An Affair to Dismember Read Online Free PDF Page B

mumbled.
    Christy came back quickly with Peter, who turned out to be the Porsche guy, on her heels. He was more disheveled than before, and his suit was covered in a fine layer of white dust. I thought back to Grandma’s comment about Betty’s kids looking in the walls for gold.
    “Hi,” he said. He took a beer out of the refrigerator and sat next to Christy, the jailbird.
    “I was just telling Gladie that Dad died right where she’s sitting,” Christy said. She was practically jumping up and down with excitement. Where had I landed? I felt that creepy feeling up my spine again, and I racked my brain trying to make an excuse to get out of there.
    “Don’t sweat it, Gladie,” Peter said. “They didn’t find any hair or blood or brain bits there, but his head wasbashed in pretty good and there was a huge mess on the floor.”
    My eyes were drawn to the floor. It was clean as a whistle.
    “Nope. No brain bits on the table. Makes you think,” Peter said.
    “Well, it makes
me
think,” Jane added.
    Makes them think about what?
I had no idea, and I didn’t want to find out.
    “And the acrobatics,” Jane started.
    “The acrobatics?” I asked.
    “He had a dent in the back of his head, but he fell forward,” Peter said. “Like he was hit, not like he fell backward onto the table.”
    “Idiot coroner called it an accident,” Jane added, taking a long drag on her cigarette. “Convinced the police, I guess, but they seemed interested at first.”
    Betty stood up suddenly and left the room. I figured all this talk about her husband’s death had gotten to her, but she came back in holding a purse and wearing a scowl on her face. She was followed by what I assumed was another daughter, possibly older than Jane and Christy, her clothes unmatched, like discards from a thrift store circa 1972. “I love pennies,” the daughter said, her voice high and singsongy.
    “Don’t you have enough pennies, Cindy honey?”
    “I love pennies,” Cindy insisted. She floated around the kitchen like a fairy, searching in nooks and crannies, obviously upsetting Betty’s strict notions of order and cleanliness.
    “Oh, Mom. Let her have my purse. It’s perfectly all right with me,” Jane said.
    Betty reluctantly handed the purse back to Cindy, who plopped onto the ground and began rooting around in it.
    “My sister got a brain injury when she was a kid. It was an accident at school on the playground,” explainedJane. “She’s got a thing about pennies and looks for them everywhere, especially in purses. It’s no big deal.”
    “It is a big deal,” Betty corrected, her hackles up. “It took me three hours to find my keys yesterday. She takes things out, puts things in. It’s a mess.”
    It was time to get out of there. I did a big theatrical yawn and stretch. Betty took the hint and walked me to the door.
    “Thank you so much for coming, honey. It really did brighten my day,” she said.
    “It was the least I could do.” It
was
the least I could do. I hadn’t even bothered to bring flowers.
    I needed another cookie, fast.
    “You’ll come to the memorial on Wednesday, won’t you? It would mean so much to me.”
    “Of course, Betty. I wouldn’t miss it,” I said. This was guilt talking.
    She hugged me, and I saw Peter over her shoulder.
    “I’ll see her home, Mom.”
    I didn’t want Peter or any of the Terns family near me or my home. “Oh, no,” I said. “I can walk home by myself. It’s just across the street. I wouldn’t want to put anybody out.”
    “You’re not putting me out at all, Gladie,” he said, and escorted me out the door.
    We walked across the street. “Your mother is very kind,” I said to fill the moment.
    “You don’t know the half of it. My mom suffered like a dog for years and years, and all with a smile on her face. You can’t imagine what she had to put up with.”
    I had the strongest desire to stick my fingers in my ears and sing the national anthem—anything not to hear