Not Suitable For Family Viewing

by Vicki Grant

  I can’t tell if he’s joking. “What are you talking about?”

  “Hmm. Let’s see. One time, you head out in the hot sun with no food in your belly and practically pass out. Another time, you get run off the road. I’m serious, Opal. I’ve never seen anyone get in more trouble than you do.”

  He’s making it sound like it’s my fault. I’m not mad but I just have to tell him.

  “Levi…”

  “Yeah.”

  “This wasn’t an accident.”

  “Whaddya mean?”

  “I mean someone hit me on purpose.”

  He stares at me. He takes his eyes off the road so long I’m worried we’re going to crash.

  “Why? Who? Who would do that?”

  He doesn’t really believe me. I can tell. There’s a moment when I don’t think I can say it, then it just kind of spills out of me.

  “Krystal,” I say.

  He almost loses control of the car. He goes, “Wait. Stop.”

  He pulls over on the shoulder and turns off the engine. He looks at me like I’m crazy.

  “Krystal Parker?” One side of his face is all crunched up like tinfoil. “You mean, the girl I used to go out with?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Her.”

  He pulls back his neck and shakes his head as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Why would she do that?”

  I say, “I don’t know. I guess because she’s jealous of me—like, I mean, us. You know.”

  “You saw her do it?”

  “No,” I say. “I didn’t see anything. But that’s because she hit me from behind. By the time I got up, she was gone.”

  “So how can you say it was her, then?” He sounds like he’s taking her side.

  “I just know. The person driving the car came at me on purpose. There was no reason to hit me otherwise. There was tons of room. It was light. The car even sped up right before it slammed into me!”

  He leans his back against the door and stretches one arm across the dashboard. He taps a finger. He chews on the inside of his lip. He looks right at me the whole time.

  He finally says, “Okay. All right. Say someone did do this to you on purpose. Nothing you’ve told me proves that it was Krystal. I mean, she can be a jerk but she’s not insane or anything. It’s a pretty serious thing you’re accusing her of, you know.”

  “Well, who else would do it?” I’m getting mad now. He’s supposed to support me.

  “I don’t know. Maybe a drunk? A bunch of stupid kids? An old guy who doesn’t see so good any more? How about just some psychopathic maniac? You were all ready to believe the place was full of them before.”

  “No!” I say. “It was Krystal.”

  “No,” he goes. “It was not. I know Krystal. I know why you don’t like her. And I’m sure she is jealous. But she wouldn’t do this. She’s just some silly kid, not a killer.”

  I won’t look at him any more. I’m so mad. I’m so insulted! I want to cry. I want to run away but I can barely even walk.

  “Opal,” he says. He touches my arm.

  I turn my head just a tiny bit but I don’t look at him. I’m not stupid enough to do that.

  “I’m not saying someone didn’t do this to you. You were there, I wasn’t. But you didn’t actually see Krystal. It could have been someone else, couldn’t it?”

  He’s sort of teasing me, sort of pleading with me. I can tell he just wants me to drop it. He takes my hand and looks at my palm. “Boy,” he says. “You really got messed up. That’s some major road rash there.”

  I can feel myself giving in. “She’s the only one around here who has anything against me.” I try to sound firm.

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” he says. “I can think of at least one other person.”

  “Who?”

  “Embree Bister wasn’t so happy about you ‘making your water’ on his property.”

  I go, “Ha-ha. Very funny”—then my mouth flies open. I turn and look at him. I can tell by his face that he was just doing that Levi thing again—trying to make me laugh—but it backfired, big-time.

  “Embree,” I say.

  “Oh-oh. What? That was a joke, Opal.”

  “Embree could have done it.”

  Levi laughs. “Oh, please! Embree? For one thing, Embree can’t even drive. I hate to admit it, Opal, but you were closer when you thought Krystal did it.”

  I don’t know about that. I picture Embree with the gun, that look on his face. He’s not a silly kid. He’s crazy and he’s dangerous and he doesn’t like me either.

  “What about Gershom?” I say. “Does he drive?”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “What’s he? Embree’s son or something?”

