Lucid, Page 4

  “Are you ready for your sister?” asked Carla.

  She laughed when I shook my head.

  “Someone in town was saying there were going to be news helicopters flying overhead like there were riots going on.” Carla rolled her eyes. “I don’t know where people get some of their information.”

  “I hope there aren’t riots,” I said, “but I guess we should expect a lot of people to kind of show up. We already had an E! news van out here.”

  “Shut your mouth! No! Really?” Carla acting shocked, but again, Eaton was so tiny, everyone probably knew they were here. I could probably ask Carla where Ruth Arnett was staying in town, and she’d know the color of the motel’s pillow slipcases.

  She asked a couple more questions about the movie premiere and if anyone was giving me too much crap in school about being sister to a celebrity, and then she got down to business.

  “Senate, you know that when Madeline was growing up she went to church. So did Lucy.”

  If Dad were a porcupine all his quills would’ve snapped to a defensive position. Religion not something he cared to talk about. Pour Maddy into the mix and it was near combustible.

  Undaunted by the look Dad was giving her, Carla said, “Everyone in town likes Madeline, Senate. We do. But some of us I think are concerned about her choices, especially when it comes to her beliefs. The Bible talks about all the pitfalls facing those who’d follow a false god. I know she’s a bright girl. She’s a great girl, but this path she’s on, it can’t end well, Senate. When it comes to that day when she has to answer for how she’s lived her life, I have to say I fear for her soul. I know you do, too.”

  Dad’s right hand tensed, his fingers curled towards his palm like a cat prepping its claws.

  “I’m not here passing judgment. I wouldn’t do that. But what I’m saying is, if you want, you can tell Madeline that at any point while she’s here, while she’s home, anyone from the church she wants to talk to is available. I am. The pastor. The pastor might gawk at her a little, you know, major movie star and all,” she laughed, “but ultimately we just want her to know we worry about her. About her choices. That’s all.”

  Dad nodded.

  “Well I appreciate that. We’ll see what happens once she gets here.”

  “That’s all we ask.”

  Dad smiled. He took a step forward and pointed out the door, “It’s nice enough I was about to go for a short jaunt. You wouldn’t mind coming along, would you, Carla?”

  She’d love to. On their way out, she waggled a finger at me, and laughing, made me promise not to inhale the entire plate of brownies on my own.

  They walked out to East Jennings and turned towards Kitty’s place and walked out of view.

  It was near full on dark when they arrived back. I’d relocated to the couch, computer in my lap, textbook next to my leg. They hugged alongside Carla’s car, and then from the porch, Dad watched her back up and drive down to the gravel road, and then turn, brake lights eventually going out of sight.

  Back inside, Dad walked past the couches straight on back to the dining area. I was staring at some white space on a textbook page when he called, “You going to eat any of these, Lucy?”

  “She puts in too many nuts,” I answered.

  I listened to the sounds of him walking into the kitchen, followed by the sound of a plate’s worth of brownies going straight into the trash.

  Dad walked back into the living room and looked out towards the road like after all our unexpected guests today, there had to be at least one more, surely.

  “You think she puts in too many nuts, too, huh?” I asked.

  He didn’t look at me. Still looking out into the dark he nodded.

  “You didn’t throw the plate in, too, did you?”

  “No I didn’t throw out the plate. I’ll get it to her at some point.”

  “You going to tell Maddy she’s going to hell?”

  He actually laughed. Just a bark. But it happened nonetheless.

  Before Mom got sick, Dad would often disappear when it was time for bed. One of his little quirks, just tiptoeing away when it was his bedtime. Now that it was just the two of us he’d always say goodnight.

  “That’s enough for me for one day,” he said, approaching the couch to maybe ruffle my hair or kiss the top of my head.

  I held up a note and handed it to him.

  I’d written:

  Do you think they bugged the house today? Do you think the second walk through they did with me was just for show – that is – they’d already been in before I got home and set up whatever cameras or microphones they wanted?

