Chapter 12

“… and this man was wearing a mask,” Wilma said in a deep voice, “because he was going to kidnap this kid and drag him to where he lived with the lady in this dirty spidery place under a porch.”

Chris’s mouth was open. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, twisting the napkins in his hand. “So what happened?” he quavered. Two more words out of Wilma and tonight he’d have living-color nightmares.

“Wilma, you’re talking too much,” I said. “Are we going to have this party or not?” I smeared more strawberry icing on the cake.

“The man and woman lived under a porch?” Chris said.

Wilma nodded and dropped a stack of silver on the table. “They were crazy and dirty people, and they got kids and tied them up. You better watch out for them.”

I glanced at Chris. “Wilma, let’s get this party on the road.”

The birthday party for Mom had been Wilma’s idea. I was just going along. I was still mad at Mom for not letting me take the paper route. I’d made the cake, true, but the kids had done practically everything else—picked out the recipe, planned the menu, and decorated the house with balloons and streamers.

“Do you want to know what the man and woman did to the kids, Chris?” Wilma said.

“Nothing,” I said. “They didn’t do anything. People don’t live under porches and kidnap kids.” I put the frosting bowl in the sink and ran hot water.

“You’re wrong, Emily. It’s a true story,” Wilma said.

“Wilma, give it a rest.”

“What do you know about it?” she argued. “Lyda Storch told me in school, and her father’s the sheriff, and it’s a true story.”

“Well, I don’t want to hear any more about it. And I mean it,” I snapped.

Wilma and Chris finished the table. Next to Mom’s place, they put the evening newspaper folded to the back page, where all the birthday greetings were printed. Right at the top of the page in a box were the words, “Look for ANN BOOTS at Community General Hospital tomorrow. Then be sure to wish her a fabulous 38th birthday and oodles of love from her kids—Wilma, Chris, and Emily.” Below that was a picture of Mom from when she was a kid. She had cheeks and pony tails and ribbons. The greeting had been Wilma’s idea, too.

“Mom is going to be so surprised,” Wilma said with satisfaction. She stood back with her hands on her hips.

“I’m hungry,” Chris said.

“You can’t eat,” Wilma said. “We have to wait for Mom today.”

They were both watching the clock. When we finally heard Mom on the stairs, they raced to the door. “Happy birthday, Mom! Surprise!”

“Oh, what is this?” she said. She looked all around. “It’s beautiful, beautiful …” Right away, she wanted to give me credit for it. “Emily!”

“Don’t look at me.” I gave her a cool smile over the kids’ heads.

“Me! I thought of everything, Mom,” Wilma said. “I made all the decisions. I picked out the recipe for the cake.”

“Mom, the balloons were my idea,” Chris said.

Mom kept going ooh aah, this is so great, so beautiful. I leaned against the wall with my arms folded. Mom complimented everything. When she saw the newspaper with the birthday greetings, she got teary. “I’m so proud … You’re all so sweet!”

I brought the casserole and biscuits to the table. I didn’t say much. Still, everything was okay until the cake. Then Mom said, “We should invite Len … to share!”

“Who?” I said. But I knew.

Mom sent Chris downstairs to get Mr. Linaberry. When he came in, he didn’t really come in. He just stood by the door in that hunched odd way of his. His blue eyes darted around from one of us to the other.

Mom went and took his hand. “Come and sit down, Len. Look at this party my children made for me. Look at this cake!” He sat down, and she cut him a slice of cake.

“Hello. Hello.” Mr. Linaberry bobbed his head to us.

I stared at him in sort of horrible fascination. How could my mother like him? How could she take his hand and touch him? I couldn’t understand it. He was ugly and strange. Maybe he was even stupid. I tried to feel sorry for Mom. She was lonely. No, it was worse than that. She was desperate, and it was making her act stupid.

I wished I would never have to see him again in my life. I hated the thought that he put his paws on Mom. Had he kissed her? Ugh! I fell back in my chair, staring at the cake. And then I started getting bizarre thoughts like Mr. Linaberry’s wife coming back, so he would lose interest in Mom. Coming back from where, the dead?

I poked at the cake, pushing it around on the plate. Everyone else was eating and laughing and talking. Why was I so upset? Mr. Linaberry wasn’t anything to me. Less than nothing! But sometimes a person who’s less than nothing to you becomes important in your life, whether you want them to or not. Like Marcia. She hadn’t been anything to me, either, until she became my stepmother. What was the difference if Dad chose a Marcia and Mom chose a Mr. Linaberry? Was she choosing him? My heart just seemed to fall away inside me.

I got up and went to my room. “Where’re you going, sweetie?” Mom said. She sounded so happy. I closed my door, but I could still hear everyone talking. “Mom’s birthday greeting cost us fifteen dollars!” That was Wilma. Next she’d be telling everyone I’d taken the money for it out of my bank account. I heard Mom laughing, I heard Chris talking, I even heard Mr. Linaberry finally saying something.

Mom called me again. “Emily? You coming back?”

“Maybe.” But I stayed in my room, reading and trying not to think of how Mom had taken his hand and brought him to the table; how she had said, Oh, we have to invite Len to share this with us.

Len. And did he call her Annie?

I read the same page over and over, not making any sense out of it, and I started to cry.