  “No. His nephew. That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “They see each other?”

  “I don’t know. Probably. So what?”

  “Gershom saw us together at the hardware store yesterday. He goes and tells Embree and…” I’m trying to figure this out.

  Levi’s shaking his head. “And then what? Embree says, you got to ‘kill’ this girl for me?…Why? Why would he do that? You can say a lot of things about Embree but I don’t think he’s the jealous type. And anyway, we only went out for a little while. I’m pretty sure he’s over me by now.”

  I don’t say anything. He shouldn’t be joking around. Not about this.

  “Sorry.” He wipes the smile off his face. “I just don’t understand why you think Embree would want to do something to you.”

  “I don’t know! He’s nuts, that’s why! Remember…in the woods…he said something like, um, ‘I’ve got a long memory’…And then…when we were leaving, he went, ‘It’s the others that have to worry.’ Something like that. You heard him. He was threatening me. That was a threat.”

  “He was just talking, Opal! Trying to sound big. It didn’t mean anything—he just wanted to scare you.”

  “So maybe that’s what he was trying to do last night! Scare me again. Maybe he told Gershom just to knock me over, rough me up a bit, you know. That’s what happened, after all.”

  Levi’s trying to look as if he’s actually considering what I say. He’s got his lips pushed together and he’s nodding, but I’m not falling for it. He’s just stalling.

  He says, “Okay. Could be. But why? Why would he want to scare you? Believe me, there are a lot of people around here who’ve done way worse things to him than threaten to pee on his property.”

  I know what Levi’s saying makes sense but the look on Embree’s face makes a lot of sense to me too. The guy took an instant hate to me. Why?

  “Maybe…” I say. “Maybe it’s about me doing research on the area. You told him that’s what I was doing.” I’m not really sure where I’m going with this. “Maybe he, like, thinks I’m going to—you know—expose the Bisters or something. Open up that whole can of worms again. Embarrass them somehow.”

  Levi looks down at his knees and then back up at me. His voice is really calm. “Opal, I don’t think you could possibly embarrass the Bisters any more than they’ve been embarrassed. Embree’s way past that point.”

  He reaches out and puts his hand on my leg. I look at it and those big white cuticles and it totally takes all the fight out of me. I don’t want to fight with him. Why am I fighting with him? I don’t want him to go away. Who cares if somebody hit me? I lived. I’m here with him. He’s got his hand on my leg. Just shut up, why don’t I?

  “Can I make a suggestion?” he says. “I think we should go to where the accident happened and take a look. I can’t help thinking we’re missing something here. Maybe there was an oil slick on the road or something. That could make a car swerve.”

  That wasn’t what happened. I know that. But I don’t like Levi thinking I’m crazy. I don’t want him to give up on me. I just shrug, and let him take me there. I’ll figure this out myself.

  We drive along in silence until we get to the place where I went off the road. You can still see my ti
re tracks running straight along the shoulder, swerving, then suddenly ending. The bike is lying all twisted in the ditch like some mangled bug skeleton.

  There’s no oil slick.

  Levi goes, “Hmm. There was a bit of rain last night. That could have washed it away.”

  “How come you can still see the bike tracks, then?” I say. I’m doing it again.

  “Okay,” he says. “Must have been something else.”

  “Like what?”

  He opens his eyes really wide. “I don’t know. Glare on the guy’s windshield, a bird, roadkill. Lots of things could have made him lose control.”

  “If it was just an accident, why didn’t he stop to see if I was okay?”

  He thinks about that for a second. “Maybe he didn’t notice.”

  I turn and look right at him. Who wouldn’t notice running someone off the road?

  He puts his hands up in surrender. “Okay,” he says. “I don’t know, Opal. It’s a mystery.”

  He wanders over and looks into the ditch. “Why don’t I get the bike? See if I can fix it.”

  As if that piece of scrap metal can be fixed. He just wants to pretend this is nothing, forget about it, move on. I should too.

  He slides down the embankment and comes back up with the bike over his shoulder. “Well, this looks like it’s going to be a project I can really sink my teeth into!” he says, all cheesy Mr. Fix-It.

