“I can’t, Wendy.” I’m trying to balance my tray so it doesn’t tip over onto her tiara-wearing head. “I gotta go be with my family the same way you’re with yours.”
Letting loose one of her strong arms, she points over to the set on the playground and says, “Thwing. Now. Thally.”
“I’ll . . . I’ll push you later, okay?” I don’t like to fib to her, but I’m sure she’ll forget because of her bad memory and she’s not so good at telling time. Sometimes she shows up in her Sunday clothes on Wednesdays and sometimes she goes to the playground in the middle of the night.
Wendy says, “Yeth, Thally, later,” but Artie’s got to tell her, “Tapioca,” three times before she’ll let the rest of me go.
From behind me, Mary Lane says, “I’ll be over there,” and weaves through the crowd to the table where her family’s camped out.
Across the playground, tall Dave is standing up and whistling with his fingers to make sure Troo and me know that he’s waiting for us with saved seats, but I don’t budge. Because of our mental telepathy, Troo knows I’m petrified in place and that I want to back out of the plan the same way I do every single time I climb the steps up to the high dive over at the pool.
She says, “Geronimo,” and bumps me in the back of the knees to get me unfrozen.
When we set our trays down at the table, Granny in her yellow-and-pink muu-muu is quibbling with Mother about something to do with the wedding, so they only give us quick nods.
Uncle Paulie doesn’t lift his mouth up from his plate. He’s shoveling in his food so he’s not late for his job up at Jerbak’s.
Smiling Peggy Sure is on her mother’s hip. Nell looks a lot like the fish fry. Her hair is flat with grease and her skin looks whiter than the tartar sauce and her mind has probably gone fruitier than the dessert. Troo and me haven’t been going over to her apartment much. The way it smells sour and Nell walking around like the star of a zombie movie . . . geez, it’s bad. She’s across the table from me, staring off into the distance like she is waiting for her ship to come in, which it won’t. It already sunk.
Eddie is not here with us because he spends all his time when he’s not working at the cookie factory cruising North Avenue with Melinda Urbanski in his pride and joy—his souped-up Chevy.
Keeping her eyes on the crowd, Troo digs into her food with a lot of gusto. I don’t know how she can. I have no appetite at all.
If I look out at our neighbors sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the table benches, all I see is a flock of bleating lambs that don’t even know they’ve been fleeced.
If I look at the cross high up on the church, I think about how God has let me and everybody else in the neighborhood down.
Positively, I cannot look at Dave, who is next to me at the table with his sleeves rolled up. I know I should say something to him about Troo’s plan, but if I ever tattled on my sister she’d spend the rest of our lives sucking in her breath when she passed me in the hall so her skin didn’t touch mine. She’d treat me forever like I should take the next boat to Molokai, which I gladly would. I’d rather be a leper than not have my sister by my side.
And if I look at Father Mickey, all I can see is exactly what Daddy warned me about. The devil in the details.
“As always, there are a few announcements,” Father says. Our pastor is standing in the middle of everything, turning slowly so all of us can hear what important thing he has to say. He doesn’t have on his regular black dress. He’s being sporty tonight in a short-sleeved black shirt and black pants.
“The Ladies Club has called off its meetings until mid-September,” Father Mickey says, reading from a piece of paper. “Sister Raphael would like to remind all you mothers that school uniforms are available through the J.C. Penney catalog this year.” When he sees what’s next on his list, he puts on a sad face. “Please remember to keep our beloved parishioner, Mrs. Bertha Galecki, in your thoughts and prayers.”
Hearing how concerned he sounds, so caring, so . . . he’s a better actor even than Charlie Fitch. I can barely keep myself from doing the same thing that poor orphan did. I want to grab my sister and run for our lives. We could stop by the Latours’ table and get the address of that family that Charlie went to stay with. Troo and me, we’re farm kids. We know a lot about digging and planting and selling vegetables in a roadside stand, especially corn. We could be a real help.
