What I Saw and How I Lied Read Free Page B

the one who'd let the Lord's name escape her in vain and was trying to stuff it back in.
    "Enough, Ma," Joe said, and pushed past her.
    "Well, he's in a mood," Mom said.
    "Probably he's hungry," Grandma Glad said, with a long glance at the kitchen stove. Then she clomped out in her red slippers.
    "And it's my fault the dinner is late," Mom muttered, banging a pot lid on the stove.
    She reached over to take a sip of the cocktail Joe had made her. "Did you set the table?" Yes, ma am.
    She nodded, still frowning, as if she was sorry I'd done it, because otherwise she could have yelled at me.
    She scooped the mashed potatoes into the bowl, metal spoon against china,
snap, snap.
I heard the burp of the gravy as it was poured in. Then the ladle, clattering against the gravy boat.
    It seemed like a good idea to disappear before she thought of a chore I hadn't done. I edged out of the kitchen into the hall. Grandma Glad was standing right outside the doorway, so intent on eavesdropping that she didn't see me. She always eavesdropped when you were on the phone, even if I was just talking to Margie about homework.
    "Yeah," he was saying, "you wouldn't think so, would you? Got to be a hundred Spooners in the New York phone book, though. Sure, sure. Good luck, fella." He hung up.
    "Joe —" Grandma said.
    "Ma." He shook his head. She moved closer, because she never took a hint. They started talking in low voices. I beat it back to the kitchen.
    Mom had the serving pieces all lined up on the table to take out to the dining room. I picked up the mashed potatoes and was heading out when Joe reappeared in the doorway. His face was red, as though he'd been the one bending over the stove. He tapped his empty cocktail glass against his leg as if he was keeping time to a jazzy rhythm in his head.
    "So, does he want a job?" Mom asked.
    "Doesn't matter, he got the wrong Spooner." Joe leaned against the doorway as Mom turned. He watched her as she brushed her hair off her forehead with the back of her hand.
    "Look at your mother, Evie," Joe said. "A beauty like that shouldn't be stuck in Queens, right?"
    Mom snorted as she took butter out of the icebox.
    "A beauty like that should be lying around a pool, going out to restaurants, shopping all day. Not have her face in a hot oven. Right?"
    "Right," I said.
    Mom was trying to ignore us. "Don't be his stooge, Evie."
    "So what would you say if we left tomorrow morning on a trip to Florida?"
    "For crying out loud, Joe."
    "I'm serious. Not just Florida — Palm Beach, the ritziest town in Florida. I got the car all gassed up, ready to go. So what would you say?"
    "I'd say I have no clothes."
    "Buy them there." Id say you re crazy.
    "Like a fox. I was thinking about it today. I've been working too hard. It's time for a vacation, since we didn't take one this summer."
    "That's what I said back in July." Mom jerked her head toward the living room. "Is she going?"
    Joe spread his hands. "Honey, I've got to at least ask her —"
    She turned her back and began to swipe at a clean plate with a dish towel. "Then I'm not going. Have a good time with Gladys."
    What about me?
I wanted to ask. But I clammed up. I knew when to talk, when to make a joke to get them talking to each other again, and when to watch and keep my mouth shut.
    Joe poured himself some whiskey and drained it. "Into the breach," he said, heading out to Grandma Glad.
    Mom kept rubbing that plate. We could both hear the murmur from the living room, and I was dying to go listen, but I didn't.
    When Joe came back in, he headed straight for his drink. He winked at me over the rim. "After dinner, we'll pack," he said. "Grandma Glad isn't coming. She doesn't want to miss Sunday Mass with Father Owen."
    Mom leaned against the counter. I watched them look at each other. I expected Mom to be happy, give Joe a kiss. But she didn't.
    "Palm Beach!" I said. "It sounds so fancy!"
    He sat on the chair and patted his knee. "Come on, Bev. Let's blow this joint and