Damnation times ten!
“Tessie?” My sister isn’t calling to me from the living room, but the bathroom down the hall, so “American Bandstand” must be over. “I’m getting in the tub now just like you told me to and yes, I turned off the water.”
I can’t let her know that I stumbled across the worst piece of evidence that could get her sent away, not to jail, but to a “home,” because she is an innocent who cannot be held responsible for what she does, so I steady my voice and call back to her, “Did you remember to take off all your clothes including your undies, honey?”
“Yes, I remembered to take off all my clothes including my undies, honey.”
The poor kid couldn’t have known what she was doing when she took the money from the church box, and she’s probably already forgotten that she did. I’m not sure that she even has a conscience—that annoying, chirping voice might be located in the part of Birdie’s brain that she didn’t get because she came out of Louise too early—but what I do know is that no matter how hard I try to hide it, my sister, who I love and know best of all and who loves and knows me best of all, is gonna figure out how scared I am if I run into the bathroom and present this stolen wad of bills to her and tell her what she’s done. Her eyes will bulge bigger and then her little face will crumple and she’ll start flapping her arms and squawking and yelling with her big opera lungs how sorry she is over and over and over and over and then she’ll ask if I still love her so many times that I almost don’t anymore and . . . and Gert won’t even need to turn on her powerful hearing aids to know that it’s time to call Louise, who I’m pretty positive would send my little sister away to the loony bin if she finds out what Birdie’s done, which she won’t, if I have anything to say about it.
Never in a million years would I let #1 on my TO-DO list, who I promised Daddy I would take tender loving care of, live the rest of her life in a padded room.
Because I wasn’t BE PREPARED for something like this to happen, I’ve got to come up with a plan ASAP! I’d normally spend hours puzzling over a new list, but I don’t have that luxury right now. I’ve got to act fast, but my usual genius brain is so shocked and stunned that it can only think of four solutions to our predicament off the top of my head:
Stick some of this money in my shorts pocket and the two of us could run away right now to California.
Bring the stolen loot to Mr. McGinty’s shack tonight and beg for his help.
Follow the original plan I had when I found the culprit to stick the money under some bushes at the church and then come across it after Mass this Sunday so I can be a big hero.
Sneak out of the house and return the money to the collection box tonight all by myself.
I reach for my Magic 8 Ball that I keep hidden from Louise in the closet behind a shoe box because it is a sin to ask questions about your future to anybody but all-knowing God.
Q. Which plan should I pick? #1, 2, 3, or 4?
A. When I turn it over, Reply hazy try again later floats up.
Damnation!
We need to act now, not later, and I’ve just about had it up to here with these watered-down answers.
“Tessie!” Birdie shouts from down the hall. “Come practice your dead man’s float!”
Please, Daddy, please help me know what to do . . . what to do . . .
I like the idea of making a run for it, but first I’d have to talk Birdie into it, and that could take forever on account of how much she loves Louise, and I would really miss Charlie so much.
If I involve Mr. McGinty, that could make him guilty of the crime of accessorizing after the fact, the way I am, because I let Daddy drown, and I wouldn’t wish that awful feeling on anybody, except for Jenny Radtke and Gert, and, of course, Butch Seeback, but he probably wouldn’t even feel bad because he has the mind of a maniac.
Hiding the money under the bushes at church and then pretending to find it this Sunday after Mass is too risky. Somebody, say Gert Klement, would start telling everybody how suspicious she thinks it is that Theresa Marie Finley, of all people, was the one to find the stolen money. Dog smells its own dirt first is probably what she’d say.
Yes, returning the money tonight to the collection box when Birdie and Louise are snoozing seems like the best idea.
Thank you, Daddy. Amen.
“Tessie . . . Tessie . . . Tessie . . . Tessie!” my sister calls from the bathroom.
St. Kate’s keeps its doors open all through the night so the workers at the Feelin’ Good Cookie factory and American Motors can stop by when their second shift is over to do their praying, so not getting noticed by one of them is going to be very tricky. I’ll wear my hobo disguise or pull one of the black stockings over my face, and then, when the time is right, I’ll . . .