Here’s where I’m forced to lie. But I don’t see any choice, not with Aunt Grace at the other end of the table, ready to pounce.
“Sister Marion told me Miss Godwin needed help sorting out music sheets and asked if we could give her a hand. So we did.”
“Sister Marion asked you? Why wouldn’t Miss Godwin ask you herself?”
“Uh, I think she was, uh, busy.”
“Hmm. Sounds odd. Where did this conversation take place, Maureen?” Aunt Grace has picked up the smell of something rank. Now I feel cornered.
“Sister was asking me about Mom,” I say, still looking at Aunt Kay. “She heard she was sick. So I had to tell her. Then she mentioned about Miss Godwin. So I said Debbie and I would help.”
Almost true. Not a total lie, is it?
“Sister heard about your mother?” Aunt Kay is incredulous.
“Aunt Kay, I think everyone knows.”
Aunt Grace’s eyes don’t leave my face—no way is she letting this drop. “Where exactly did you have this conversation with Sister Marion?”
Cripes! “In her office.”
“In her office?”
“It’s not exactly the sort of topic you want to bring up in front of a crowd, now is it?” I’m getting quite fed up with this inquisition from Aunt Grace. She’s not my mother—she has no right to ask all these nosy questions.
“Humph.” Aunt Grace sniffs. “The whole thing sounds a bit strange to me.” She pulls a shapeless coat from the back of her chair. “Anyway, I’ve got to run. Time to pick up the baby at the sitter’s, then get Lloyd at work.”
Good. See you later.
The door shuts behind Grace just as the buzzer sounds on the stove. Aunt Kay pulls two trays from the oven and neatly stacks each cookie on a wire rack to cool. “Maureen, are you sure there’s nothing else going on at school? Are you telling me everything?”
“Everything is fine, Aunt Kay.” I glance guiltily at Debbie, who drops her eyes and shuffles her feet. “Sister Marion was just asking about Mom.”
Aunt Kay sees the body language, and the perplexed look that creeps across her face just about kills me. What sort of cretin am I, to tell such a bold-faced lie to someone as kind and good as Aunt Kay? I’m on the verge of confessing the whole sordid story when Billy and Bobby burst into the kitchen.
“Cookies, yum!” they yell. “Mommy, can we have some please?”
So much for confession. Aunt Kay places a big plate of cookies on the table while I pour four glasses of milk. I reach for a cookie, let my teeth sink into the warmth, but the chocolate chips feel like chalk in my mouth. See, that’s the thing about telling lies—it never makes you feel better, you always end up feeling worse.
Aunt Kay doesn’t say another word about it. Just chatters away pleasantly to the boys and to us. I figured she wouldn’t pursue any of this, not while Debbie’s still here. Major issues remain inside the family, that’s her motto. Never let your guard down.
I notice Debbie glancing at the kitchen clock. I don’t blame her. This hasn’t exactly evolved into a relaxing afternoon for us. “Oh my goodness, is that the time?” she finally says. “I better go, Mom will be wondering where I am.” She grabs her bookbag. “Thanks so much, Mrs. Moriarty. Call you tonight, Maureen.” Then she was gone.
Billy and Bobby sprint away to watch The Lone Ranger and it’s just me and Aunt Kay left in the kitchen. I take the glasses and plates to the sink and together we start to wash them up. And I wait for her to begin.
“Maureen, I’m really concerned about those two girls, Evelyn and Patsy. I’ve made a decision and you’re not going to like it. I’m calling Sister Marion. What if these remarks are repeated in school tomorrow? This is your mother we’re talking about here. We have to protect her. She has a right to her privacy.”
My eyelids close as I try to collect my thoughts. I know Aunt Kay is right, that we can’t let people say these things about Mom. Sister would take care of it too, I’m sure about that. But if Aunt Kay gets on the phone to Sister Marion, the whole story about me and Miss Godwin would come out and I’d be in the biggest trouble of my life. Maybe I should just tell her now.
