“I’m trying to. You know that fight I mentioned? The one with my father? Well. This is what it was about.”
He talks so slowly! He pauses after every couple of words.
“One day my mother told me that my father was not my father, and then I went sort of crazy and left home—I was staying with some friends—and I didn’t want to talk to my father—my Carl Joe one—at all. Because he wasn’t my real father. Don’t you think they should have told me that a long time ago? Don’t you think they should have let me find my real father?”
“Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. Your father is not your father? Did she tell you who your father is? Your real father?”
He said, “Yup.”
“Wow. So who is it?”
“I can’t tell.”
“CARL RAY, YOU IMBECILE.”
“What’s the matter with you?”
“You can’t make me promise and then not tell, and then tell, but only tell part. You just can’t do that.”
“But my mother would KILL me—”
“I don’t care, Carl Ray. I don’t care.”
I thought we were going to have an accident, because right about then, the car in front put on its brake lights and I had to scream at Carl Ray and he jammed on the brakes and just missed that car by about six inches.
“So,” I said, when we calmed down from almost being killed, “tell me who it is. Spit it out.”
“I’m not saying a word,” he said. “I promised my mother that I wouldn’t tell anyone who it was until…”
“Until what?”
“Until I talk with someone.”
“Who?” I said. “Is it your real father? Is that who? Is that who you have to talk to first?”
Carl Ray drove and drove and drove. And just before we pulled in our driveway, Carl Ray made me promise (again!!!) not to say anything to anyone under any circumstances. I said, “What about Alex? Not even to Alex?” and he said, “No!” so I promised, but I’m not sure I can keep that promise.
So we got HOME. Finally. Everybody was eating dinner and they were so surprised because they didn’t expect us until Friday and they were hopping all around and talking all at once.
Dennis and Dougie were going on about some presents, Maggie was going on about Beth Ann calling all the time, Tommy was going on about a tractor, and Mom and Dad were going on about Mrs. Furtz.
The bit about the presents was this: During the week that we were gone, boxes started arriving—a lawn mower for Dad, a bicycle for Dougie, a kiddie tractor for Tommy, ice skates for Dennis, a coat for Maggie, and a coat for Mom. Then something for me.
“For me? Where is it?”
They said it was in my room. I went racing upstairs. There, in my room, was this rolltop desk with a million little cubbyholes for paper, pens, and all that stuff. I was never so surprised in my whole life.
Everybody knew it was Carl Ray. We were all hugging him and thanking him. Boy, did he look embarrassed.
How about that Carl Ray?
Next, the bit about Beth Ann: Maggie said that Beth Ann must have called thirty times, and Carl Ray better hurry up and call her before she explodes.
Everybody thought that was real funny—except Carl Ray, that is.
Mom said that on the day we left (last Friday), Mrs. Furtz came over. She was a basket case. She said that she had to see Carl Ray, but they explained that we had left. She wanted his phone number. They explained about the phone.
Mrs. Furtz said she had to talk to Carl Ray about the ring. Carl Ray gave me a sick look when they said this, but he said he would go over there tomorrow (which is today, but I’ll tell about that later).
Boy, what an exciting evening. But most of all, it was so wonderful to be HOME. I know how Odysseus must have felt.
When things quieted down a little, I phoned Alex. I was dying to talk to him and surprise him, because he wasn’t expecting me until tomorrow. But there was no answer. I called about ten times last night and ten times today. Where IS he? He was supposed to be home on Tuesday. I can’t stand it. If I don’t see him pretty soon, I’m going to burst. Calm down, Mary Lou. Maybe his family decided to stay longer in Michigan. Maybe they got in an accident. Oh, Lord. Calm down, Mary Lou.
I just tried phoning again. NO ANSWER. Oh, Alpha and Omega!
Calm down.
Beth Ann. I will talk about Beth Ann to get my mind off Alex. Carl Ray called her last night and went over to her house (after he put on a ton of Canoe). She called today, but Carl Ray was over at Mrs. Furtz’s, only I didn’t tell her that. I just said he was out. Then she went on and on for hours about how much she had missed him and how wonderful it is to have him back, only he seems tired and sad, she said, and on and on, and did he miss her, and what did he say, and on and on. I made a bunch of stuff up.
She didn’t say one word about missing me. Friendship, boy.
She did say, however, that she went to the GGP pajama party and that it was “fine,” but she “couldn’t really say” what she did there. (She’s starting to sound just like Carl Ray.)
“What do you mean, you can’t really say? Don’t you remember?”
“Oh,” she said, “I remember. Only I can’t say.”
“Why not?” I asked.
Pause. Pause.
“Why not, Beth Ann?” She can be a real pain sometimes.
Pause. Pause. Pause.
I was about to hang up the stupid phone.
“Promise not to get mad?” she said.
ANOTHER ROTTEN STUPID PROMISE! I almost threw the phone out of the window.
Quite calmly, I said, “I promise not to get mad, Beth Ann.”
Pause. “Well,” she started, “I’ve been voted into GGP…”
I felt my teeth gnashing together.
“…and, oh please don’t be mad, Mary Lou, but I accepted their invitation to join, and I can’t tell about the pajama party because it is supposed to be secret.”
“What? A pajama party is secret?” Gnash. Gnash.
“Mary Lou, you promised not to get mad—”
“I am NOT mad,” I said, and I hung up the stupid phone. Honestly.
I will change the subject. I will not waste any more paper on Beth Ann Bartels.
I showed Maggie the book that Sally Lynn gave me about sex and she seemed extremely interested in it. I let her borrow it. I’ve already looked through the good parts. It’s a little advanced, I think, for me. It’s probably a little advanced even for my parents.
WHERE IS ALEXXX??? (I just phoned again: no answer. Groan.)
Mrs. Furtz. Tell about Mrs. Furtz. Okay.
Carl Ray looked really pathetic when he got back from seeing Mrs. Furtz today. He said she wanted to know where he got the ring.
I’ve been wondering about that myself. “So?” I said. “Where did you get it? And if you’re going to ask me to promise not to tell, I am gonna blast you one.”
“I told her that Mr. Furtz gave it to me before he went into the hospital that day.”
“WHAT??? Are you saying Mr. Furtz gave you that ring? The one you turned around and gave back to Mrs. Furtz? Is that what you’re saying here? Could you tell me exactly why it is that everybody’s always giving you things, Carl Ray? Could you please tell me that? You hardly knew Mr. Furtz. You worked for him—what—a day? A lousy day? And he gives you a ring? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
I would not make a very good detective. I would want to beat the information out of people. Which is what I felt like doing right then to Carl Ray. I am so impatient.