  He looked over the notebook paper into my eyes. He nodded, but then he pointed at his own head, and tapped, like I was thinking like I should. Then he gave me one of those few real true Senate McCall smiles.

  Chapter 9

  The picture taped to my locker at the start of second period Wednesday featured Jack and Maddy leading a one-eyed tentacle baby through a zoo. As well as several of the zoo patrons, a rhinoceros and a giraffe gave the Cyclops baby the stink eye.

  The ends of two tentacles featured mouths. They were clamped to Maddy’s chest, nursing. Dark ink like blood pooled and soaked into her blouse.

  “He’s our son. He is your god,” proudly proclaimed Jack.

  I tore the drawing off and crumpled it.

  Someone laughed. I scanned the between-class crush. I wanted to hit someone. Nick. Geoff. Any one would do.

  “Lucy! Oh, Lucy!”

  Mr. Pederson negotiated the mass of students. He held his hand up and had on his perpetual smile, matching his clown suspenders in wattage. He taught music and drama and art, the incredibly difficult to fail classes.

  Sherman was in band and had taken drama. He said Pederson was such a nice guy that when he had to send someone to the office he always did it with a tone of voice indicating getting that deep into a disciplinary issue might actually keep him up at night with worry. Fortunately, he didn’t have to deal with too many unruly students.

  Mr. Pederson wore Viking-like long dark thick hair always rolled up into a ponytail. He also had a big bushy mustache perfectly trimmed so not a single hair thrust out of place. His shirts were always colorful, sometimes pastels, patterns that would look at home on a tourist. They seemed about to burst, stretched across the arc of his barrel chest and big but solid belly.

  Wednesday it was a purple long-sleeved shirt, clown suspenders, and black slacks.

  “This is why teachers avoid the halls between classes,” said Mr. Pederson. “Hoo. The crush of humanity. Hey, Lucy.”

  “Mr. Pederson.”

  “How you holding up?”

  “Sir?”

  “I mean with all the attention,” he said. A girl called out his name. He waved. “Hey, Bonnie.” A second later another girl hugged him. She pressed her face into his elbow. That was as high up on him as she could get.

  “The shirt, Claudia. You’re ruining all my ironing.” She released him with a giggle. “I’ll see you in class,” he called after her. “Hugger.”

  He looked at me. “Hugs. Another reason teachers never come out into the hallway between classes.”

  “Hazardous to your health, huh?”

  “Yeah. But what about you? What with Maddy about to show are you suddenly making a lot of new best friends? You getting any hugs?”

  I shrugged.

  He waved his hand. “It’s all right. Perry is anti-hug, too. One day he was all about them, then boom, he turns 11 and he doesn’t care for them. It’s no big deal. Dads adjust.”

  Switching gears he said, “Look, I know Maddy isn’t going to want to stick around school all day Friday, she probably wants to get in, do that assembly and get out as quick as she can, but if you could ask her, for a favor, a little itty-bitty favor to her former band and drama teacher, to just stop in
to one of my classes…” He held up a finger. “One small class…The kids would dig that. I would dig that. Then they’d think I might actually have had some small part in Maddy’s being, you know, Madeline McCall, movie star. I know. I’m using you. And I apologize.”

  “Did you try and get her or her office? Her assistant?”

  “I think so.”

  “Did you talk to Aster?”

  “Aster?”

  “Aster Cupps. Her assistant.”

  “That sounds right, but I’m not sure.”

  I didn’t tell him that if Dina and Trent were telling the truth yesterday afternoon, Aster might not be the most adept personal assistant in show business history.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

  “Yes!” He pumped his fist. “Thank you, Lucy. I swear if I had you in any of my classes you could take the rest of the semester off.”

  “Sure.”

  “Thank you. You want a hug?”

  “I’m good.”

  Grinning he squeezed my arm and walked down the hall, occasionally laughing, or pausing to get accosted by loving students.