  I try to smile but he’s bugging me. It’s like I’m a dog and he thinks he can just distract me with a new squeaky toy or something.

  We get in the van and he goes, “Oh yeah. I found this beside the bike. It yours?”

  I figure this is just another one of his little jokes. I turn and look at him like Okay. Now what? He hands me an old torn-up envelope. It’s so dirty I don’t recognize it at first. Then I see the corner of the picture sticking out and the lump of the ring.

  I’m startled. How did that get here? Then I remember just stuffing it in the outside pocket of my backpack when Joan came up the library steps.

  “Yeah,” I go. “It’s mine.” I get this little panic attack. What would have happened if I’d lost it and Mom looked in the chair?

  Has Mom looked in the chair yet?

  Maybe she never looks in the chair. Maybe she’s totally forgotten about the stuff she put there.

  Maybe it’s not even hers.

  No. I know that much at least. It’s hers.

  “What’s in it?” Levi says.

  “Um,” I say. “It’s just a ring and an old photo from a church picnic.” I want to tell him all about it—but I don’t too. It’s like I’m tiptoeing into a room I’m not sure I should be in.

  “Oh yeah?” he says. “Can I see them?”

  “Uh, sure.” I hand them to him. There’s nothing the matter with that. I haven’t said anything yet. I’ll just see where it goes.

  He looks at the photo. I can tell it doesn’t mean much to him. It’s just an old snapshot. His eyes, though, go a little bigger when he sees the ring.

  “Hey. One of the famous hockey rings! Mum’s cousin Donnie’s got one. He was a left-winger on that team…Who’d this one belong to?”

  “Don’t know,” I say. “I just found it when I was doing my research.” Will he ask where? How? My heart’s making this hollow thumping sound.

  No. He’s turned the ring over and is squinting at the inside. There’s something written there. Why didn’t I notice that before?

  He reads, “‘For my secret love.’” He winks at me. “Oooh, baby. Port Minton must have been cooking back then. What do you think it means?”

  I can’t answer. I can’t make words come out. It could mean anything. Everything. Was someone on the hockey team in love with Rosie? And if so, why was it a secret?

  I just shrug for an answer.

  Levi rubs the ring clean on his T-shirt. “I bet it wouldn’t be that hard to find out who this belonged to—I mean, if you want. That championship was a big deal. I could ask Donnie. He might know.”

  “No,” I say. “Don’t do that…Someone might want to keep it a secret.” I’ve got to think about this a bit more. Maybe the fact that it’s missing will mean something to people around here. Maybe it’s missing because the guy is dead. Maybe he was murdered or something. Maybe my mother murdered him.

  Maybe I’m losing my mind.

  Seriously. There’s no way Mimi murdered anyone.

  I don’t think. How would I know?

  I must be pale or sweaty or flushed or something.

  “Are you okay?” he says. “You look like you don’t feel very well.”

  Of course I don’t feel well. My body’s bashed up and my head is spinning. I don’t know who anybody is any more or why people are doing whatever it is they’re doing to me. I want to tell Levi everything but I can’t. I’m scared to trust him. I’m scared to let him see how crazy I might be.

  Then Levi leans over and looks me in the eyes and says, “Really? I mean it. Are you okay?” He rubs his hands up my arms.

  I say, “Yes,” and I’m not lying. Right now, for this one little moment at least, I’m way better than okay.

  42

  Wednesday, 3 p.m.

  You, You and Mimi

  “Family Secrets.” Mimi invites celebrity “heritage sleuth” Laura Buchkowsky to uncover the roots of the public’s fascination with genealogy.

  I tell Levi I’ve got stuff to do at the library. He helps me up the stairs and says he’ll be back at five to take me to Mrs. Hiltz’s.

  Joan screams when she sees me too but not as loud as Kay did. (Maybe that’s because Joan’s a librarian.) I tell her the story—the part where I go flying, at least—and she tut-tut-tuts and shakes her head. She makes sure I’m okay, then goes back to her office.

