Lesley Kagen - Whistling in the Dark

For breakfast, he’d made us waffles with real maple syrup from up north that were gone in two seconds. And lots of bacon, too, done nice and crispy.

Rasmussen wasn’t sitting down with us; he was drinking a cup of percolated coffee and leaning against the sink in his policeman’s uniform. “So how does heading over to the state fair tomorrow night sound to the both of you?”

Mother must’ve told him how much Troo loved the freak show and he was trying to be nice. Troo found those freaks fascinating as all get-out. I thought they were a little on the sad side, on display like that, all boxed up, but Troo said no, they were different from everybody else and deserving of extra attention, which was unusually charitable of her.

“The fair sounds good,” I answered.

“Okay then. We’ll head over there tomorrow night and you two can get cotton candy and go on some rides and…” Rasmussen was clearing his throat about every five seconds, which was a sure way to tell if someone was jumpy. “Does that sound good to you, Troo?”

She looked up at him and I could practically see the mad lava coming out of her ears. “My name is Margaret.”

Rasmussen did not miss a beat. “So how does going to the fair sound to you, Margaret?”

Before Troo could go spouting off, I said quickly, “Goin’ to the fair sounds good to her, Officer Rasmussen.”

He looked right at me and showed his dimples that were a lot like mine only larger and I looked right back at him, right into his green eyes. Two peas in a pod. Suddenly it all made sense. Why he had always looked at me the way he had. He’d been missing me. That was hard for me to take in because it meant so many things at the same time.

He rinsed his coffee cup out in the sink and dried it off with a red terry-cloth towel that looked brand-new from aisle two at the Five and Dime. “You two can just call me Dave, okay?”

Troo said in a voice I had never heard her use before, a voice so cold that it gave my goose bumps goose bumps, “Shouldn’t Sally call you Daddy ?”

It got so quiet then that all you could hear was the ticking of the kitchen clock that hung on the wall behind the stove and looked like a black cat.

Rasmussen said, “Your sister can call me Dave. I think that would be fine for now, don’t you, Sally?”

I just nodded because I was imagining how it would be to call Rasmussen Daddy. I never called Hall Daddy. I just called him Hall. And sometimes when he couldn’t hear me, a couple of other names that I would have to confess since he was going to be in jail for a long time now. I probably would never, ever do that, call Rasmussen Daddy. Maybe after a while I would call him Mr. Dave. Because Daddy was still my Sky King no matter what anybody said, and I would never, ever let bygones be bygones.

“I have to head over to the station now.” Rasmussen noticed that I was staring at the gun on his hip. I’d never seen one up close like that. “The first rule in this house, girls. You stay away from this.” He patted the holster and then plopped his police hat on top of his head. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, Troo, I mean… ah… Margaret, you don’t have to worry anymore about Greasy Al, I mean… Albert Molinari. I’ve taken care of that subject.” And like he’d turned a page in a book, he said real happy like, “It’s a beautiful day. Why don’t you two head over to the playground? And if you could later, take Lizzie for a walk. Her leash is hanging in the back hall.”

I looked up at him and his tallness. And then I looked down at my fly-like-the-wind long legs. I looked at his green eyes again. I’m sorry to have to say this, but I thought it all felt sort of good because right then, for the first time in my life, I finally looked like somebody. So because of that, and because he was being very nice, making us waffles and crispy bacon and saying he’d take us to the fair, I said, “See you later, Mr. Dave.”

I could tell he liked that by the look on his face. “See you later, Sally.” He started to leave the bright kitchen but then said very seriously, “You keep in mind what happened to Sara and Junie. I know how you two like Sampson, but I don’t want you going over to the zoo or anywhere else in the park for a while. Not until we catch this guy. Okay?”

I said, “Okay.” But Troo didn’t.

“If you need anything when I am at work, you can call me. The number is over there next to the phone. And also Ethel will help you out.” He looked back at me real quick and watercolor pink came into his cheeks when the screen door slammed shut.

Troo was sitting with her elbows on the table, her hands underneath her chin. “So Daddy really said that? You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“That it wasn’t my fault, the crash? You swear?”

“I swear.” I made the sign of the cross over my heart. “Want some Ovaltine?”

Rasmussen had pointed out where he kept the Ovaltine in the cupboard. Ethel musta told him how much me and Troo went nuts for it.

She set her face down on the yellow kitchen table and said with some wonder, “So I can quit feeling that it was all my fault that I killed Daddy?”

“Yup.” I opened the new refrigerator that was a lot larger than our old one and packed with fruit and cold cuts and Graf ’s cherry soda. Brimming up like the food could just jump out at you. I had never seen a refrigerator so full up. I reached in for the milk bottle and smelled it. “You didn’t kill Daddy. You had an accident and that is two completely different things.”

“But what about Uncle Paulie? I made his brain damaged and he doesn’t forgive me,” Troo said with a heavy heart. “That’s why he keeps saying peek-a-boo all the time.”

I didn’t know what to say because that was what happened to Uncle Paulie. And he always did say peek-a-boo, which made me realize now why Troo didn’t like him. “Well, maybe you could…”

Ethel yelled over from Mrs. Galecki’s backyard, “O’Malley sisters?”

Thank goodness, because I couldn’t think of one darn thing to say that would make Troo feel better about weird Uncle Paulie and his damaged brain.

“You decent?” Ethel laughed, and came through the screen door.

“Mornin’,” I said. It was so great that Ethel was now our next-door neighbor. She gave us each a hug and said she was glad to see us looking so nice and clean because as everyone knows cleanliness is next to godliness. I didn’t know where Rasmussen kept the glasses so Ethel showed me and then took three out of the cupboard. I mixed us up three servings of Ovaltine and set them down on the table. Ethel was dressed in the white housecoat that she always wore when she was on duty at Mrs. Galecki’s. She also had on a couple of the lanyards that Troo and me had made her, which was one of the many reasons I loved Ethel. She was sensitive like me to people’s feelings and she knew seeing those lanyards would make us feel better because really, we had a big, secret, shocking day yesterday, moving into Rasmussen’s and all. Ethel only knew the half of it, so while she braided my hair I told her the other half. Everything. About Daddy’s forgiving Mother and what’d happened in the car crash with Troo and how Rasmussen was my father.

When I was done, Ethel said, “My gracious, y’all have had quite the summer.”

I woulda bet my best steely boulder that Ethel had known all along that Rasmussen was my daddy because I had turned around to check her eyebrows and they hadn’t gone up at all when I’d told her that part, which was what her eyebrows always did when she was surprised. After all, Miss Ethel Jenkins from Calhoun County, Mississippi, was the smartest woman I knew, and once you saw me and Mr. Dave together you’d probably know right away that we were related, if you paid attention to the details and were looking for that sort of thing.