  I grabbed my books and shut the locker and turned for class and almost ran into a 7th grader in alien head deely bobbers.

  The top of his head came to my nose. My face reflected in the silver balls bobbing on the curlicue stems.

  “What?” he asked.

  I stepped around him, and marched toward class, steam rolling from my ears.

  At the end of the day, I was one of the first to board the bus.

  There had only been one more Maddy as alien comic taped to my locker, and it was just a photocopy of the earlier tentacle baby theme.

  The anonymous artist’s creative well must be close to being tapped out, I thought. I even left the comic on my locker. I figured if I seemed like it didn’t bother me, maybe that would help finish off the harassment.

  There’d been no sign of Ruth Arnett this morning. No E! van or trucks of any kind set up in front of our place either. Maybe everyone was wrong. Maybe no one would show up just to stare at the house holding 2 movie stars. Maddy’s star was on the decline, plus the last production update I’d seen on Small Town Girl regarded post-filming re-shoots. At one point, Maddy had told me if the movie’s done, if it’s officially wrapped, but they’re doing re-shoots, it’s kind of the kiss of death.

  All of a sudden my breathing ratcheted up and I felt scared and nervous, my mind blanking. It was an anxiety attack. I even smiled a little to myself, thinking, oh, it’s an anxiety attack, but the ability to step outside the attack did fat little to exhaust its fuel supply.

  This attack wasn’t quite the same as the ones occurring around the time of Mom’s illness. Those were more of a sustained ditch of normal. This sudden bout was like a rocky, jittery plummet towards the unknown.

  I had my phone out, trying to decide whether or not to call Sherman, ask him if he was still on the school grounds and could he give me a lift home. Completely totally out of his way, but I figured there was still moo juice to squeeze out of the udder called ‘being a boyfriend in the shithouse’.

  When I looked up it was right towards the mirror above the driver’s seat. Pat Corley stared at me. A real laser lock, in fact. I thought he might ask me if it indeed was anxiety making my eyes buggy and skin clammy, or more to his style, just snap at me to get over the triviality of the whole situation. By this time next week no one would even remember the build up to Maddy and Jack’s visit. What did I have to be so worked up over?

  Kitty boarded the bus and sat in the row ahead of me and then seemed to snap like a rubber band, from the seat across the aisle to the seat right in front of me.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey.”

  She sat with her left side facing me. The side without the port-wine stain.

  “You all right?”

  “I’m trying,” I said. “Long day. Stress.”

  She nodded. Then looked at me.

  “Your…” She’d been staring, a rarity for her, and as fast as she’d locked on, she looked away, trying to dip her head down so I couldn’t see any part of the right side of her face.

  “What?”

  “Your eyes are a little buggy.”

  “Probably.”

  “Sorry.” Like she’d made them buggy all on her own.

  Strangely enough, Nick and Geoff coming on board helped eradicate any long-term effects. Nick sauntered down the center aisle, lip curling at sight of Kitty. Then when he looked past her to the person seated behind her, he checked the look of superiority. I must’ve somehow funneled the anxiety into a rocking look of anger.

  It worked its magic and I was spared having to hear one word from him until we neared the stop for Nick and Geoff.

  “Hey Lucy. Lucy!”

  “Jesus. My ear is right here.” Geoff had a finger plugged into his now-wounded ear as I turned and looked back towards Nick’s call. Nick sat next to the window, Geoff next to the aisle.

  “What do you think the movie’s chances are?”

  “What movie?” I asked.

  “What movie do you think? Jesus. Small Town Hurl. Or Girl, I guess.”

  “I don’t know.”

  He looked at Geoff and his lips curled. Geoff looked like he was replaying some horrible moment in his life for like the millionth time. He looked at Nick and I swore I could see his lips form ‘Nick. No.’

  Nick cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’m betting, not that I’m a betting man, but I bet you a date, me and you, that the movie…bombs.”

  “Bombs.”

  “Yeah. The movie…bombs.”

  “What would we do on a date?”

