Judy Blundell - What I Saw and How I Lied

I could feel it on the back of my neck. I knew the whispers would travel from those in the courtroom to those out in the hall, and then to those down the court­house steps, and through the streets of downtown. I could feel it in the eagerness of the reporters as they jos­tled to get pictures of Mom.

Joe had planned it, they thought now. The whole thing. He'd planned the murder for right before the storm. He'd planned to stay out with the boat, he'd planned to hide it. Maybe he'd even done something to the engine, somehow. Whatever had happened, every single person in the courtroom now knew that Joe was a murderer, and Mom was a tramp.

They were guilty now.

We had already learned how to walk past photographers, head turned in, keep walking no matter what, don't stop for anything, keep going toward Mr. Markel's open car door, slip inside. Mom first, then Joe. We'd sent Grandma Glad out the back door with Miss Geiger. I was last in the car and I tripped and fell halfway inside. Joe picked me up by the wrist and hauled me in and I lay sprawled over their ankles while he slammed the door shut and Mr. Markel took off.

Joe leaned over and helped me up, and I slid between them. We didn't talk.

I couldn't look at my mother. I couldn't stand the smell of her perfume. I kept myself very still so that I wouldn't brush against her. I couldn't bear the picture in my head of her pressed against Peter.

After Wally's testimony, I'd felt how the mood had changed in the courtroom. Now everyone wanted to pun­ish her. Because she was beautiful, because she was careless, because she was bad. I wanted to punish her, too.

After a minute, Joe placed his hand over mine, so gently. His hand needed my hand. I could feel it in his fingers, his worried fingers. I slipped my hand away.

I had a headache, I went out for some air, and he was I there," Mom said. "He said, come look at this palace Iacross the street, you can't believe it. Then he made a pass. I pushed him away, I didn't want to be rude. I said, 'Down, boy' or some such. That Wally kid got it all wrong. That's all."

We sat together, Mom and me on the couch, Joe in the armchair. Grandma Glad sat on the edge of the bed, her arms folded.

"They're going to hang me for it," Joe said. He didn't look at Mom. "That was all they needed."

"She's the one who should hang," Grandma Glad said.

"That's enough!" Mom's voice rose on the enough. She sprang up, her fists clenched at her sides. "I've had it, old lady. This is my husband, not yours. I don't need you sticking your nose in our business."

"You need me in your business!" Grandma Glad snapped. "You see what happens when I'm not around? You see what you do to him? You can twist him around your pinky finger in your fancy nail polish, Miss High and Mighty, but I know the truth. You can put sawdust on the floor, but a fish store still stinks like fish!"

Mom looked like she wanted to leap over the coffee table and wrap her hands around Grandma Glad's throat. "You wouldn't know the truth if you tripped and landed in it nose first, Gladys. I love Joe and I'm not going any­where. Unless he sends me away." She looked Joe full in the face, and for the first time since we left the court­house, he met her eyes.

"Unless you send me away," she said to him. Her voice broke.

Joe stood. "Ma, could you leave us alone for a few minutes? Go on down to the lobby, order yourself some coffee."

Grandma Glad blinked. "What?”

“They have some nice pastries down there. Have a little rest."

"You're kicking me out?"

Joe stood his ground. "I need to talk to my family.”

“ I'm your family!"

Joe walked to the door and opened it. "Just a half hour."

Grandma Glad couldn't refuse. She picked up her big purse. She walked out, furious. Her face was dark red. After all these years complaining about her blood pres­sure, she finally had a problem.

Joe closed the door after her. He and Mom just looked at each other for the longest moment.

"This is how it's going to be from now on," Joe said in a dead voice. "After this is over, when we get home, we never say his name again."

Mom nodded. "Yes, Joe."

"The only way I can do this is if it's like the war. I come home and I forget it.”

“Yes."

He crossed over and put his hands on her shoulders and shook her. "You get it?" he said through his teeth.

Mom's careful French twist came down from its pins. "Yes, Joe."

With every exclamation, he shook her again. "And I'm going to buy us a house, and we're going to live and be happy. That's what's going to happen!"

He dropped Mom's shoulders and she fell back on the couch. I was pressed against the corner.

Joe shook his head, his eyes closed. Then he turned and walked out. The door slammed behind him.

Mom's face was tight and scared. Her hair was half pinned up, half falling down. "Accessory to murder," she said. "That's what they'll charge me with. That's the least it will be."

She held her head in her hands and rocked. "Do you know what this means? A trial. Disgrace and ruin and prison. And worse for Joe. They'll hang him. What did I do?" She started to cry in jerks, her breath coming sharp and painful. "What did I do?"

I didn't move. I sat and waited until she was almost quiet.

She crawled over to me on the couch. She put her hands on my cheeks.

"You and me," she whispered.

I couldn't answer her.

"Stick like glue. Stick like glue, Evie!"

I couldn't finish it. I couldn't give her that. I couldn't go back to the place where we'd been.

It rained that night, all night, a soft pattering rain. There was no wind, so we kept the windows open. It must have cleared after midnight because a breeze came through, bringing the smell of the ocean, strong and tangy. I had the bed to myself. Grandma Glad had made a big show of getting her own room, to make a point that nobody cared about. So the three of us slept in the same room, or didn't sleep, our breaths mixing all together, in and out.

It was that night.

The match snapped, then sizzled, and I woke up fast. I heard my mother inhale as she took a long pull on a cigarette. Her lips stuck on the filter, so I knew she was still wearing lipstick. She'd been up all night.

She lay on the bed next to me. I felt her fingers on my hair and I kept sleep-breathing. I risked a look under my eyelashes.

She was in her pink nightgown, ankles crossed, head flung back against the pillows. Arm in the air, elbow bent, cigarette glowing in her fingers. Tanned legs glis­tening in the darkness. Blond hair tumbling past her shoulders.

I breathed in smoke and My Sin perfume. It was her smell. It filled the air.

I didn't move, but I could tell she knew I was awake. I kept on pretending to be asleep. She pretended not to know.

I breathed in and out, perfume and smoke, perfume and smoke, and we lay like that for a long time, until I heard the seagulls crying, sadder than a funeral, and I knew it was almost morning.

I tipped over the empty bottle of soda and anchored it in the sand.

I'd gone over it all in my head, and I still didn't know. I remembered all the things I'd seen. It was all there in my head, the things that happened, the things we said. I should stay away from you, pussycat.

Me? I'm just a softy.

I wish a lot of things, and one of them is, I wish you were back in that house, with your battle-axe Grandma Glad.

The rest of us, we have to figure out how to break the rules.

Where does she go, Evie?

I like to blow horns. Nice and loud, so everyone can hear.

Let me put it this way: I think he'd be a hell of a lot happier if I disappeared.