“And . . . ,” Father Mickey says, brightening back up again, “I’ve saved the best for last.” He points over our heads to the big hole in the ground next to the rectory that’s got the rope around it and the DANGER signs hanging off it. “As a result of your generous contributions and the discounted price we’re receiving from Mr. Fazio’s construction company, I’m happy to announce that bright and early tomorrow morning the foundation will be poured for the new school!”
Everyone just goes nuts, jumping off the benches and slapping each other on their backs. I think because they really are happy that their kids aren’t going to be jammed into the classrooms anymore, but also because they won’t have to drop so much of their paychecks into the collection plate this Sunday.
Somebody yells, “Let’s hear it for Father Mickey,” and starts up, “For he’s a jolly good fellow . . . for he’s a jolly good fellow . . . for . . .”
Next to me, Troo is singing along and just radiating. It’s not the heat tonight that’s making her glow. It’s the revenge plan that’s incubating inside of her, just dying to burst out like an about-to-hatch chick.
She leans over, pinches both of my cheeks and whispers, “You’re looking a little green around the gills. You better go over it all in your head one more time to make sure you don’t forget anything.”
There are a lotta parts to her plan. She added them on to her THINGS TO DO THIS SUMMER list that she made me memorize: 1.
1. Make Father Mickey lose his black Irish temper.
This part will be succesful because there is nobody in the world who is better at getting under somebody’s skin. My sister could make Job blow his stack. She’s going to threaten Father. Warn him that she’s going to tell the police on him for stealing Mrs. Galecki’s emerald necklace, which is what I told her to do in the first place, so when you get down to it, whatever happens tonight is all my fault.
2. Wear a turtleneck, take in a deep breath and get strangled.
Troo thinks that after our pastor goes crazy with fear over getting sent to prison, he’s gonna wrap his hands around her throat and try to squeeze the life out of her. Only she forgot to wear the turtleneck tonight.
3. Mary Lane takes the picture.
After Father starts choking my sister, that’s when Mary Lane is going to get out her camera and shout, “Big cheese,” so Father will turn her way and that flashbulb will go off in his eyes and he’ll be so shocked and blinded that he’ll let go of Troo and she’ll run outta the front door of the rectory. Troo thinks a snapshot of Father Mickey trying to strangle her will be the very proof we need. Once we show it to Dave and everybody else in the neighborhood, they will see how awful he is and will have to believe the rest of the stuff we tell them. (Priests can smack you whenever they want to, but we’re all fairly sure strangling isn’t allowed.)
4. Practice getting away.
I used Daddy’s watch to time Troo when she stood on the rectory porch this morning while Father Mickey was saying his regular eight o’clock Mass. She ran in place to get going and then made a sharp right turn at the new school hole in five seconds and woulda been faster if she didn’t keep getting tangled up in those concrete poles that surround it.
5. Sally puts the pedal to the metal.
The second Troo comes ripping outta the front door with Father Mickey in hot pursuit, I’m supposed to jump out from a nook in the school where I’ll be waiting. He won’t know it’s me and not her because of the flashbulb spots in front of his eyes and I’ll be so far ahead of him with my fly-like-the-wind speed and by that time, it should be dark.
6.
Rendezvous
Tearing around the big school hole as fast as she can, Troo’s going to run down the block to meet up with Mary Lane and Artie, who will be at the church already. The three of them are going to hide in one of the confessionals because even if the plan goes wrong and Father finds them, he can’t hurt them because they are seeking sanctuary in the house of God. (We saw that in a movie with bank robbers.)
It isn’t the worst plan Troo’s ever come up with, the one to catch murdering and molesting Bobby Brophy was, but it still seems too much like skating on thin ice to me. Black thin ice.
Dave is saying to me, “Sally?” in a way that I know he has said it more than once.
When I turn his way, he’s grinning and pointing across the street at the Piaskowskis’ house. “I forgot to tell you that Betsy and her husband are moving back in tomorrow.” He’s done a great job of making that empty house look like a home again. The grass is cut, the porch is swept and he even gave a new coat of paint to the little blue birdhouse he made for Junie. “They’re both looking forward to getting to know you better.”
