“Mom’s fine,” he said.
“She is?” Irene asked. Relieved, disbelieving, wanting to believe. Tears pooled hot behind her eyes.
“You’re blocking the TV,” he said.
Irene didn’t move. “She threw up in the bathroom.”
He finally looked at her.
“This morning,” she said. “And last night.” Mom had tried to keep it quiet, but the sounds were unmistakable.
“Huh,” her father said. His hand came up and scratched his jaw, four fingers held together. His hands had become shovels since the accident.
“Do you think she has the flu?” Irene asked.
“I’ll ask her about it.”
“She shouldn’t be working if she’s sick,” Irene said. “You should tell her to stay home.”
He almost smiled. If he’d let the smile come on, she would have screamed at him. “You don’t like Agent Smalls, do you?”
This was a month after Smalls had failed to lie to Irene. He was in love with her mother. The fact that she kept getting in the car with him every morning, kept working with him, was inexplicable to her. That her father let her mother do it infuriated her.
“What are you going to do about Mom?” Irene asked.
“I told you, I’ll ask her.” Irene thought, He believes that he’s really going to do this.
“But she’s okay?” Irene asked again.
“Madlock’s up to bat,” he said wearily.
Later, Irene started supper, with Buddy prompting her with the right ingredients from their mother’s recipe. It was chop suey, an ultra-bland dish as Chinese as meat loaf. When Mom came home, she didn’t try to take over as she usually did. She sat in the chair with Buddy on her lap, and told Irene that she was doing fine.
“How was work?” Irene asked. This seemed like an adult thing to say.
“Busy. And what did you do today, Mr. Buddy? Did you draw any pictures?”
They went on like that, talking about nothing as ground beef simmered in the skillet, until Irene called Frankie and her father to the dining room. Irene wasn’t about to ask her mother what was wrong. She was terrified that Mom would tell the truth.
Once they sat down, Frankie was there to distract them. At ten years old he was a motormouth, before teenagerdom turned him sullen, and aging desperation made him a yammerer again. This was the summer he found the Encyclopedia of Greek Gods and Heroes at the Bookmobile and kept asking Dad which ones the Telemachus family should worship. He was the only one who could get Dad to laugh since the accident.
“No paganism,” Dad said. “Your mom won’t stand for it.”
Mom had been moving the chopped celery and ground beef on her plate without eating any of it. When she thought no one was looking, her face went cold, as if all her energy had to be redirected elsewhere. But Irene was watching.
“Please stick to Christ and the Blessed Virgin,” Mom said. She touched her napkin to her lips, and pushed her chair back. “Excuse me a moment.” She was pale, and sweating in the heat. Buddy put his face in his hands.
Mom stood, and placed her hand on the chair back. But she put too much of her weight on it, and the chair tipped. She fell sideways, and the side of her head struck the linoleum with a sharp sound.
Everyone leaped up. Everyone except Buddy, who kept his face covered. Mom was embarrassed. “I’m all right, I’m all right, please everybody sit down, I just lost my balance.” Dad helped her out of the room, and up the stairs, to the bathroom.
He returned to the table a long time later. “Mom’s going to rest.” He looked at Irene. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
Liar, she thought.
Six in the morning and Matty was blearily awake, volunteering to carry Irene’s bag down to the car and see her off to Phoenix. She knew he’d be asleep again before she left the driveway, but the effort touched her.
“I feel like I’m abandoning you to the wolves,” she said to him.
“But it’s my wolf pack,” he said. “Awhoo.”
The joking didn’t fool her. For the past two weeks, ever since he quit on Frankie, Matty had been moody and tense.
From downstairs, Dad said, “We’re twenty minutes late! Are we leaving or not?”
“Leaving!” Matty said.
“Give me a second,” Irene said.
She didn’t want to leave him. She’d already raised one set of feral children, her brothers, and knew the dangers. Was it any wonder she was so eager to find a man who’d take care of her for a change?
“So this Joshua guy,” Matty said. “You’re not moving to Arizona, right?”
“Did you pick up your room like I asked?” She’d learned to dodge questions by watching how others dodged hers. “That’s what I thought. Do it this morning, okay? And c’mere.” Before he could stop her she pulled him into a hug. “I love you, Matty. Don’t forget to—”
She pulled back, frowning.
“What?” Matty asked.
She bent, and smelled his shirt again. He tried to step back and she grabbed his collar. Sniffed hard.
“Holy shit,” she said. Matty’s eyes went wide.
“Let’s go already!” Dad called.
“Are you smoking pot?” she asked.
Matty opened his mouth. The lie died before it could break the surface.
“Currently?” he asked.
“Oh God. You’re smoking pot. You’re smoking pot. You’re doing this to me right as I’m leaving town?”
“Doing what now?” her father asked. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, ready for duty: hat on, suit jacket buttoned, cuff links shining. He would have made an excellent limo driver, if not for his petulant attitude. “He’s not to leave this room,” Irene said. “All weekend.”
“The room?” Matty exclaimed.
Dad looked at her, then at Matty, then back to her. “I’m supposed to ensure this incarceration how?”
“It’s real simple,” Irene said. “You watch him. Night and day. If he leaves the room, you beat his ass until he goes back inside.”
“That sounds an awful lot like you’re grounding me,” Dad said.
“Jesus Christ!” Irene said. “Be an authority figure for once.”
“Not really my strong suit,” Dad said. “Now come on, don’t do that.” She’d burst into tears. “We’re late already.”
“Promise me,” she said.
“All right, all right,” Dad said. “I promise. Also, Matty promises. He will not leave his room except for necessary bodily functions. Can we go now? I’m meeting someone for breakfast.”
“I promise, too,” Matty said. He knew she’d want to hear it directly from him.
“You shut up,” she said to him. She marched past him, heading for his room. He came after, emitting panicky squawks.
“Where is it?” Irene asked. “Where’d you hide it?” She kicked open his room. There were clothes littering the floor. To her newly drug-sensitized nose, the room reeked of marijuana. “Get it. Now.”
Any teenager with a normal mother would play dumb at this point. Wait her out. But Matty knew better than to lie or delay. She’d trained him from birth to accept the infallibility of her instincts. He walked to his dresser, opened the third drawer, and reached in. He handed the baggie to her without speaking. Two joints, one half smoked.
“If you miss your flight,” Dad said from the door, “don’t blame me.”
“Where’d you get this?” Irene asked.
Matty flushed. Beet red, she thought, was the color of being beaten.
“Train’s leaving the station,” Dad said. “Off we go. Toodle-oo.”