, her hands red with rust. She washed her hands with the garden hose, dried them on Robbie’s shirt, and ran off to the car. Robbie was concentrating so hard on fixing the door to his fort that he didn’t even notice he’d been used as a towel.

  On the way to the movie, Aunt Trudy said to me, “You’ve got to talk with your mom some more, Cassie.”

  “Yeah, but it’s hard,” I told her.

  “You’ve got to give her a chance,” Aunt Trudy said.

  We were about five blocks from the movie theater when she pulled into the parking lot of some church.

  “Mommm,” Lisa whined. “We’re going to be late if you don’t hurry up. Why are we stopping here?”

  “This will only take a minute. We’re going to play a little game,” Aunt Trudy said.

  “Oh, no,” Lisa moaned. “Not one of your little games. We’ll miss the first part of the movie.”

  Aunt Trudy ignored Lisa’s protests.

  “Cassie, I want you to pretend you’re the mother, and I’m going to pretend to be you. Start asking me the same kind of questions your mother asked you when you got home last night.”

  They must have been talking about our fight while I was getting ready to go. It was kind of embarrassing to me, to think they’d all been talking like that. And it didn’t sound like any game I wanted to play, either.

  Lisa said, “You’d better just do it and get it over with, or we’ll never get to the movie.”

  Aunt Trudy was turned clear around in the driver’s seat, facing me.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Try to make it realistic now,” Aunt Trudy urged.

  I took a deep breath and started. “Why didn’t you tell me? What’s wrong with you? What did he do?” I said, trying to sound like my mom.

  Aunt Trudy just sat there looking at me. I repeated the questions. This time I was getting warmed up. Aunt Trudy looked down and mumbled something I couldn’t even hear.

  “Answer me. What did he do, anyway?”

  “That stuff,” Aunt Trudy mumbled.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I practically yelled at her.

  “I dunno,” Aunt Trudy said, looking out the car window.

  “Come on, Mom,” Lisa said. “You made your point. Now take us to the movie like you said you would.”

  Aunt Trudy still ignored Lisa. “Cassie? What do you think? Did you believe me?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe not,” I said. I could see what she was getting at. I probably hadn’t been very convincing with Mom.

  “Helen and I played the same game while you were in the shower. Only she was you, and I was pounding her with questions. I think she’ll be easier to talk with next time, if you can have a little more to say.”

  “Trudy, Trudy, Trudy,” Lisa called from the backseat. “Please shave off your Dr. Freud beard and take us to the movie!”

  Aunt Trudy laughed and started the car again. We got in just at the beginning of “Sleeper.” Lisa bought me some Milk Duds and a Coke as a peace offering.

  “I’m not mad at you,” I told her, while the credits were rolling past on the screen. She gave me one of those flashy, dimple-filled smiles and squeezed my hand.

  Woody Allen always makes me laugh. Even if he doesn’t say anything, I just like looking at him. Lisa and I got hysterical during “Sleeper.” But some of it kind of bothered me, too. I was all mixed up about sex. Before, I’d just been ignorant, but now I was ignorant and mixed up.

  I couldn’t figure out what part of sex had to do with love, and what part was dirty, and what was fun. And was it the same for men as for women? I don’t mean men like Fred Sloane, but for men like my dad, or Uncle Tom. I couldn’t even think of my dad or Uncle Tom doing it, but I guess they did.

  Once during the movie I started to worry about the whole Fred Sloane mess, and how I was going to have to go over there with Daddy. And I thought about the awful things I’d said to my mom. But mostly I just laughed at Woody Allen.

  Aunt Trudy was waiting for us in front of the theater when the movie was over.

  “Oh, no,” Lisa moaned. “I hope no one sees her.”

  She was sitting in her ancient rusted Hillman-Minx, leaning out the window. Her long, purple feather earring was dangling in the breeze and she was puffing on a big, fat cigar. Lisa hated it when her mother smoked cigars in public. I thought it was funny, but Lisa told me I wouldn’t think that if Aunt Trudy were my mother and not just my aunt.

  As we were leaving, Lisa’s boyfriend, Raymond, and his friend, Gregg, came walking up.

  “Hi, Lisa,” Raymond said. “Have you just seen ‘Sleeper’?”

  “Yes, and it’s hilarious. You’ll love it, Raymond. Hi, Gregg,” Lisa said.

  “Come back in and see it with us,” Raymond said.

  “We can’t. My mother’s already here to get us,” Lisa said, kind of sheepishly. “C’mon, Cassie,” she said, tugging my hand and pulling me in the opposite direction from her mom’s car. It was the wrong thing to do, because Aunt Trudy started beeping the horn when she saw us walking away from her.

  Raymond turned around at the sound, and when he saw who it was he called, “Hi, Mrs. Torpedo,” and laughed.

  Her last name’s really Tole
do, but I guess Raymond liked to joke with Aunt Trudy.

  “Hi, Ray Gun,” Aunt Trudy yelled, waving her cigar at him and laughing. Lisa just groaned.

  On the way home Lisa told Aunt Trudy, “You really do embarrass me, Mother.”

  “You’ll outgrow it,” was all Aunt Trudy said.

  I liked other people’s arguments better than my own. “You can spend the night with us tonight if you want, Cassie,” Aunt Trudy offered. “I talked with your folks about it. Your father’s tried to call Fred Sloane several times, but apparently they’re gone for the whole day.”

  “Stay, C.C.,” Lisa said. “I want to show you my prom dress, and we can make marshmallow treats.”

  Chapter

  10

  Uncle Tom was stretched out on the floor, asleep in front of the TV. The Dodgers and Mets were playing, but it must have been a boring game. We stepped over him on our way through the living room and into the kitchen.

  Lisa got out the Rice Krispies and marshmallows, and I started greasing the cookie sheet. Aunt Trudy was gathering up dirty dishes and putting them in the sink.

  Ever since I was five and Lisa was eight, we would make marshmallow treats at her house. I used to think Lisa was really lucky because she had her own TV in her bedroom, and she could eat whatever she wanted. My mom was always after me to eat my vegetables, and she said sugar was poison and would ruin teeth and make me hyperactive, so I never got marshmallow treats at home. In fact, I never even got Rice Krispies. I either had to eat hot cereal with honey, or some kind of yucky granola with sliced fruit. But at Lisa’s we’d make marshmallow treats, get cans of Coke and bags of potato chips, and take our junk food feast into her bedroom, where we would watch some super-violent police show while porking out. My mom used to tell me that Lisa would grow up with bad teeth, and she’d be sure to get acne if she continued to eat such junk. Lisa doesn’t even have one cavity though, and the closest thing she’s ever had to a zit was when she got a mosquito bit on her chin last summer.