Pulling back, she eyes me carefully. ‘Please don’t tell the others yet. Or anyone, promise? If I tell anyone else, I want them to hear it from me. Especially Johnny.’
‘I won’t tell,’ I say. ‘But as for Johnny, you still want to help him, though, right?’
‘Yes, Evie, I do,’ she admits. ‘I’m still in love with him. I still want … I think maybe we can be together again one day. Somehow. And Evie, he’s been charged with murder! He might be stuck in prison for the rest of his life. For something I did! Even if it was an accident and I was only trying to help you.’
‘So what can we do?’ I ask, wishing I could go back in time and decide never to go to the bathroom at Winkler’s at all. ‘It feels impossible.’
Diane nods. ‘I know. But sitting here, talking to you, I think I’ve come up with an idea. But I have to think it through first. And write something down.’ She yawns, and I check the small alarm clock on her nightstand. It’s almost nine o’clock. Mama and Grandma are sure to be furious. ‘Can you meet me tomorrow morning at the park? Around ten? I think my head will have cleared by then.’ She winces. ‘I drank too much from Connie’s bottle tonight.’
She flops down onto the bed, closes her eyes. I ease off the foot of the bed.
‘Can I get you a glass of water?’ I ask.
Diane shakes her head. ‘No, that’s all right. I’m just … I’m exhausted. I need to close my eyes. But tomorrow. At ten o’clock? The park. Please?’
‘Of course,’ I say, heading toward her bedroom door.
‘And Evie,’ she says.
‘Yeah?’
‘Thank you. For being a real friend.’
‘Thanks for being mine,’ I answer. And I mean it from the bottom of my heart.
When I get home, my heart is hammering as I open the front door. I find Mama pacing in the living room, smoking a Salem. She doesn’t smoke a lot. When she’s tired or worried, mostly. I don’t have to guess which one it is this time.
‘Evelyn,’ she shouts, spotting me. ‘Where have you been? We haven’t seen you since you left for school this morning!’ She stabs out her cigarette.
‘Is she back?’ My grandmother’s voice travels down the hallway, soon followed by my grandmother herself, wrapped tight in her baby-blue bathrobe, a scarf tied around a head full of curlers.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘After school a bunch of us went over to Sunny’s and—’
‘Your friend Juanita was home an hour ago!’ Mama shouts, motioning in the direction of the Barajases’ house next door. ‘I went over there and pestered her to tell me where you were. She said she didn’t know.’
‘She didn’t!’ I argue. ‘She really didn’t. She didn’t see me leave.’ I immediately realize my mistake.
‘Leave and go where?’ my grandmother presses, frowning.
‘Mama, let me ask the questions, please!’ my mother shouts.
‘She’s headed straight for perdition,’ Grandma says, her hands on her hips. ‘She’s going to end up Lord knows where if you don’t get a handle on her, Marjorie!’
‘Mama, I told you to stop!’
I take advantage of this argument to race past them and toward my room, shutting the door behind me. Moments later, I hear my mother on the other side, and I brace myself for her to come barging in to keep yelling at me.
‘Evelyn, it’s late. I don’t have the energy for this. But we are going to talk in the morning. Do you hear me?’ Her words are frustrated, but her voice is tired.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ I say, just to make her go away.
There’s a long pause, and I wait until I hear my mother and grandmother go back to their bedrooms, shutting their doors behind them. This gives me a chance to wash up for bed, but it takes me a while to fall asleep. When I do, I dream I’m running through an empty Winkler’s, with no cars in sight. In my arms is a crying infant, and a shadowy figure is chasing me, threatening me with his presence. In the nightmare I know I have to get away from him and somehow manage to get the baby back to Diane and Johnny, but when I trip and fall, the baby evaporates out of my arms as the figure approaches. I wake up sweating, my heart thudding hard.
I blink, still trying to catch my breath and erase the disturbing images from my mind, and as my gaze comes into focus, I see my mother sitting on the edge of my bed, a plate of bacon in her lap. She doesn’t seem angry, but I wish she weren’t here. I need a moment to collect myself. But I can’t exactly send her away after last night.
‘Grandma made breakfast,’ she says, her face neutral. Her voice almost flat.
Wordlessly, I sit up and take a slice of bacon, then stick it into my mouth. It tastes warm and crisp. ‘Thank you,’ I manage to mumble through bites. My head is throbbing just a little from the evening before. Mama takes a bite of bacon, then carefully rests the plate on my nightstand after clearing a space for it in all the mess.
‘Evelyn, can’t we talk? Like we used to?’ Her face is pained, and she almost seems nervous to ask. My own mother is scared of me, and maybe I can’t blame her.
When she says she wants to talk like we used to, she means like back in fifth or sixth grade, when Cheryl and I still told her everything. Or most everything. Back when my big sister and I would crawl into bed with her early on Saturday mornings and she’d whisper stories about the Shamrock, like how fun it was to catch a glimpse of the Corkettes practicing one of their water shows in the enormous pool, or how one rich guest got so drunk he accidentally fell asleep in the hallway and Mama and another maid had to help several bellhops drag him to the right room. I’d tell her stories, too, like how Bobby Finnegan put a thumbtack on Miss Carter’s chair or how Marilyn Caldwell did a backflip on the playground and everyone saw her underpants. And Cheryl would compete with me for Mama’s attention with stories of her own, and then the three of us would laugh until Grandma poked her head in and asked us when we were going to get up and face the day.
‘We can talk, Mama,’ I say, studying her face. She’s still so pretty to me, even though she’s tired all the time. When she grins, she reminds me a little of Diane, the way it’s equal parts hopeful and sweet. Her dark brown hair has a few wisps of gray in it, but just a few. And her eyes can really bore into you if you let them.
As she gazes in my direction, the old worry starts gnawing at me, impossible to ignore.
Am I a terrible daughter?
‘I’m just sad, Evelyn,’ she says, ‘like you don’t trust me anymore. You’re running around all the time, not coming home until late.’ She snatches another piece of bacon and pulls herself all the way onto my bed, then takes a deep breath. ‘I’m trying not to lose my temper. I just want you to tell me what’s wrong.’
‘Mama, I trust you,’ I say. Suddenly I am filled with the urge to tell my mother what’s wrong. Everything from Johnny getting arrested to Diane’s secrets to what happened with Preston behind the bathroom building at Winkler’s. I even open my mouth, push my tongue against the back of my bottom teeth. Then I shut it almost immediately. Everything I would say to her would crush her. Break her heart. Plus, it might put Diane at risk.