Bill Pronzini: Mourners

“Carla and I thought it’d be cool to do makeovers on each other. You know, just to see how we’d look.” She gave me one of her big-dimpled smiles. “I think I look about sixteen, don’t you?”

“No.”

The smile faded. “You don’t think I look older?”

“I think you’re too young to wear all that makeup, that’s what I think.”

“Lots of girls my age wear makeup. More than this.”

“You’re not lots of girls, you’re my little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl anymore,” she said, and stretched again.

“Eleven’s not exactly, uh… Christ!”

“Now what’s the matter, Dad?”

“That sweater. It’s not one of yours.”

“No, Carla gave it to me. It’s too small for her.”

“It’s too small for you.”

“I like tight sweaters. They show off my boobs.”

“Emily…”

“Well, they do. Carla’s jealous. She doesn’t have breasts yet, she’s flat as a board.”

I said, “Uh.” Then I said, “We shouldn’t be having this discussion…”

“Why not? There’s nothing wrong with breasts.”

“Of course there’s nothing wrong with, uh…”

“There’re nine-year-olds who have bigger ones than I do,” she said. “One girl in my class, Tracy Hammer, wears a B-cup bra already. I’ll bet she needs a D-cup by the time she’s sixteen. And I’ll bet they start to sag by the time she’s twenty-one-”

“Okay, that’s enough on the subject.”

“Dad, it’s no big deal, really. All women have breasts.”

“You’re not a woman yet.”

“Yes, I am. Technically.”

“What do you mean, technically?”

“I’ve already had my first period.”

“… You… what?”

“Last month. It was kind of exciting.”

“Exciting. Yeah.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, Dad.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” I lied.

“Well, anyway, Carla hasn’t had hers yet and that’s another thing she’s jealous about-”

“Never mind Carla. Why didn’t you… uh, say something about it at the time?”

“To you? Well, it’s not something you just rush right in and talk to your father about.”

“No, I guess not. But you… Kerry… Mom…”

“Oh, sure, we had a long talk. About all the other stuff, too.”

“Other stuff?”

“You know, sex.”

“… Uh…”

“Safe sex, oral sex, AIDS, and all that.”

“… Uh…”

“I already knew some of it, but there was a lot I didn’t know. Mom’s so cool, she’s not afraid to talk about anything.”

“Talk… yeah. Cool.”

Tolerant look, the kind Kerry gives me sometimes. Eleven going on thirty-five. “You don’t have to worry. It’s not like now that I know, I’m going to run out and get naked with some boy.”

Get naked with some boy. Gahh.

“We talked about responsibility, too, and waiting until I’m older and I meet the right person and I’m ready for intimacy. I plan to stay a virgin for a long time.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that-”

“At least until I’m fifteen,” she said.

“Fifteen! Emily, for God’s sake-”

She laughed. “Just kidding,” she said, and came over and put her arms around me and gave me a tight squeeze. “I love you and Mom, I’d never do anything to hurt you or make you ashamed of me. Honest. Don’t worry.”

Don’t worry. What, me? Never, no way.

Emily stepped back and let me have another big-dimpled smile. “I’ll go wash my face and then get supper started, okay?” And out she went, leaving me there feeling as if I’d just run uphill through a minefield. Why did she have to be so damn candid and matter-of-fact about everything? Why did I have to be so damn fumble-headed when it came to simple parenting skills?

I looked around her room. Stuffed animals, music posters, Dr. Seuss books, dolls, old Disney toys, and other remnants of her former life in Woodside-still a little girl’s room. But there was no denying she’d been right: she wasn’t a little girl anymore.

Makeup. Tight sweaters. Breasts. Bras. Periods. Safe sex, oral sex, just plain sex.

And this was only the beginning.

Ten past seven, and we were just about ready to put food on the table, when Kerry finally showed up. Except for “Sorry I’m late, there was a meeting that wouldn’t die,” she didn’t have much to say. Emily and I each got a quick peck on the cheek, nothing more.

I made it a point to give her close scrutiny over dinner. Normally she looks fifteen years younger than she is-almost flawless skin to go with her dark-auburn hair, few wrinkles and only a scatter of laugh lines around her mouth. Now, though… showing her age a little, the skin not quite as creamy smooth, purplish shadows under her eyes and faint lines at their corners.

Just working too hard? Or was something else bothering her? Cybil and Russ Dancer and Dancer’s goddamn legacy, for instance?

When we were through eating she said she had some work to do and closed herself inside the home office we shared. I watched a movie with Emily, not paying much attention to it, and went to bed around ten and read until my eyes began to bother me. Then I lay there waiting with the light on. It was after eleven before Kerry finally came into the bedroom.

“Oh,” she said, “still awake?”

“Waiting for you.”

“I’m not in the mood tonight.”

“Not for that reason. Talk a little.”

“About what?”

“When you’re ready for bed.”

She stayed in the bathroom longer than usual. When she came out she was wearing her nonsexy pajamas, in case I harbored ideas in spite of my denial. She had a smile for me, but it didn’t have much candlepower.

“Kerry,” I said, “I’m worried about you.”

She was plumping up her pillows. The statement made her pause; then she finished with the pillows and got in on her side of the bed and lay back, her eyes on the ceiling. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. Something’s troubling you.”

“Such as what?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.”

“You don’t want to make any guesses, then.”

“Why not just tell me?”

“Good question. Why not?”

I let that pass. “Let’s not fence, okay? Is everything all right with you?”

“Why shouldn’t everything be all right?”

“You look tired and you haven’t been sleeping well. And you’ve been distracted, moody-”

“You’re no barrel of fun, either, when you’ve been working long hours.”

Another pass. “Today, for instance. You didn’t let me know you weren’t able to pick up Emily. You let her take the bus home by herself, you didn’t call to make sure she was okay here alone-”

“Emily’s a big girl now. She doesn’t need constant monitoring.”

“Big girl, right. Pretty, mature for her age. This damn city.. ”

“You worry too much. You’re a worrywart.”

“Probably. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

“Come on, don’t play dumb.”

“Yes, I’m all right,” she said, “I’m just on overload. The Hailey account, office politics.”

“Nothing else?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“You want to talk about the office stuff?”

“Not really. Not right now. It’ll all work out, don’t worry.”

There was a little silence before I said, “This seems to be my night for being told not to worry.”

“Who else told you that?”

“Emily.” I gave her a synopsis of our little chat. “Took me by surprise, finding out all that stuff so long after the fact.”

“A girl’s first period isn’t a general topic of discussion.”

“I know that-”

“And I didn’t give her a sex lecture,” Kerry said, “we had a commonsense, mother-daughter talk. Women’s issues.”