  He laughed. It was a despicable laugh like he’d studied Disney movie villains for an indication of how he ought to laugh.

  “I can think of some things,” he said. “Easy,” chuckling, little putt-putts of chuckle that it wouldn’t have been surprising to witness accompanied by exhalations of greasy black fumes.

  The bus had gotten quiet. I could picture Pat Corley’s eyes locked onto the mirror above his seat, looking towards the back of the bus.

  “I’m up for it, well, I guess I would be…” I said, “but I have this rule about not dating total fucking assholes. And I just don’t think I should make an exception.”

  Geoff made an ‘oh’ with his mouth and it tremored like it so wanted to break and become a laugh.

  Nick glared at me.

  Almost immediately the bus pulled to a halt, right where two roads branched off of East Jennings, one path to Nick’s, the other to Geoff’s.

  Geoff walked past me. When Nick did he looked back over his shoulder and said, “Bomb, baby. Like Hiroshima.”

  At the front of the bus Geoff vanished down the steps, but Nick held up, gesticulating, telling Pat Corley that I’d sworn on the bus. It was hard to hear the argument for the bus’s idling engine, but whatever Pat said stirred Nick up and up until he shouted, “You didn’t hear her call me an asshole?”

  Pat turned his shoulders to square up and look directly at Nick, and Nick immediately backed away and started down the steps.

  Before the doors closed behind him Nick yelled, “What a load of crap.”

  Once the bus started moving, Kitty, apparently forgetting she needed to hide at least part of her face, turned in her seat and grinned at me.

  “That was awesome.”

  “He’s a prick,” I whispered.

  She nodded. “Geoff’s not so bad.”

  I shrugged. “When he’s not hanging out with Nick. But he’s usually hanging out with Nick.”

  Sighing, she set her chin against the back of her hands, eyes kind of going off into space like she was ruminating on the topic.

  The bus made the sharp left turn through the dip and once in the straight stretch immediately started to slow.

  “Hey McCall,”
Pat hollered. “You might want to get a load of this.”

  I slid to the aisle edge of the seat and looked down out the windshield to the mass of people and machine in the middle of the road.

  Kitty saw it, too. I heard her say, “Wow,” then, “Luce. You okay?”

  I’d gone all buggy again.

  Chapter 10

  The E! news van had reproduced.

  There were satellite trucks for three local network affiliates parked alongside the road, one with the satellite array dispatched up towards the sky.  In addition to cars and trucks and a few more vans, one lonely county sheriff’s car was parked on the same side of the road as the other vehicles, the north side, opposite our driveway. 

   It wasn’t like there were hundreds of people in the middle of the road.  There were a couple dozen, and once you separated the regular people from the crews it wasn’t all that an impressive showing.  The thing of it was that there ordinarily weren’t any people in the middle of East Jennings Road.  The most feet that ever trod upon it was when a farmer might be moving cattle from field to field and used the road as a shortcut for just a bit. 

  A couple of signs were held up.  The ubiquitous reference to the book of John, another regarding the Apocalypse, and then the newly familiar one, calling for remembering Kip Arnett. 

  Ruth stood back from the crowd, well off the road, stationed on the incline on the field belonging to Skinny Arbogast. A few lawn chairs and backpacks belonging to others sat on the field, too.  

  The bus braked to a full stop. 

  I was already standing right behind Pat’s seat. 

  No one made a beeline for the bus.  It would only take one person though. All that held them back was a single solitary deputy.

  “You might want to look out,” drawled Pat.  He pointed at the various reporters and their cameramen.  “They look like they’ve been salivating a while.”

   I looked at the driveway.  There were two rigs parked off the road and on our property.  The closest to the road was Ruth Arnett’s sedan.  Parked in front of that was the glossy black SUV.  Both Trent and Dina stood at the mouth of the driveway, arms crossed, looking ready to deal with whatever the crowd might throw their way.  

  Pat Corley motioned towards the two motionless figures.