I’m looking forward to that, too. If I make it through the night.
Troo is swinging her legs out from beneath the table.
She calls to Mother, who has started walking with Granny toward our station wagon that is parked out on the street, “I’m goin’ over to the rectory now, Helen, for my religious instruction, just like you told me to.”
Mother stops and says, “Fine,” and Granny says, “You little banshee,” and they go right back at each other.
Dave tells me, “I talked to Father Mickey earlier. He’s going to give Troo a ride over to the park after her instruction.” Everybody is going straight from here to Washington Park to hear Music Under the Stars, they wouldn’t miss it. “Paulie’s already left for work, so I put the baby’s buggy in the third seat of the car. You can sit on Nell’s lap on the way over there.”
“I’m not goin’. I’m gonna wait for Troo.”
It’s the first time I’ve said a word to him the entire fish fry. I feel so fidgety about what we’re about to do that I’m afraid if I try talking my voice is going to sound like I got a Mexican jumping bean stuck in my throat. Dave’s my father, but he’s also a detective. Both of those jobs mean you know when a kid is up to something.
Dave places his hand on my forehead and says to me, “Are you feelin’ okay?”
“Just peachy!” I say with a laugh that even to me sounds Virginia Cunningham loonie. I’m sure he’s getting ready to question me further, but then Mother calls to him, “Dave! We’re waiting.”
“Be right there,” he hollers back, but his eyes don’t leave mine. “The concert starts at eight thirty like always. Ask Father to drop the two of you by the statue. We’ll be in our usual spot.”
“Sounds . . . sounds . . . good,” I say. So good that I want to follow after him to the car, sit on Nell’s lap with Peggy Sure in my arms and bury my nose in her neck all the way over to the park and forget this whole darn plan. I wish so bad I could leave with him now to go lie out on our plaid blanket and listen to the orchestra and stare up at the stars and not think for one more second how my sister is already halfway across the playground, halfway to the rectory.
Chapter Twenty-nine
By the time the church bell rings eight times, all that’s left is the four of us.
We had to wait to get the plan underway until after the janitors took the tables back into the cafeteria and cleaned up the playground mess. I can hear the last of our neighbors’ voices calling to each other down the block. Anybody who drove a car is already at the park staking out a good spot on the grass for the concert.
Artie and Mary Lane are at the back of the rectory. They should be crouching outside Father Mickey’s office window by now and I’m where I’m supposed to be, too. In the nook of the school, dying to poke my head out and call to Troo, who is on the porch, Pretty please with sugar on top, let’s forget this whole thing and go listen to Music Under the Stars. I’ll give you my root beer and my leather coin purses and anything else you want for the rest of our lives, but my sister doesn’t get my mental telepathy, or maybe she does and rings the rectory doorbell anyway. I can hear the chimes, that’s how close I am.
From somewhere inside, a light goes on and Father Mickey calls out, “Come in, my child,” and that’s just what Troo does, making sure that she leaves the front door open a crack so it’s easier for her to make a getaway.
I’m watching the minutes tick by on Daddy’s watch and when it gets quarter past the hour, I think that Troo’s been in there way too long. I’m sure the plan isn’t going the way she thought it would. What if she needs my help and I’m standing here twiddling my thumbs? The only way I have of hearing what’s happening inside with her and Father Mickey is by leaving my hiding spot and going to listen in. Because of the heat that feels like somebody is holding a feather pillow over my face in the shower, every single one of the rectory windows is open as far as they go. When I press my ear against the screen of the nearest one, the one next to the front door, I can make out voices, but not clearly. Artie and Mary Lane, who are on the opposite side of the building, are closer to the action and must be getting an earful and hopefully soon a good picture of Father Mickey trying to choke Troo and then we can meet up in the confessional and all of us can go over to the park.
“Thally! Thally! Hi! Hi! Hi!”