I bite my lip as I reach for another glass. But I’m only a coward—I simply don’t have the guts to face this. “Aunt Kay, why don’t we wait and see what happens tomorrow? Evelyn and Patsy probably wouldn’t have the nerve to say anything like that in school, the nuns would kill them. Debbie thinks we should just ignore them. Maybe that would work.”
“I’m not convinced that would work.” Aunt Kay’s arms splash around in the sudsy water. “Perhaps I need to discuss this with your father.”
“Please, Aunt Kay! Let’s just wait one day, see what happens tomorrow. If Patsy or Evelyn say anything at all, even a single word, I’ll tell you and you can call Sister Marion right away. Okay?”
She stops and leans her elbows on the edge of the sink. “Just as your mother’s about to come home, all this happens. It’s really not fair.” Then she turns and looks at me. “Okay, we’ll leave it for one day only. If there’s so much as a syllable uttered about your mother in that school tomorrow, you’re going to tell me and then I’m on the phone to Sister Marion. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, Aunt Kay.”
“Maureen, I certainly hope there’s nothing else going on at school involving you. This family is unable to deal with any further trouble right now. Do you understand?”
I feel so guilty and horrible, I think I’m going to vomit. My head is buzzing. I have to hope and pray that Evelyn and Patsy won’t say a word. Cripes! How on earth am I going to handle all this tomorrow?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I DON’T SLEEP VERY well that night. I lie there planning and worrying, practising smart remarks and comebacks should Patsy and Evelyn say anything at all about Mom. When I do finally fall asleep, it’s fitful. Strange dreams, full of false grins and big white teeth. Miss Godwin, Sister Marion, Patsy Gallagher.
Beep, beep, beep. I startle wide awake, blink at the ceiling. Beneath me, my sheets are damp and twisted. I stare sideways at my pink alarm clock and it takes me several seconds to recognize that it’s seven-thirty in the morning. That all those crazy images were only a wild dream.
I feel raggedy and worn out, sick to my stomach. There’s a sinking realization that today’s the day I have to walk into school, face Patsy and Evelyn, and deal with whatever happens there. It feels like too much. I can’t do it. Maybe I’ll just tell Dad I’m sick, stay home for the day. I turn on my side and curl into my pillow.
There’s a sharp rap on my bedroom door. “Maureen, get a move on. I’ve got an early meeting.” Before I can say a word, his heavy footsteps are thumping down the hall. “Let’s go, princess,” I hear him say to Beth-Ann. “You ready for a boiled egg?”
I might as well get up. It’s too complicated to work up an explanation good enough to satisfy Dad. Besides, if I don’t go to school, Aunt Kay will definitely call Sister Marion, and that’s exactly what I don’t want to happen. So I push off my bedspread, pull myself out of bed, and pad into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
“You okay?” asks Debbie, coming up beside me in the cloakroom at the back of the classroom.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” I say with a tired smile, hanging my coat on the hook. “Any sign of the other two?”
“No. Haven’t seem them yet. Probably late, as usual.”
Sure enough, Debbie’s right. Science has already started when Evelyn and Patsy saunter through the door, handing their late slips to Sister Marion. Sister purses her lips as she examines the slips, then curtly tells the girls to sit down. “This is quite unacceptable, ladies,” she says. “One more time and you’ll be issued detention.”
Evelyn and Patsy seem unperturbed as they settle into their desks. I’m catching all this with my peripheral visi
on; I wouldn’t dare look at them directly. Instead, I keep my expression cool and my focus entirely on Sister Marion. But I know they’re watching me. Weird, isn’t it, how that happens? How you can feel someone staring at you, without actually seeing it?
The morning passes like an intense game of chess. Not that I actually play chess myself, mind you, but I’ve seen it on TV. Two opponents eyeing each other, assessing their next move, ready to pounce.
We get through science and math like this, then there’s recess. Debbie and I keep to one side of the classroom, while Patsy and Evelyn stay on the other. There’s the occasional sneer and sideways look from their corner, but nothing is said, not a word.
Then there’s music with Miss Godwin.
