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“About me?”
“Bunny, we just talk—about anything. You know how it is.”
She shot a glance at me, over her shoulder, and her temper flared. “Well, I don’t like it. Everybody’s got something to say to you these days but me. What I say doesn’t matter. The mother doesn’t count.” She started walking faster, taking short, Chinese steps in her tight skirt. “It’s all Judge Horner this, or Mrs. O’Brien that, or Reverend Vaughn something else. And that crazy Jesus lady they’ve got you living with, she’s the worst of all. I’ve noticed the way she checks out whatever I’m wearing. You know what I think? I think she believes I’m the devil, and she’s looking to see how I’ve hidden the tail under my dress.”
“Bunny!” I was almost trotting to stay up with her.
“I can just imagine her thinking, ‘Let’s see, does she wrap it around one thigh? Or maybe tuck it between her legs?’ I bet that gives her a thrill. Hunh!” She brayed out a harsh laugh.
“Bunny, no,” I said.
“I may not be perfect, but at least I’m your mother, and that should count for something. Why can’t they just leave us alone?” She was a step or two ahead of me, talking to the world in front of her. I’d never seen her this excitable.
Half a block ahead, the Methodist Church was letting out, and the sidewalk was crowded. We’d have to wade through people to get to the car. Bunny didn’t appear to notice. “Don’t they understand?” she wailed. “It was bad enough with Tom, and now this. What do they expect? I’ve got to work. I’ve got to make money so we can eat. I can’t stay home all day and chaperone.” People on the sidewalk heard her coming, and a path, lined with familiar faces, opened up. I moved right up to Bunny’s shoulder.
“It’ll only be for a little while,” I whispered. “Simon Beach will get us out of this.” I hoped the lawyer’s name would soothe her. I could see the Pontiac, just ahead, the rusted rear bumper jutting out from a line of cars.
“Martha!” an eager voice suddenly called out.
I pretended not to hear and kept moving.
“Hey! Martha! Yoo-hoo. It’s me.” It was Janie Owens, a classmate of mine. She goes to the Methodist Church.
I stopped, and she scampered up. She had on a blue dress, something new, with a lacy top. “Gee,” she said. “I heard.” She played with a fold on her dress and waited for me to say something. Bunny had stopped a few feet beyond and was watching us. “Are you out now?” Janie asked. “Did they let you go?”
“I’m with Bunny,” I said. I wasn’t about to explain anything. Bunny took a step back toward us.
“Oh.” Janie came up and took my hand between hers. I felt the silky grease of hand lotion. She’d probably been rubbing it on secretly during the church service. “What’s going to happen to you?” Her mouth hung open for an instant. Through her hands, I could almost feel her tingling joy at the horror and wonder of it all. “God, your reputation,” she said.
Suddenly, Bunny was beside us. “Beat it, you little fat bottom,” she hissed. Janie jumped back. Her hands stroked frantically at her dress, as if to protect it from what was happening. “If I catch you spreading any more rumors, I’ll sue you for every cent you’ve got.” Bunny stabbed at Janie with her finger, and then turned and walked elegantly toward her car.
“See you, Janie,” I mumbled, before hurrying after Bunny and climbing into the safety of the Pontiac.
SEVENTEEN
Back in the car, Bunny was suddenly cheerful. Her explosion at Janie seemed to have calmed her, and she chattered away as if nothing had happened. How many times had I seen her blow up like that in the last week? She’d always had a temper, of course, and, occasionally, she’d
lose it, but never so uncontrollably or so publicly. She used to seethe and then rage at home, mostly for my benefit, I thought. At home, she almost seemed to be showing off, and secretly I kind of enjoyed it. Her anger was harmless and she could be funny with it, saying ridiculous, outrageous things about whoever had offended her. But now she kept making these public displays—at the lawyer’s office, twice on the square—as if she had to flaunt her anger in front of the town. It wasn’t like her.
We drove back to the Vernons’, and I ran in and changed into shorts and gym shoes for the picnic. Then we stopped at Bunny’s house and picked up the red-checkered tablecloth and a grocery bag stuffed with sandwiches, potato chips, and apples. It felt strange to be back in the house again. I had the sense that the place had changed in tiny ways that I couldn’t see. My room—all white and lacy and soft with pillows—looked childish to me, and even the kitchen, where Bunny and I had whiled away hours sitting around the old Formica table, seemed dreary and cramped.
We didn’t stay long. Bunny said she wasn’t going to change her clothes. “If these are good enough for the Congo,” she said, “they’re good enough for Mason’s Farm.”
I had an idea something was up, and once we were back in the car, instead of heading out of town, she swung down Beetle Street, toward Eddie Boggs’s place. I turned and stared out the side window. We passed the V.F.W., Katydid Ford, Southside Elementary School. In front of the Poskas’ house, the entire Poska family, with all its white-blond hair, was piling into the family car, probably going out to the Estonian Center to sing songs and eat sausages all afternoon. Why did Bunny have to do it? Why couldn’t she give up on men for a while? Why couldn’t she see that Eddie Boggs was wrong for her? Why, why, why—my head was starting to ache.
Bunny knew what I was thinking. “I want you and Eddie to be friends,” she said.
I wanted to ask her: What about Mrs. O’Brien? What about Judge Horner? What about getting your life together? What about me? I wanted to ask those questions—I wanted to yell them, because I knew there were no answers. But my throat had tightened up as if somebody’s fingers were clamped around it. I didn’t say a word.
Eddie Boggs lives by himself in a room above Rose Dry Cleaners. Bunny says it’s a sorry place, barren, except for a mattress, a few chairs, and a hot plate for cooking. But there’s a big, gravel parking lot in front of the dry cleaners, and on Sundays Eddie and his friends can hang around and work on their cars.
When we pulled up, Eddie had his shirt off and was leaning over the engine of Tony Burger’s red Chevy. Eddie’s got one of those wiry male bodies on which all the muscles and veins stand out, as if the skin’s too tight. He looked up and saw us and gave his wrench to Tony and then loped up the stairs on the side of the building. Tony came over and looked in Bunny’s window. “Hey, lil’ darlin’,” he said.
“Shut up,” said Bunny, and the two of them grinned at each other for a while.
Tony noticed me and stuck his head in the window, leaning over Bunny. “Well, hello, there,” he said.
“Get out,” snapped Bunny. She pushed him back and rolled up the window.
