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The phone rang later that evening. By that time, I felt better and was sitting in the living room with my parents, watching television and doing homework. Hardly anybody ever called us, except Mr. Barrett, who occasionally asked Mom to sit with his wife while he went into town.
Mom answered. “Hi there,” she said in a strained voice. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to meet you the other day. Thanks for bringing Faye home from school... yes, I think we can make it. What shall we bring?”
She hung up, looking flustered, and turned to Dad. “Your friend, Laney Ivey, just invited us all to a party on Saturday night. It’s a potluck with a few neighbors and friends.” She glanced at me. “And there will be kids your age there.” She scrunched up her face. “I didn’t see how I could turn her down.”
Dad closed the newspaper and grabbed his guitar from the corner of the room. He banged a chord and sang a line from some old song about rocking around the clock. I rolled my eyes. Mom and Dad were so completely different that it seemed unbelievable that they’d ever gotten together. Mom was a preacher’s kid from some small town in Kansas. She’d gone to a dance and met Dad, who was nine years older and playing in the band. He worked on a neighboring farm during the day, but mostly, he was bumming around after returning from World War II and joining fellows to make music when he could. He fell in love with the red dress Mom wore that night, and she fell in love with his easy smile. Three months later, they were married, and her parents disowned her for marrying outside their fundamentalist faith. She joined him on the road, and they had been traveling ever since.
Mom had married at seventeen. I was fifteen—only two years younger—and hadn’t even had a date. Or a kiss. And I didn’t own a red dress. I didn’t care if I never got married, though. My parents weren’t exactly an advertisement for marital bliss. I hoped their regular fighting wouldn’t keep us from going to Mrs. Ivey’s party. I hadn’t been invited to many parties in my life, and I couldn’t wait to go to that one. It was curious that Francie hadn’t mentioned it to me. I’d ask her about it the next day.
When Dad put down his guitar, Mom said in her no-nonsense tone, “Listen, you two. This is our first time getting to know our neighbors, so I want all of us to be on our best behavior.” She gave Dad a hard look. “You especially. I’ll be watching.”
“Sure, baby. You worry too much.” He winked at me.
* * *
MOM SPENT SATURDAY afternoon making her trademark carousel cake. A devil’s food cake started it, followed by fudge frosting, topped by animal crackers and peppermint sticks, then red-and-white tinsel paper to make a roof for the carousel. It was a sight to behold.
We drove to the Iveys’ house because Mom was afraid the cake would melt in the heat if we walked. It was nice to sit in the truck seat. I had gone for a two-mile run up and down the road that morning then pruned the azalea bushes around the Barretts’ house and helped Mom cook supper for the old people before I took a shower and slipped into my new used jeans.
The Iveys’ home was similar to the Barretts’—a rambling yellow frame house, two stories, with a porch on the front and big windows. Upstairs, two dormer windows peered outward. I’d always longed for a bedroom with a dormer window. I wondered if Francie slept there.
A friendly dog greeted us with a tail wag and led us around back, where a bunch of adults were packed into a screened porch that ran along the length of the house. I didn’t see any other teenagers. Mom stood as stiff as a corpse when Laney welcomed us, but Dad grinned as if he expected a special hug or a kiss from the hostess.
Laney barely gave him a second glance before introducing us to a man standing behind her. “This is my husband. Richard, these are our new neighbors, Bud and Sue—and Faye, who is Francie’s friend.”
Dad’s smile changed to icy politeness as he shook hands with Mr. Ivey. Mom’s shoulders dropped, and she gave Laney a grateful smile. Then Laney took our cake and offered Mom and Dad a drink.
“I’m afraid we don’t drink,” said Mom.
“Well, there’s sweet iced tea in a pitcher on the sideboard. You can help yourselves when you’re ready.”
Laney introduced us to a horde of adults then took me into the living room, introduced me to her son, and left. I could hardly keep my mouth from falling open when I met Kyle. He was the cutest boy I’d ever seen—tall and slim with short brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He looked a little like Paul Newman, whose picture I’d seen in Seventeen magazine. Apparently, Kyle was home from college for the weekend.