Smiling graciously, she steps into the classroom, hauling the infamous old record player. Placing several records on the teacher’s desk, she lifts her grey head and beams affectionately across the room, right at me.
Oh no!
“Good morning, class!” Wow, is she ever cheerful. I guess she can relax now, knowing I won’t be crucifying her anymore. “Isn’t this a beautiful spring day? Just the setting for today’s musical selection! Can anyone guess the name of our piece, and tell me the name of our composer?”
Dead silence.
“No? Let me give you a hint. It’s a violin concerto.”
No traction whatsoever from this snippet of information. There’s some rustling of paper and shifting around in seats.
“Hmm. Well, how about another hint? The concerto is one of four that are collectively called ‘The Four Seasons.’ There now, I can’t be any clearer than that.”
This is so painful. Still no one speaks. And then Miss Godwin looks at me.
“Maureen? I’m sure you know the answer.”
I do. But here’s my dilemma. If I give her the answer, everyone will say I’m sucking up. If I don’t give the answer, then I’m breaking my promise to Miss Godwin—and to myself—to be “the best student she ever had.” I bite my lower lip.
“The concerto is called ‘Spring,’ Miss. By Vivaldi.”
“Thank you, Maureen. That is indeed the correct answer.”
She turns to place Vivaldi on the machine and right away I hear the snickering behind me. Two rows over and a few seats back. Exactly where Evelyn and Patsy sit.
“That is indeed the correct answer,” mimics Patsy, just loud enough for me to hear. “Teacher’s pet now, are we?”
“What a suck.” This from Evelyn. “Think I’m going to puke.”
See? What did I tell you?
But there’s no time to react, because at that moment a paper airplane sails through the air and scores a direct hit in the centre of Miss Godwin’s back. She whirls around.
“Who did that?”
Of course no one’s going to answer that question. Not even me.
“Girls, I will not tolerate any infractions today. That was extremely rude. I want to know who threw that paper.”
You know, the words are all there, but it’s the expression that gives her away. The distinct quiver in her voice, the unsteady look in her pale eyes. It’s a sin, really. Miss Godwin just doesn’t have what it takes to handle us.
“Miss, I think it was Maureen.”
I spin around and glare right at Patsy. “It was not!” Bet she’s the one who threw it.
“No?” she says, lifting her eyebrows. “Sorry, then. My mistake.”
“Maureen?” asks Miss Godwin, looking at me kind of hurt.
“Miss, I did not throw that paper airplane. I swear.”
Relief floods her face. “Okay, I believe you,” she says. Then she wags her index finger close to the curls on her head. “But just remember, you made a promise!”
Cripes! I bury my face in my hands. Can this get any worse?
“A promise!” pipes up Evelyn, a malicious edge to her voice. “How sweet is that? Why don’t you tell us what it is?”
“Oh no!” responds Miss Godwin. “That information is strictly between Maureen and myself. It’s our little secret.”
* * * * *
“Seriously, Debbie, what am I going to do? That was mortifying!”
Debbie’s standing there, twisting up her face, trying desperately not to burst out laughing.
“Debbie!”
She can’t help herself, out it comes, the big ha-ha and isn’t it funny about Maureen and Miss Godwin. “Sorry,” she says, wiping her eyes and catching her breath. “I guess I’m just happy that you have such a nice new friend.”
I start grinning too, I can’t help it. Really, it is sort of funny. Miss Godwin suddenly so fond of me, telling the girls about our “little secret.”
“I think I liked being bad better,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m not sure I can stomach all this being good.”
Next thing we see Evelyn and Patsy strutting our way. “Just coming by to say hello to Miss Goody Two Shoes,” says Patsy. “My, you’re getting some grand. Too grand to have a bit of fun in music class. Too grand to have a smoke. What’s it like to be so grand, I wonder, Evelyn?”
“Beats me,” says Evelyn, a wide saucy grin on her face. “Not very grand myself, so I can’t say.”
“It’s strange, though,” continues Patsy, her mean eyes narrowing into slits, “how anyone can be that grand with a mother locked away out at the Men—”
“What about your mother, Patsy? How’s she doing?”
