stub out cigarette after cigarette. I had Shirley Temples and a big bowl of spaghetti. It was not a good combo.
It was supposed to be a celebration, but nobody was celebrating. They were just making noise, like Joe, or drinking, like Mom. Mrs. Grayson and Mom weren't talking. I thought it was maybe because of the dress. Mrs. Grayson ordered a gin and tonic and didn't drink it. Mom didn't eat.
Joe kept saying, "It's a night to remember!" but you knew everyone else would want to forget it the very next morning. Even Mr. Grayson didn't look happy. He ate his steak in big bites and tucked a napkin into his collar to eat his spaghetti. It made him look like a ten-year-old.
Peter gave me a wry smile when we sat down, but he didn't try to talk to me. Every bite of dinner, every moment, I wanted to grab his hand and run out the door. The dinner felt like the longest night, like the night the world would end.
"You know, we never went fishing," Joe said. "We should do that tomorrow. Hire a boat down at the dock, make a day of it."
Nobody looked too excited about that.
"What do you say, Tom?" Joe asked. "We'll pack a thermos of drinks, get Rudy in the kitchen to pack a hamper."
"I heard there's a bad storm out in the ocean," Mr. Grayson said.
"We won't be in the ocean. We'll stay in the lake."
"I get seasick on motorboats," Mrs. Grayson said. "Sailboats, I like."
"You just have to know how to handle them easy," Peter said. "I grew up on the water. Got my sea legs early."
"Aw," Joe said, "did your rich daddy buy you a widdle boat? Did he let you toot the horn?"
"Sure," Peter said. "I like to blow horns. Nice and loud, so everyone can hear."
This seemed to make Joe even madder. "Nobody invited you, Coleridge."
"I did," Tom said. "If we're going, we should all go."
"You see that, Joe?" Peter said. "Nobody likes being left behind. It makes you feel kind of itchy."
"So scratch."
Everyone looked at Joe and Peter. The wave of fury crashed and rolled back between them.
"Isn't the moon pretty?" Mrs. Grayson said.
Everyone smoked a cigarette with coffee after dinner, and then it was time to go at last. We all stood outside, waiting for the valets to get our cars. The dark palms whispered in a quickening breeze. I looked at Peter. He had his hands in his pockets and was looking at Mom and Joe.
Look at me look at me look at me look at me
The valet brought Mr. Grayson's car, and as everyone
started to move toward it Peter was suddenly next to me.
"What we need is a hurricane hole.”
“A hurricane hole?"
"It's a place to leave your boat in a hurricane. You find a little cove and tie her up, let her ride out the storm. You and me should get ourselves a hurricane hole."
"Time to get rolling, Coleridge." Joe was right next to us now.
"I'm not good enough for your daughter, Joe?" Peter asked. "Is that it? I'm not good enough to even talk to her? What else aren't I good enough for?"
Joe looked like he wanted to throw a punch.
And then Peter spoke so softly that only Joe and I could hear it. "Who's the dirty rat here, Joe? From where I'm standing?"
The two of them faced each other. Joe's face was closed up. His soft brown eyes had gone black and dull. I realized something for the first time: I'd gotten it all wrong. Peter wasn't afraid of Joe. Joe was scared of Peter.
Joe threw a punch. Peter stepped back and the fist didn't connect with a jaw or a nose, just Peter's ear, and not that hard. Joe staggered and almost fell, and this made him more angry. He looked like he was winding up for another one, but Peter stepped back, both hands up, palms out.
"I think it's time we called it a night, don't you, Sarge? Good night, Evie."
Peter quickly turned and walked across the parking lot. The Graysons and Mom had their backs to us while they got into the car. The valet was hurrying to get Peter's car, and Peter caught up to him and clapped him on the shoulder.
It had happened so fast that nobody had seen it but me.
Chapter 19
We
It was supposed to be a celebration, but nobody was celebrating. They were just making noise, like Joe, or drinking, like Mom. Mrs. Grayson and Mom weren't talking. I thought it was maybe because of the dress. Mrs. Grayson ordered a gin and tonic and didn't drink it. Mom didn't eat.
Joe kept saying, "It's a night to remember!" but you knew everyone else would want to forget it the very next morning. Even Mr. Grayson didn't look happy. He ate his steak in big bites and tucked a napkin into his collar to eat his spaghetti. It made him look like a ten-year-old.
Peter gave me a wry smile when we sat down, but he didn't try to talk to me. Every bite of dinner, every moment, I wanted to grab his hand and run out the door. The dinner felt like the longest night, like the night the world would end.
"You know, we never went fishing," Joe said. "We should do that tomorrow. Hire a boat down at the dock, make a day of it."
Nobody looked too excited about that.
"What do you say, Tom?" Joe asked. "We'll pack a thermos of drinks, get Rudy in the kitchen to pack a hamper."
"I heard there's a bad storm out in the ocean," Mr. Grayson said.
"We won't be in the ocean. We'll stay in the lake."
"I get seasick on motorboats," Mrs. Grayson said. "Sailboats, I like."
"You just have to know how to handle them easy," Peter said. "I grew up on the water. Got my sea legs early."
"Aw," Joe said, "did your rich daddy buy you a widdle boat? Did he let you toot the horn?"
"Sure," Peter said. "I like to blow horns. Nice and loud, so everyone can hear."
This seemed to make Joe even madder. "Nobody invited you, Coleridge."
"I did," Tom said. "If we're going, we should all go."
"You see that, Joe?" Peter said. "Nobody likes being left behind. It makes you feel kind of itchy."
"So scratch."
Everyone looked at Joe and Peter. The wave of fury crashed and rolled back between them.
"Isn't the moon pretty?" Mrs. Grayson said.
Everyone smoked a cigarette with coffee after dinner, and then it was time to go at last. We all stood outside, waiting for the valets to get our cars. The dark palms whispered in a quickening breeze. I looked at Peter. He had his hands in his pockets and was looking at Mom and Joe.
Look at me look at me look at me look at me
The valet brought Mr. Grayson's car, and as everyone
started to move toward it Peter was suddenly next to me.
"What we need is a hurricane hole.”
“A hurricane hole?"
"It's a place to leave your boat in a hurricane. You find a little cove and tie her up, let her ride out the storm. You and me should get ourselves a hurricane hole."
"Time to get rolling, Coleridge." Joe was right next to us now.
"I'm not good enough for your daughter, Joe?" Peter asked. "Is that it? I'm not good enough to even talk to her? What else aren't I good enough for?"
Joe looked like he wanted to throw a punch.
And then Peter spoke so softly that only Joe and I could hear it. "Who's the dirty rat here, Joe? From where I'm standing?"
The two of them faced each other. Joe's face was closed up. His soft brown eyes had gone black and dull. I realized something for the first time: I'd gotten it all wrong. Peter wasn't afraid of Joe. Joe was scared of Peter.
Joe threw a punch. Peter stepped back and the fist didn't connect with a jaw or a nose, just Peter's ear, and not that hard. Joe staggered and almost fell, and this made him more angry. He looked like he was winding up for another one, but Peter stepped back, both hands up, palms out.
"I think it's time we called it a night, don't you, Sarge? Good night, Evie."
Peter quickly turned and walked across the parking lot. The Graysons and Mom had their backs to us while they got into the car. The valet was hurrying to get Peter's car, and Peter caught up to him and clapped him on the shoulder.
It had happened so fast that nobody had seen it but me.
Chapter 19
We
Similar Books