“Hey, I’ve heard about you,” he said, flashing a heartthrob smile. “You’re Francie’s friend. She’s here somewhere.” He glanced around at the rest of the kids in the room, but Francie wasn’t with them. He nodded toward a pretty blond girl. “That’s Linda, my girlfriend. Can I get you a Coke?”
“Sure.”
Kyle headed toward the kitchen.
Some kids were dancing to a fast song by the Young Rascals. I couldn’t keep my feet from tapping. And then I was dancing for the first time in my life, other than in my bedroom. The dancers made space for me to join them. My heart beat in time with the bass notes, and my feet had a mind of their own. When the song ended, Kyle handed me a bottle of Coke. Another song came on, and I kept dancing, holding the bottle as still as I could so it wouldn’t spill.
Eventually, we got called to the back porch for supper. Francie came in the front door with a boy I didn’t recognize. She threw me a smile, but she was clearly more interested in flirting than talking to me. I was okay with that. We could talk on Monday during our run.
A long table was covered with food: barbeque pork, fried chicken, potato salad, green bean casserole, and much, much more. I filled my plate and walked back into the house. A boy who looked vaguely familiar made space for me at the kitchen table.
He smiled. “Hi, Faye, it’s good to see you. I’m Reese.” He had a huge pimple on his forehead that was about to burst, and I struggled not to stare at it. I’d have worn a bag over my head if my face looked like his. “I hope you run the mile at the meet. Joe and I are running it, too, but we need a third.”
Ah. So he was on the track team. “The coach told you he’d asked me? I didn’t know that.”
He took a bite of hamburger and talked as he chewed. “He asked us what we thought. We all thought it was cool. You and Francie are both good runners, but especially you. A natural.”
I could only muster a feeble “Thanks.” I was sure my face was flaming and my freckles were standing out like pencil erasers. I let my shoulder-length red hair fall over my face while I took a bite of something that tasted like a mushroom stuffed with fish. I nearly gagged then set down my fork.
“So are you going to do it?” he asked.
“I don’t think so.” I’d considered it, but my parents would never give me permission to run in a race, and it was too risky to participate without their permission. They might find out some way. No, I’d have to find another way to get a track scholarship. I didn’t tell him all that. Instead I said, “I just want to do my own thing.” It had sounded good when Francie said it, although it wasn’t true for me.
“Too bad.”
We went back outside for dessert. Mom’s cake had already been scarfed up, so I filled my plate with brownies and apple pie. I looked around for my parents. Mom was sitting at the picnic table, talking to some other women, and Dad had joined a group of men in the backyard. They were all laughing, but his laugh was the loudest of all. Several of the women glanced over at him.
Oh no. He must be telling a joke. His jokes had gotten him into trouble in the past. Should I do something?
“Did you hear the one about the priest, the minister, and the rabbi who went into a bar?” His voice carried throughout the backyard. Before he could get any further, though, Mom hurried up to him and said in a low voice, “Hush, Bud. You’re out of line.”
Everyone got quiet then, and I went back into the house. I didn’t need to hear them arguing, especially in front of strangers. About two minutes later, Mom came into the living room and told me it was time to leave. I’d just finished eating and was eager to dance some more.
“How about if I walk home in an hour?”
She shook her head and gave me a look. We glared at each other.
Then Reese was by my side. “I can drive her home later, Mrs. Smith. It’s no trouble.”
For a minute, she seemed to be weakening, but then her eyes squinched up. “No, thank you. Faye, it’s time to go. Don’t make me tell you again.”
I took a deep breath and hesitated, wondering what would happen if I refused. I didn’t quite have the courage to defy her, but it was building.
Reese shrugged. “See you at school, Faye.”
I nodded then leaned over and whispered, “Tell the coach I’ll run at the meet.” I grabbed my pocketbook, nodded to Francie, who was watching us with big eyes, and left.