I gape at Debbie. Where did this come from? Then my eyes flick back toward Patsy and Evelyn. Never in my life have I seen anyone’s expression change so fast. All the sneering has drained away from Patsy’s face and for a second she looks scared. Then the face hardens up again.
“Let’s go, Evelyn,” she says, a cutting edge to her voice. “I’m getting a bad smell around here. Oh, and Debbie,” she adds as she turns, the words slicing over her shoulder like a switchblade, “you better watch your mouth.”
We stand there, watching the two of them saunter off. As soon as they’re out of earshot, I grab Debbie’s arm. “What just happened here? What did you mean about Patsy’s mom?”
Debbie sighs and her shoulders slump. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. But I just couldn’t stand it anymore. Patsy’s got an awful gall to be slinging insults about other moms when her own is not around.”
“Not around?” I repeat, like a parrot. “What do you mean, where is she?”
“She took off. Left her kids all on their own. They were trying to keep it going for weeks, but then the school found out and now Patsy and her brothers and sisters are split up into different foster homes.”
Oh my God, what a sin! I can’t believe what I’ve just heard. What sort of mother would abandon her own children? “But what about her dad?” I sputter. “Can’t he take care of the kids?”
Debbie shrugs her shoulders. “He’s not much good,” she says in a low voice, looking around to make sure no one is listening. “Apparently, he drinks.”
“Seriously? How do you know all this?” I watch her carefully.
“I can’t say, really. I’ve probably said too much already. I feel badly for Patsy, I do. But she’s got no right to talk to people the way she does.”
Then I figure it out. She heard it from her mom. Debbie’s mom is such a gossip, everyone knows that. “You sure it’s true?”
“It’s true. Promise, though, you won’t repeat it. I’d be killed if it got back to me.”
“I promise. But I hope Patsy doesn’t come after you now.”
“I doubt it. I doubt she’d risk me saying anything else. I hope not, anyway.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Sometimes you have to stand up to a bully.”
I shake my head. “Gee whiz. No wonder she’s such a hard case.”
“Yeah.”
But there’s no
time to say anything else because next thing I see Bernadette, Mary Ann, and Heather coming over. Full of questions about the dance, I bet. I look at Debbie and grin. Sure enough, I’m right.
“Hey, guys. Get new dresses for the dance? You did? You two are so lucky.”
“I wish I was going to the spring dance!”
“You must have nearly died, Maureen, when John called you on the phone. I know I would; I know I’d just die if he even looked in my direction!”
We chatter and giggle until the bell rings to call us inside. Lining up, watching the little ones go in first, I notice Patsy and Evelyn farther down the line. Patsy doesn’t look any different. Just imagine, though. Her mother took off, her father’s a drunk, and now all the kids are in foster homes. I feel badly for Patsy, despite her meanness. No one in her family to take her in, having to go live with strangers. I eye her again as the line begins to move and Patsy tosses her long rippled hair like she hasn’t a care in the world. Then it hits me—if I were Patsy Gallagher, I’d probably act the same way she does. I’d be that angry and upset.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
DING-DONG.
“Cripes, they’re here!” I grip Debbie’s arm, my heart throbbing in my throat.
“Will you relax? God! They’re not monsters, you know. Just a couple of ordinary guys come to take us to a dance.” She gives me an odd look, then leans into the mirror, smoothing on lip gloss with intense concentration.
I take a deep breath, try and calm down. Why am I doing this to myself? I should have never agreed to go. Here I am in a total state—a complete bundle of nerves—when I could be spending a nice, peaceful evening at home with no jitters, no worries, no stress.
There’s a soft knock on my bedroom door and Beth-Ann pokes in her head. “Reenie, those boys are here.” Then she stops and stares at us both. “Wow. You sure look pretty.”
Debbie and I grin at each other. I might be having second thoughts, but it’s still nice to get a compliment, even if it’s only from a six-year-old. Testimony to an afternoon of intense preparation.
The Secret Life of a Funny Girl Page 11