Clem hopped off the table and followed her. “I’m such an idiot,” he said. “You didn’t want to hear about any of that.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad you’re happy.”
“I just wanted to tell somebody, and you’re the person I always want to tell. You’ll always be that person, Becky. You know that, right?”
She nodded.
“Is it okay if I give you a hug?”
It took her a second to get the joke. She laughed, and things were right with them again, and so she told him about the money from Shirley and what their father had said. Clem’s response was “Fuck him. Fuck that guy.”
Things were right with them again.
“Seriously, Becky, that is so fucked up. That money is yours. You totally earned it, Shirley loved you. You can do whatever the hell you want with it.”
“What if I want to give you half of it?”
“Me? Don’t give it to me. Go to Europe, go to a great college.”
“But what if I want you to have it? You could transfer to a better school next year.”
“There’s nothing wrong with U of I.”
“But you’re smarter than I am.”
“Not true. I just never had a social life.”
“But if U of I is okay for you, why isn’t it okay for me?”
“Because—I don’t mind farm kids. I don’t care what kind of room I’m in. You should be at Lawrence, or Beloit. That’s the kind of place I picture you.”
That was the kind of place she pictured herself, too.
“But with sixty-five hundred dollars,” she said, “I could still go there. And you could save your half for graduate school.”
Only now did Clem get that she was offering him thousands of dollars. In a calmer voice, he explained that she had two choices, either to keep all of the money or to share it equally. Singling him out was hurtful to Perry and Judson; it looked bad. And since three thousand dollars wasn’t enough money to make a difference to anyone, whatever the old man might think, she should keep the entire sum.
His analysis made perfect sense—he was, in fact, smarter than she was, also more considerate of other people’s feelings, also less greedy—and she was undeniably happy to think of keeping all the money. But her gratitude made her even more inclined to share it with him.
“I can’t do it,” he said. “Don’t you see how bad it would look?”
“But Dad’s going to kill me if I keep all of it.”
“Let me talk to him.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“No, I want to. I’m sick of this pious shit.”
Night had fallen when they returned to the parsonage. Clem marched straight up to the third floor, and it was strange to be Becky then, sitting on her bed one floor below, hearing him and her father fighting over her. She didn’t know Sharon and didn’t want to, but it seemed to her unlikely that Sharon fully understood how good a person Clem was. He came back downstairs and appeared in her doorway.
“I set him straight,” he said. “Let me know if he bothers you again.”
Her passbook, which had been radiating unease in its drawer, settled down as soon as its five figures were secure. She had the money, and this seemed right to her, since she was the sibling who most wanted money and had the clearest idea of what to do with it, and now Clem, the only judge who mattered, had certified that it was right. Her father couldn’t be any colder to her than he already was, and when her mother expressed her own unhappiness Becky threw her off balance by inviting her to join her in Europe the following summer, and by promising to spend the remaining money on education. Though not originally her idea, the invitation was a brilliant stroke. Her mother had no great selfish interest in seeing Europe, but family life was like a microcosm of high school. Her mother wasn’t popular, and Becky’s invitation was gracious.
The night after Thanksgiving, she took her frightening letter to the Grove and put it in the pocket of her apron. All nerves, she proceeded to mix up orders, twice bring the wrong salad dressing to the same diner, and get stiffed on her tip by a red-faced father who’d had to track her down to get his check. Why was she even still working at the Grove? She had thirteen thousand dollars. If she could just deliver the letter, she thought, she might quit. But the back room was jammed with friends and fans of Tanner’s home from college, and when the first set ended, a mob of well-wishers blocked her way to him.
From her blind side, as she hesitated on the margins, came the voice of Laura Dobrinsky. “I hear you’re in Crossroads.”