Judy Blundell - What I Saw and How I Lied

"We've got the American Dream, Bev," he said. "But there's more of it out there."

"Not in New Jersey," my mom replied.

Now Mom banged the spoon on the pot, flicking off a dollop of potato. "Dinners not ready yet, Grandma Glad," she said.

"I can see that," Grandma Glad said. "It's the same man on the phone, Joe — he says he must speak to you. Or he'll drop by later, if you're busy now."

Joe's fingers curled around his whiskey glass. He stood up. "Christ, can't a man in his own house —"

"Joe!" Grandma Glad's hand flew to her mouth, as if she was 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 have some fun, the way we used to. Everybody needs some fun once in a while."

"You seem to get your share," she said.

Mom doesn't give in easy. She took her time folding the dish towel and placing it back on the counter. Then she walked over and sat on his knee.

"I've never been to Florida," I hinted.

I sat on his other knee and slung an arm around his neck. "C'mon, Joe. I've never even been south of Jersey." Don't stick me here with Grandma Glad, I prayed.

Joe laughed. "You don't have to give the soft-soap, Evie." He put his arms around us both. "I can't do with­out my two beautiful girls."

"What about school?" Mom asked. "Evie starts next week."

"Evie doesn't need school. She's smarter than her teachers."

"Can I get a white bathing suit?" I asked.

"Sure. You'll be a regular Rita Hayworth. Now," he said, giving us both a squeeze, "I'm starved. Get me a saw and I'll carve the roast."

I laughed, leaning back against his shoulder. It felt reckless and crazy, like we could do anything, jump in the car and drive hundreds of miles, just to chase summer.

It didn't feel like anyone was chasing us. Not at all.

The trip took four days and three flat tires. Long days of driving on two-lane roads, passing trucks loaded with squawking chickens in Delaware, and cars with salesmen driving with their hats on outside of Washington, and trucks loaded with apples in Virginia. At first we sang and read magazines out loud and Mom passed back cheese sandwiches.

Maybe Joe's jokes became a little too jokey. Maybe we had the fizz, but only because Joe was shaking up the soda bottle so hard. Because pretty soon we weren't talk­ing much, and we just wanted to get there already. Joe stopped trying to entertain us and started speeding, watching out for local cops.

The farther south we got, the warmer it grew. At first we loved the heat, cranking down the car windows and tossing our sweaters in the trunk. But then it was not just warm, it was hot.

At home, when it was hot, relief was a fan, a glass of lemonade, and maybe a bus ride to Rockaway Beach. But there was no end to this. Just hot metal and hot road, until sweat stuck us to the seats and we just wanted to dive into any shade we could find. Except we couldn't; we had to keep on driving.

Joe's left arm was sunburned from where it hung out the window. He wet a handkerchief with water and put it on the back of his neck.

We started getting up at five a.m. to drive in the cool part of the day. We quit by three. Mom made Joe find a motel, or a guest house. Each place had stained chenille bedspreads, and rust stains around the drains, and toilets that Mom scrubbed first before she let me sit on them.

I cheered when we crossed the Florida state line. Dust billowed and blew in the window, and even the glimpse of the ocean was just a cheat, because when we stopped and pulled over to wade in the water, we were itchy with sand and salt when we dried off.

Mom unstuck her legs from the seat, one after the other, then lifted herself up and spread her skirt underneath.