CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Fee
Friday
“Knock, knock.” Fee heard her mother’s voice calling out her actions. An “up and at ’em” was followed by a creak of the door.
Flopping to a backside presentation, Fee taste-tested her mother’s tone of voice: hesitant with a smatch of apology. Crap. Her mother had seen her at the window.
“I think we should talk about last night,” Jill said.
“So talk.”
“First, sit up and look at me.”
Fee lugged her sheet-tangled body to an upright position.
“If you have questions about last night, I’ll answer them.”
Leading with trump, Fee asked, “What was everyone whispering about last night? About you and Aunt Jocelyn and that Keith guy?” She watched a slide show of emotions scroll across her mother’s face: surprise, confusion, and a glint of annoyance.
“Why? What did you hear?”
“I heard you guys called a cozy trio, and me a mystery child.”
“Who said that?”
“Does it matter?”
By the look on her mother’s face, Fee knew it did, despite her “not really” reply.
“What were they talking about?” Fee asked.
“Old gossip. People love rumors. No matter how ancient, or misinformed, or hurtful.”
“And are you so sure he had every right to leave?”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t him, not some guy named Al Thomas, who got you pregnant?”
“No.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me?”
“Not about that.”
Which Fee, mentally tallied, left all kinds of wiggle room. “So what’s up with you two now? There’s definitely something going on, given what I saw last night out on the patio.”
“What you saw was a . . . mistake. A moment of craziness. But he doesn’t live around here, and will be gone soon. Could be gone already for all I know. So don’t read too much into it.”
Judging by the way she lowered her eyes, avoiding Fee’s stare, Fee did read something into it, but just what, and how much, she wasn’t sure.
“Get up and get dressed. You can give Borka and Magda a hand with the rooms,” her mom said, turning and leaving.
Fee scrunched her nose. Her mother’s hasty, breeze-generating exit did nothing to clear the fishy smell she left in her place.
Hours later, Fee was outside, waiting for her ride, when she spied Aunt Jocelyn heading out to her car.
“Where ya going?” Fee asked.
“Meeting an old friend,” Jocelyn said.
“Must be some friend,” Fee said, ballooning her eyes in awe at Aunt Jocelyn’s fused-on jeans and low-cut lime-and-white striped top. “You look amazing.”
“What this?” Jocelyn said, swiping her hand down the contours of her body. “Business wear. Technically, unfinished business wear.”
A part of Fee wanted to ask her aunt to explain; another part—coming in with the majority rule—was pretty sure she didn’t want to know or wouldn’t understand, anyway. What kind of business would Aunt Jocelyn have here? Plus, even for her line of work, it hardly looked like business attire. But that was the beauty of Aunt Jocelyn. She didn’t let others define her. She was—in her own words—a free agent. Except, Fee knew Jocelyn wasn’t entirely opposed to settling down. Theirs had always been a special relationship. Just last summer Jocelyn had told Fee that she wanted to break off a section of white picket fence for herself, that she sometimes thought about dognapping a golden retriever and snatching a stroller. She had been kidding about the means, but the underlying wish for her own happy ending was there.
“And how about you?” Jocelyn asked, circling Fee and sniffing with flared nostrils like some sort of freakin’ airport dog. “Hmm. I can’t get a read on it. Something’s up, though.”
Fee knew all about her aunt’s high-def sensory abilities: colors, smells, hormones, and other organic matter that Aunt Jocelyn claimed to pick up like some kind of radio tower. But what could she possibly be sniffing on Fee?
“Where are you headed off to?”
“A sleepover with my friend, Cass.”
“You don’t both like the same guy, do you?”
“No.”
Jocelyn lifted her eyebrows. “Weird. I’m definitely picking up some sort of betrayal signal.”
An old Jeep Cherokee pulled down the long driveway. Cass’s sister was driving and Cass sat next to her. One of the great things about Cass was her licensed seventeen-year-old sister, Mel. It was way cooler to be chauffeured by an older sibling than a parent.
“That’s my ride. Gotta go.” Fee took a few steps distancing herself from Jocelyn and her superhuman sensories.
“Be careful,” Jocelyn called out.
“What? Why?”
“Your aura colors are all over the place.” Jocelyn pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, fixing Fee with a forthright gaze. “You’re vulnerable.”
Fee walked to the car. She hadn’t expected Aunt Jocelyn to go all hard-core hippie on her. As if she didn’t have enough to think about. The conversation between the two old ladies at the wake already had her head spinning. “Cozy trio” made it sound like there was some kind of love triangle or rivalry over that Keith guy, the guy her mom had mashed with last night. And why would they use the words mystery child? As if the mystery of her own making—a drug-smuggling Turkish student—wasn’t enough. Fee scrambled into the backseat of Cass’s family’s car with her head about ready to blow a lobe.
“Where to?” Mel asked.
“The Bijou,” Cass said.
Mel dropped the girls off at the Bijou, the only downtown movie theater. The seats weren’t cushy or roomy; there were only two screens; it didn’t always have the latest releases; and it smelled like wet dog—but it was close, cheap, and something to do. They bought tickets at the outdoor kiosk. Once inside, they got snacks. While pumping butter onto her tub of popcorn, Fee saw Marjory and two of her “right friends” come through the door. Crap. It was hardly a coincidence given the Bijou was the place to hang on a Friday—still, Fee cursed the fates. Not that she’d admit belief in fates or destiny to cause-and-effect Cass.
“Hey, guys,” Marjory said, breaking into her best yearbook smile. “I was wondering if we’d run into you tonight.”
“Hi,” Cass said. At least when she smiled it was genuine.
“You guys didn’t happen to see my yellow soccer ball, did you?” Marjory asked.
“No,” Fee said. The falsetto lift to Marjory’s voice buzzed Fee to attention.
“It’s the weirdest thing.” Marjory tapped at her bubblegumpink-glossed lips. “It just went missing after practice.”
Marjory’s friends giggled. Fee supposed these friends—one mini, the other a big maxi type—offered the sort of feminine protection that a girl like Marjory needed.
“Look,” Mini said, opening her purse for Fee and Cass. “We’re smuggling our own snacks into the movie.” Three sticks of jerky lay atop a jumble of girl crap—turkey jerky.
“Are you on drugs?” Marjory forced Mini’s purse closed. “Do you want to get us kicked out?”
Seeing as Will Peters had once Frisbee’d one of the theater’s seat cushions from the front row to the back and had enjoyed his moviegoing experience from trailers to credits, Fee hardly thought that three strips of leathery meat were going to attract much notice. Of course, Fee knew their performance had nothing to do with lost balls or contraband snacks.
“Enjoy the movie,” Maxi said, pulling Mini and Marjory away. They didn’t even wait until they were out of earshot for the hysteria to begin.
So much for leak-guard technology, Fee thought in a rush of anger that quickly expanded to embarrassment and regret.
“Bitch,” Cass said rather uncharacteristically.
“Big, bad bitch,” Fee said.
“And so insensitive to your situation. It has to be hard enough.”
Of all the things for realist Cass to believe in, she just had to pick Fee. Shame added its tug to Fee’s nagging insides. The hard part, Fee thought, was finding the right way to fess up to Cass. The lobby of the Bijou was definitely not the place, but tonight during their sleepover she just had to come clean. Cass would understand. She was, after all, Fee’s SFAM.