19.
DRUNK IN THE GUARD TOWER
Tuesday, September 3, 1935
Today is my first day in eighth grade. I have Piper in three of my classes but she totally ignores me in school and on the way home too. I’m like a toad squashed flat on the street for all the attention she pays me. She is always a little mad, but this is worse than usual.
Jimmy, Theresa, and Annie don’t start school until next week. St. Bridgette’s has less school days than Marina, which isn’t fair. Theresa has to go early for orientation and Mrs. Mattaman asked me if I would pick her up after school, so I walk all the way to St. Bridgette’s to get her. Theresa is so excited to be in “real school” that she jabbers my head off the whole way home.
On the island, we head for the canteen, where we find Jimmy sitting at the counter, his head resting in his hands like he’s concentrating on something up close. He doesn’t even flinch when the bell on the canteen door rings.
Since what happened with the secret passageway, it has been uncomfortable between Jimmy and me. What isn’t said sits like a piece of dog crap between us. I wish it could be the way it was before. Every day I pretend it is and maybe eventually it will be.
“Jim-meeee,” Theresa yells, like she always does when he’s deep into his projects. “You were wrong. I didn’t need my nickel.” She waves it in his face. “Ha, ha, I get to get a candy bar.”
Jimmy picks his head up slowly, like it’s too heavy for his neck. He has a deep crease between his brows.
“Uh-oh,” Theresa whispers, “did all your flies die?”
Jimmy has been quite successful with his fly-breeding project. Down under the dock he has a big barrel full to the brim with hundreds of flies—maybe more.
“Better go home, Theresa.”
Theresa’s eyes go wild. “Rocky! Is Rocky . . . ”
Jimmy puts his hands up as if to block that idea. “Rocky’s okay. It’s Dad.”
“Dad got hurt?”
“Dad’s on probation.” He looks at me. “Your dad too. They got written up for being drunk on guard tower duty.”
“What? That’s crazy,” I say. I’m not even worried about this. That’s how nutty it is.
Theresa’s mouth drops open, but no sound comes out. Her chin juts forward with the force of this news. “Daddy’s never been drunk in his whole life,” she declares.
Jimmy shrugs. “Somebody lied, that’s all. Somebody’s out to get them.”
“But why? Why would anyone be out to get Daddy?” Theresa asks as I head out the door and up the stairs as fast as I can.
“Mom.” I slam into our apartment. My mom is washing the windows, wearing a pair of my dad’s old pants that are too short for her.
She takes one look at me. “You heard.”
“Dad wouldn’t drink when he’s working.”
“Of course not.”
“Somebody just made this up to get him in trouble?”
“Looks that way. But your dad told me I should simmer down about it. He thinks it was a mistake and it will all get straightened out in due time. I’ll tell you one thing. The warden would be a fool to lose your daddy.”
“Was it Trixle?”
My mom shakes her head, her lips a cold line. “Darby likes to stir the pot, but I don’t think he’d out and out lie.”
“Yeah, me either,” I agree.
“One thing’s for sure. We have to be extra careful until this whole mess works itself out. If you’re on probation and you have any trouble, any at all . . . you’re gone. No second chances.”
“And with Natalie coming home on Friday . . .”
“That’s right, and that big shindig this weekend too.”
“I’ll be careful,” I assure her.
She takes my chin in her hand. “I know you will be. Six months we lived here with Natalie, we never once had a problem with the warden or Darby either. I suppose I got you to thank for that, Moose.” She smiles at me.
I twist my chin gently away from her. My mom doesn’t know everything about that time . . . she doesn’t know about Nat’s friendship with 105, for one thing.
“You know, Moose, Mrs. Mattaman and I were talking. . . .” She pushes the scarf she wears when she cleans away from her eyes. “How are things going with you and the warden’s daughter?”
My mom doesn’t refer to Piper by name anymore. I’m not sure why.
“You two have a little spat?” my mother asks.
“You could call it that.”
My mom folds her cleaning cloth carefully in half and in half again. “You have a little spat, then this thing happens . . . what a coincidence.”
“Piper wouldn’t do this.”
“I hope you’re right.” My mother pronounces right with a hiccup in the middle—ri-ight—as if she’s not convinced.
“She have any reason to be mad at Jimmy or Theresa?” she asks.
“She’s mad at Theresa. But Mom, Piper’s always mad at someone. That’s just the way she is.”
“Things are tough at her house right now with a new baby on the way and her momma feeling poorly. You mind your p’s and q’s around that girl, you hear me? She’s pretty as they come, I’ll give you that, but she’s more trouble than stirring up a hornet’s nest.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say.
“Will you help me empty the pan?” She opens the icebox and takes out the pan filled with melted ice water. Together we walk to the sink, trying to keep the water from splashing.
When we’ve dumped the water, she takes her rag and gives the pan a good scrub. “Everybody’s always telling me how lucky I am to have you. Did you really get Bea Trixle a rose?”
“I guess.”
“Did you now?” She directs a smile at her work. “Don’t imagine Darby appreciated that any too much.”
“I had an extra.”
“A twelve-year-old boy with an extra rose?”
“It’s hard to explain, Mom.”
“I’ll bet it is.” She works her cloth into the corner. “Annie’s mom says you’re interested in needlepoint too?” She looks at me sideways. I roll my eyes.
She smiles her sly smile. “Apparently I’m not giving you the right kind of chores. I wish I’d known. I got some mending needs doing. You interested?”
“Cut it out, Mom,” I tell her.
She laughs. “I got a son can do no wrong. Guess I can’t complain about that, now can I?”