Clementine
“Clementine, it’s Miss Weber. Can you open the door, sweetheart?”
I put down the toilet seat and sit. I’ll wait here until everyone has gone home, and then I’ll come out. By that time, Mom will be here, and she’ll take me home and I’ll tell her I never want to come back to school again.
“It’s just me,” Miss Weber says. “All the other kids have gone back to class. Why don’t you come out and tell me what happened?”
“I don’t want to.”
“Clementine, something must have happened for you to lock yourself in here. I want to help you, but you have to talk to me. Did someone say something to upset you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Can you tell me what they said?”
Your daddy was a bad man. Everyone hated your daddy.
“They told lies.”
“What kind of lies?”
There’s writing on the toilet door:
I suddenly want to write something. Miranda stinks. Or maybe, Miranda is a liar. But I don’t have a pen.
“Clem?” It’s another voice; not Miss Weber. Immediately I feel a rush of tears.
“Mom?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
Everyone hates your mom, too.
I throw open the door and run headlong into Mom’s belly. “What is it?” she says, cradling my head. “What happened?”
“I haven’t gotten to the bottom of it yet,” Miss Weber tells her. “Something happened at lunchtime. Clem didn’t come back to class, and I found her in here. I’ve tried to get her to talk, but she hasn’t said anything except that someone said something to upset her.”
Mom stands back and looks at me. There is a wet patch on her shirt from my tears. “Who said something to you?” she asks. “Was it Miranda?”
I’m crying too much now to get any words out, so I just nod. Mom kneels down in front of me and makes her voice all quiet. “What did she say, hon?”
I know how he died. He wasn’t old or sick.
“I want to go home,” I say. “Can we go home?”
“I’d really rather know what happened,” Miss Weber says. “Then we can deal with it. If Miranda did say something to Clem, I’ll talk to her, talk to her mother—”
I squeeze Mom’s hand. “Please can we go?”
“Actually, Ms. Donnelly wanted to speak to you, Mrs. Bennett,” Miss Weber says to Mom. “She said it’s important.”
Mom’s face goes white.
“Please!” I cry.
Mom looks at Miss Weber. Finally Miss Weber nods.
“Tell Ms. Donnelly I’ll call her,” Mom says.
Miss Weber gets my bag and then walks with us to the parking lot. At Mom’s car, she squats down and gives me a hug. “We’ll work this out, Clementine. It makes me very sad to think that someone has upset you. I’m going right back to class now and I’m going to talk to everyone about how we shouldn’t say things to upset our friends.”
“Even if they’re true?” Mom says quietly.
Miss Weber and I look up, but I don’t think Mom is talking to me. Not to Miss Weber either. She’s just kind of talking to the air.
* * *
On the way home, Mom calls Eric to say she’s not coming back to Rosalind House. She says she’s sorry, but it’s a family emergency. I want to tell her that I don’t mind, that I like being at Rosalind House, but then she says, “I’m taking my daughter home, and that’s that,” and hangs up the phone.
At home, Mom makes her homemade mac ’n’ cheese, and she lets me eat it on the couch.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” she says, sitting beside me. “But I would really like to know what Miranda said to you.”
“I don’t want to tell you.”
“Okay,” she says. “Well, is there anything you want to ask me?”
I dig my fork into my bowl. “Was Daddy a bad man?”
I don’t look at her. She is quiet for a few seconds, then I do look.
“Daddy did do some bad things,” she says finally.
“What things?” I ask.
“Well. He took other people’s money and he lied about it.”
“Oh.”
I start to look down, but Mom lifts my chin and looks into my eyes. “Is that what Miranda said? That Daddy was a bad man?”
“And … other stuff.”
“What stuff?”
I push my macaroni around, say nothing.
“You don’t want to tell me?” Mom says, and I nod. “Okay, you don’t have to tell me now. But maybe later, when you’ve thought about it, you might tell me then.”
I swallow. “Yeah, maybe.”
I don’t feel like eating anymore, so Mom and I watch some TV. I don’t really pay attention. I’m thinking about what Mom said. Daddy did bad things.
Later, when we’re in bed, I’m still thinking about it. Mom falls asleep quickly and I watch her for a while. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is open.
“Mom?” She doesn’t answer, so I tap her shoulder. “Mom?”
Her eyes fly open and she jerks upright. “What is it? Are you all right?”
“Miranda said Daddy killed himself.”
Mom blinks; then her eyes get wide and sad. She sits up.
“Did he?” I ask. “Kill himself?” I wait with my heart booming in my chest.
Mom tries to cuddle me, but I sit back. I need to see her face. Finally she says, “Yes, Clem. He did.” Her eyes are shiny. She reaches for me again, but I move even farther back.
He did.
Daddy killed himself. Daddy was a bad man.
I dive under the covers and cry and cry.