  As soon as she’s gone, I check my e-mail.

  Spam, spam, spam.

  A notice from the school that final course selection must be made by August twelfth.

  A reminder from Mom’s assistant (cc’ed to Anita) of Grandpa’s birthday party coming up in two weeks.

  And a short note from Selena:

  R u crazy? Go into her room? She’d kill me. Steal her personal stuff? She’d mutilate the body. Y dont u pay some professional criminal 2 do this 4 u? U got the cash.

  Some friend. Fine. I’ll do this myself. I go to Google and type in “Mimi Schwartz.” Someone out there must know about her past. If not, at least it will take my mind off the car accident.

  “Results: 1–10 of about 35,000,000 for Mimi Schwartz.”

  Thirty-five million results. I feel like they all just came crashing down on top of me. Where do I even start?

  Forget her official site. I know I’m not going to get anything there. I check out Wikipedia. There seems to be some ongoing battle between contributors about what Mimi’s natural hair colour is, but other than that it’s pretty much the standard stuff too.

  I type in “Mimi Schwartz’s family.” Turns out that’s the name of one of her biggest fan clubs. (Why do I find that sad?)

  I scroll through some other sites. Lots of old photos of Grandpa and me. There are even some of Dad. None of them look like they were taken in Shelton County.

  I try “Mimi Schwartz’s birth mother,” “Mimi Schwartz’s family tree,” “Mimi Schwartz’s adopted family.” Everything that turns up is stuff I’ve already seen or can’t use. I need to find a site that isn’t just a cut-and-paste copy of her bio.

  I need dirt.

  I have an idea. I type in “I hate Mimi Schwartz.”

  I get dirt. www.enoughaboutmimi.com is full of it.

  Pictures of Mom without makeup, with her mascara smudged, with something between her teeth. Close-ups of blisters, warts and cellulite. (No way that’s hers. Say what you want about Mimi but she doesn’t have cellulite.). Rants about what a liar/hypocrite/“emotionally stunted Barbie Doll” she is. Whoever’s behind this site really can’t stand her. I wonder why. Is it just the usual anti-celebrity backlash or is there some
thing else too?

  I click on “The Truth Behind the Image.” A full-length picture of Mimi appears. She’s in the red strapless dress and full-length gloves she wore to the Academy Awards last year. She’s laughing. She looks good. Before I know it, classic stripper music comes blaring out of the computer. I jump on the volume key as fast as I can. I don’t want Joan thinking I’m up to something “inappropriate.”

  Someone’s animated the image in that jerky South Park style. Mimi winks and starts doing a striptease. She peels off her gloves and you see that her hands are all hairy, with these long red claws. She throws off her shoes and she’s got these little pig’s feet underneath. She wiggles out of her dress. A big belly splops out. She turns around and waves her tail in this skanky way. Right at the end, she pulls off her face and you realize she’s the devil.

  It’s weird. I can say the meanest things about my mother but I feel terrible when somebody else disses her. They don’t even know her. How can they call her the devil?

  I get a chill. Is there something I don’t know?

  I want to stop but instead I click on the “Mimi and Me” tab. Something called “Eyewitness Reports” comes up. I scan it. There are lots of entries about stuff like Mimi farting in an elevator and blaming it on someone else (never would have happened) or pushing to the head of a line at a restaurant (could have, I suppose), but I scroll past those and go right to the important stuff.

  I tried to tell her that “Eating Like a Birdie” was not a good name for a segment starring a chubby kid who obviously doesn’t eat like a bird—but she wouldn’t listen. She didn’t care that it was her own daughter people would be making fun of. Everyone thinks she’s so nice and open but, believe me, she’s the most secretive person I ever met. The rest of the world might think she’s their best friend but none of the staff do. They just keep their mouths shut and try to stay out of her way.

  Darryl

  Former head of wardrobe

  You, You and Mimi

  Mimi only talks about a fraction of the cosmetic surgery she’s had. I used to work for her plastic surgeon. Dr. Boileau basically rebuilt her from her toes right up to her hairline. Her own mother wouldn’t recognize her if she saw her today.