On the way home, I considered how I felt. On the one hand, I wanted to scream at Mom for making me leave the party when I was having so much fun. And Dad had been such a jerk that I never wanted to be in the same room with him again. I didn’t know how that joke ended, but I suspected it was either dirty or offensive in some way. It was probably a good thing Mom had stopped him before he finished it. At least he’d stopped flirting with Laney, and I could relax about that.
My parents were ruining any chance I might have of getting a social life in Valencia. They were the most uncaring, despicable parents in the world. On the other hand, I’d met two interesting boys and had a great time dancing. I knew nothing would ever happen with Kyle, because he was older and had a girlfriend, but I loved his movie-star smile. Reese was only average looking, but he’d actually stood up to my mom and offered to drive me home. I daydreamed about which one I would pick if I had to make a choice.
* * *
AS SOON AS WE GOT HOME, Mom sent me to my room. I knew what was coming: she would yell at Dad for telling off-color jokes, then she’d rush to their bedroom, crying, while he stormed off in the truck. I trudged to my room and turned on the Beatles’ Help! album, trying to make a point by setting the volume as high as it would go. The record was scratchy from so many playings, but hopefully, the loud music would blot out the fight.
After a few minutes, though, I couldn’t help but wonder what was happening on the other side of the wall. Part of me didn’t want to hear whatever it was, but I also didn’t want to miss anything. I held an empty water glass up to the wall between our bedrooms and listened. Silence. Opening my bedroom door, I was prepared to say I had to use the bathroom, but the house was deserted.
A row of tall azalea bushes surrounded the front of the cottage, and I squeezed behind them. Mom and Dad sat next to each other at the picnic table in the yard, talking quietly. They weren’t yelling, at least not yet. A bright security light on a telephone pole illuminated them, so they probably couldn’t see me hunched in the shadows. I edged around to where I could listen.
Mom said, “What on earth were you thinking? Do you have to embarrass me everywhere we go?”
“Oh, babe. You take everything too seriously. It was just a little joke. Nobody complained.”
“You and I both know that joke offends people. Look, you’ve got to behave. You promised when we moved here that we would stay until Faye graduated. You cannot get in trouble again.” Mom’s voice rose to something like a wail.
“All right, all right. It was just a joke. I won’t do it again. Now, can we change the subject?” He slapped a mosquito on his forearm and flicked it away. “I think everybody liked your cake. It got slurped up before I even got a piece.”
Mom leaned back and stared at him. After a moment, she asked, her voice stern, “What did you take? I know you weren’t drinking, because I’d smell it on your breath. What was it?”
Giggling like a child who’d gotten away with stealing a nickel from his mother’s pocketbook, he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled something out.
“Pain pills. Here, see? The prescription is for Richard Ivey. He got shrapnel in his leg at Omaha Beach, and I could tell he was in pain. So”—he shook the small bottle—”I had to go to the bathroom. And in the medicine cabinet were six bottles of the stuff. I helped myself to the one with the least amount. He’ll never miss it.” He giggled again. “Want one? They’re great. You need something to help you relax, baby.”
He put his arm around her and pulled her to him. She jerked away. “Of course I don’t want one. And you shouldn’t have taken those.”
“He won’t miss one bottle. And even if he does, he won’t know who took it.” He leaned around to caress her cheek. “I don’t want to fight. I’m sorry I embarrassed you. Now, come here.”
“You are such an idiot.” I could hear in her voice that she was going to forgive him. The next thing I knew, they were kissing. I wasn’t happy seeing them fight, but I really didn’t want to watch them make out. I couldn’t believe my mom was taken in by his excuses, but she was. As usual. It wouldn’t be long before they came into the house and went to their bedroom.
I sneaked back to my room, wondering how Dad’s actions would affect me. The off-color joke was a minor problem. The bigger problem was whether Mr. Ivey would find out about Dad stealing his medicine and stop Francie from running with me, or worse yet, if he would call the police. Worst of all, would we have to move? I was starting to like Valencia, and I was sick to death of moving.
And then I remembered that I had agreed to run in the race in two weeks. Geez, I was as bad as Dad sometimes with getting myself into hot water.