I think at first that it’s my guilty conscience making me hear Wendy because I told her I’d swing with her later and didn’t. But when I come away from the window and look in the direction I hear her croaky voice coming from, I can make her out in the full moonlight.
“I thee you.”
Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, no, no, no. I watched her leave the fish fry, throwing her Dinah Shore kisses to me all the way down the block. But Wendy, she can be an escape artist. Especially when the whole Latour family is together somewhere, she can get away from her mother so easy because she gets lost in the crowd and that’s just what she’s done.
“Thally! Thally! Thally!”
She’s on the middle of the three school swings, pumping with all her might. I can’t yell at her across the playground to hush up, Father Mickey might hear me. And what if he hears her? She could wreck Troo’s whole plan. But I can’t just ignore her either. Wendy doesn’t understand ignoring. I know from years of experience that she’ll yell louder and louder the higher and higher she goes, so I do the only thing I can think of. I peel across the blacktop and try to talk her down.
“Wendy, you gotta stop,” I pant out as she swings past me. “You gotta be quiet. Please. Tapioca, tapioca, tapioca.” I never know how much of what I say she really understands so this is always a shot in the dark. “You should go be with your mom. She’s callin’ you. She’s gonna be mad if you don’t.” That’s worked a couple of times in the past. “See? She’s right over there.” Wendy doesn’t look where I’m pointing. She throws her head back and looks up and then so do I. The moon that was so bright just a few seconds ago is wrapped up in black clouds and the wind is picking up enough that the trees are rustling. “Uh-oh. You know what that means. A storm’s comin’.” Just like Troo, Wendy is not nuts about thunder and lightning. “It could even be a tornado. You don’t want that. Remember what happened to Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz?”
“With flyin’, Sally,” Wendy says, pumping harder.
“Yup . . . yup, that’s really good witch flying, but you . . .” I’m trying to get ahold of the swing chain and drag her to a stop, but she’s really high and weighs a lot more than I do, and that’s not even counting how strong she is. The last time I tried to do this over at the playground, she spun around to get away from me and when she twisted back she knocked me down.
“Be with, Thally,” she yells. “With . . . with . . . with.”
“Wendy . . . no . . . please, please . . . shush . . . shush . . . shhh.” She’s asking me to do my impression of the Wicked Witch of the West that ma
kes her laugh so hard, but once I start, she’ll want more . . . more . . . more! I don’t have time for that. I have to get back to where I’m supposed to be over in the nook of the school. Troo is going to come charging out that rectory door any minute and if I’m not there to do my part, to be the decoy, Father is going to catch her. “All right. Okay,” I tell Wendy. “You stay and swing and . . . ah . . . if you’re real quiet, I’ll come right back in a little while and be the witch, okay?”
When I take off, Wendy doesn’t do exactly what I asked her to. She yells again, “Thally! Thally!” but I can’t help that. I can’t stop.
I hurry to listen in the window again. I can hear much better now. Things are really heating up inside the rectory. Troo is yelling and Father Mickey is, too, then my sister shouts even louder and something breaks and then everything goes quiet. There’s a flash, which must be Mary Lane’s Brownie bulb, and then Troo comes dashing out the rectory door much faster than when we practiced. She didn’t give me the chance to get back to my hiding spot.
My sister whizzes past me, yelling, “Run, Sal, run!”
From inside the house, Father Mickey roars, “Fuckin’ kids!” and just like Troo thought he would, he comes charging out the door, which is supposed to be my cue to run across the playground and lose him in the neighborhood, but I barely get five feet when he grabs me from behind, spins me around by my braid and slaps me across the face so hard that I feel my front tooth break on his ring. He is cursing and trying to pull me back up off the ground by my right arm. In the light of the rectory hall that’s spilling out behind him, Father Mickey looks rabid. His hair is standing on end and his black Irish eyes look frantic above his mouth that’s pulled back into a snarl.
“Help! Help!” I yell, hoping that Troo or Mary Lane or Artie will hear me and come back to rescue me, but they’re already too far away.