I jumped away from the fridge. I hadn’t heard Mom step into the kitchen, didn’t even know she was awake. Oh my god, does she know? Does she know I let Ant take a picture of me in my bra? The biting odor of campfire in my hair suddenly made me woozy. “What do you mean?”
She wore her best housecoat. Her hair was in curlers, her makeup perfectly applied. “I mean your show at the county fair. That was last night, wasn’t it?”
Relief made me light-headed. “It was good, Mom. Real good.” I flushed remembering it. “The crowd was a nice size, maybe a couple hundred people. They were there to see the headliner band, but I think they liked us.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t brag, Heather. It’s unattractive.” She stepped to the coffeepot, yanked it from its slot. “This is cold.”
I walked over and felt it. “Dad must have left early.”
“Or he never came home last night.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “He didn’t come to bed?”
Sometimes I’d run into him sneaking out of his office in the morning, the couch behind him holding a blanket and rumpled pillow. He’d twist his mouth sadly, mumble something about Mom having had a bad night. His office was off-limits these days—his personal kingdom, he said. It wasn’t my place to question it. Besides, I knew how much work Mom could be.
Her eyes grew hooded. “I didn’t say that.”
She reminded me of her mom—my grandma—when she looked like that. Grandma Miller, the one who gave Junie the Four-way Freddy, lived in Iowa, and we visited her on Easter and Christmas. She had thick, crinkly plastic covering all her furniture and only butterscotch disks for candy, but she was nice to Junie and me. I sometimes caught her looking at Mom like Mom was staring at me right now, though, like the other person had played a prank that she was trying to decide if she would allow or not.
“I’ll make some fresh coffee,” I said. I grabbed the pot and was walking to the sink to rinse it when she stopped me.
“I can do it,” she said. “Is Junie still sleeping?”
“Yeah,” I said hesitantly. She was acting weird. Alert.
That’s when I remembered who had said the phrase that’d followed me into the tunnels the other night. You can’t live in the dark and feel good about yourself. Mom had said it to Mrs. Hansen, Maureen’s mom, shortly after my accident. It was one of the last times I remembered Mom answering the door. There stood Mrs. Hansen, face tear-streaked, swollen from crying. Mrs. Hansen was trim back then, smartly dressed, her black hair sleek as a cat’s. That was before, or about the same time, Maureen’s dad ran out on them.
You can’t live in the dark and feel good about yourself, Mom had yelled and slammed the door in Mrs. Hansen’s face.
“Good,” Mom said, pulling me back into our kitchen. “Junie needs her rest to build strong bones. I’ll make sure she gets lunch and then send her over to practice with you girls.” Her hand came toward me, hesitated, and continued on to pat my arm. “Shouldn’t you be there already?”
I glanced over her shoulder, then back at her, wondering who she was. It had been months since she’d left her room before noon, even longer since she cared about my schedule or touched me. “How’d you know we have practice today?”
She made a face like I’d said something ridiculous. “You practice nearly every second you’re not at work. I’m sure you won’t make an exception on the day you have another show at the fair.”
I smiled, thirsty to hug her but not wanting to push it. “That’s right.”
“I might come see you play tonight. Your dad shouldn’t get all the fun.” She was quiet for a moment. “You’re lucky to have such close girlfriends. I used to have girlfriends of my own, you know.”
I nodded. I remembered.
I mulled over that encounter on the walk to Maureen’s, trying to figure out what it was about. There was a lot I didn’t recall from the first few years of my life. I think it’s the same for most kids. Mom and Dad were there, in the background, taking care of what needed taking care of. There was laughter, family meals at the table. I had a whole photo album that proved we’d even traveled to Disneyland, me perched on Dad’s shoulders wearing Mickey Mouse ears, Mom with her bouffant, standing on her tippy-toes, kissing his cheek. I also had memories of Mom and Mrs. Hansen laughing so hard that once Sanka squirted out Mrs. Hansen’s nose.