lead weights.
With my parents both otherwise occupied, I snuck in the backdoor and stole up to my room. Mom would soon notice the Buick back in the driveway again and feel relief at my return. Dad would be glad to have me home but even gladder to see his wife’s jitteriness lessen for a little while. And, later, we’d all just pretend that we were still a normal family. Normal, in spite of everything.
There was something decidedly abnormal about that.
O N M ONDAY morning, I found myself back at work with Sandy, who was babbling about finally having gone to see “Corvette Summer” in St. Cloud over the weekend . (Ohhh, Mark Hamill! Love, love, love!)
Sandy was chitchatting about wanting to watch “Grease” soon, too. (It looks so cute! And you should just see John Travolta dancing! It’s going to be even bigger than “Saturday Night Fever”…)
Yeah, right.
That feeling of being like the older waitress—like Cindy at that Crescent Cove bar—kept coming back to me. That sense of being trapped at the Grocery Mart for the next decade with Sandy, Dale and the occasional shopper looking for Hamburger Helper. It was too depressing a fate to keep imagining.
When I finally got a break, I cornered my boss in the backroom.
“Dale, I’m sorry to ask you this on short notice, but I’m going to need to take off work next week.”
He shot me the withering look of someone convinced of his self importance. “Vacations need to be put in at least a month ahead of time.”
I nodded. I knew this. But he owed me a few favors and I was going to get my way. Period.
“I’m not going on vacation. I’m going on a college scouting trip,” I said, mentally commanding him to hear the determination in my voice. “The admissions offices already have shorter hours and they’ll be closed once the summer-school sessions are over.” Not sure if that was really true but, hey, it sounded good. “So, I really have to go now .”
“You couldn’t have decided this last month?”
“No, Dale. I couldn’t have.”
I stood still and faced him. Looked into those beady, bloodshot eyes of his and willed him to remember how my intuitive skills kept his store from being robbed by a couple of grimy thugs in the early spring. I’d warned Dale about them. Said they were big-city hoods who were up to no good. Pointed out how they were casing the place. And, in response, he’d called in Officer Cleary for backup. Major crisis averted.
After a moment of glaring at me, Dale exhaled—a longsuffering stream of hot air and irritation. “You really need all of next week off?”
“At least. Maybe we should make it a week and a half.”
His squirminess told me that I was pushing it, but Dale was a coward. He gave in out of fear of confrontation rather than out of any sense of compassion or desire to help.
“One week,” he muttered with a scowl and a dismissive huff, then he headed into the back alley for a smoke.
I smiled grimly to myself. My victory was small but important.
One battle down, two to go.
I T TOOK all of seven minutes on Tuesday night for Donovan to start picking a fight with me.
“You need to think about this,” Donovan insisted when I informed him I’d gotten a week off from work for the trip. “Do we really need to rush into it?”
“Rush?” I stared at him. “Your concept of time is seriously warped. Being two years late is hardly rushing .”
I could hear the exasperation in my voice, but I wasn’t backing down. And, besides, in my not very humble opinion, I’d already won this damned argument.
“You were standing right next to me in Crescent Cove, weren’t you?” I said. “We got more leads in twenty-four hours than the cops had managed to track down in a month, and that’s even with their tromping all over our houses and putting out missing persons bulletins.”
I shook my head, remembering Officer James and Officer Cleary tearing apart Gideon’s bedroom, asking if he
With my parents both otherwise occupied, I snuck in the backdoor and stole up to my room. Mom would soon notice the Buick back in the driveway again and feel relief at my return. Dad would be glad to have me home but even gladder to see his wife’s jitteriness lessen for a little while. And, later, we’d all just pretend that we were still a normal family. Normal, in spite of everything.
There was something decidedly abnormal about that.
O N M ONDAY morning, I found myself back at work with Sandy, who was babbling about finally having gone to see “Corvette Summer” in St. Cloud over the weekend . (Ohhh, Mark Hamill! Love, love, love!)
Sandy was chitchatting about wanting to watch “Grease” soon, too. (It looks so cute! And you should just see John Travolta dancing! It’s going to be even bigger than “Saturday Night Fever”…)
Yeah, right.
That feeling of being like the older waitress—like Cindy at that Crescent Cove bar—kept coming back to me. That sense of being trapped at the Grocery Mart for the next decade with Sandy, Dale and the occasional shopper looking for Hamburger Helper. It was too depressing a fate to keep imagining.
When I finally got a break, I cornered my boss in the backroom.
“Dale, I’m sorry to ask you this on short notice, but I’m going to need to take off work next week.”
He shot me the withering look of someone convinced of his self importance. “Vacations need to be put in at least a month ahead of time.”
I nodded. I knew this. But he owed me a few favors and I was going to get my way. Period.
“I’m not going on vacation. I’m going on a college scouting trip,” I said, mentally commanding him to hear the determination in my voice. “The admissions offices already have shorter hours and they’ll be closed once the summer-school sessions are over.” Not sure if that was really true but, hey, it sounded good. “So, I really have to go now .”
“You couldn’t have decided this last month?”
“No, Dale. I couldn’t have.”
I stood still and faced him. Looked into those beady, bloodshot eyes of his and willed him to remember how my intuitive skills kept his store from being robbed by a couple of grimy thugs in the early spring. I’d warned Dale about them. Said they were big-city hoods who were up to no good. Pointed out how they were casing the place. And, in response, he’d called in Officer Cleary for backup. Major crisis averted.
After a moment of glaring at me, Dale exhaled—a longsuffering stream of hot air and irritation. “You really need all of next week off?”
“At least. Maybe we should make it a week and a half.”
His squirminess told me that I was pushing it, but Dale was a coward. He gave in out of fear of confrontation rather than out of any sense of compassion or desire to help.
“One week,” he muttered with a scowl and a dismissive huff, then he headed into the back alley for a smoke.
I smiled grimly to myself. My victory was small but important.
One battle down, two to go.
I T TOOK all of seven minutes on Tuesday night for Donovan to start picking a fight with me.
“You need to think about this,” Donovan insisted when I informed him I’d gotten a week off from work for the trip. “Do we really need to rush into it?”
“Rush?” I stared at him. “Your concept of time is seriously warped. Being two years late is hardly rushing .”
I could hear the exasperation in my voice, but I wasn’t backing down. And, besides, in my not very humble opinion, I’d already won this damned argument.
“You were standing right next to me in Crescent Cove, weren’t you?” I said. “We got more leads in twenty-four hours than the cops had managed to track down in a month, and that’s even with their tromping all over our houses and putting out missing persons bulletins.”
I shook my head, remembering Officer James and Officer Cleary tearing apart Gideon’s bedroom, asking if he
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