“I'm not making …” Cecca let the rest of the sentence die. She was making a big deal out of nothing. And Owen, standing there with his big ears flapping, was not helping matters. She said, “Owen, if you don't mind?”
“Sure,” he said, “I'm out of here.” He came over and kissed her cheek. Then he said to Amy, “See you later, foxy.”
She wrinkled her nose at him.
The silence following Owen's departure had a strained quality. Amy poured a glass of iced tea, drank half of it. “Fruit salad,” she said then. “Is that all we're having?”
“Too hot to cook.”
“I guess. I'm going up and take a shower, if that's okay with you.”
“Amy, don't be angry. It's been a long day.…”
“For me too. What time are we eating?”
“I don't know, seven or seven-thirty.”
“I'm picking Kim up at seven-thirty.”
“Going out again tonight?”
“It's Saturday night, Mom. Just because you don't go out doesn't mean I have to stay home, too.”
“That's a cheap shot. I stay home by choice.”
“And I go out by choice, okay?”
“You have a date?”
“I told you, I'm picking Kim up. We're going to a movie.”
“Just the two of you?”
“What is it with you, Mom? You know I'm not seeing anybody right now. Not since Davey and I broke up.”
“You've had plenty of dates since then—”
“Dates, sure, big deal.”
“There's nobody you're interested in?”
“No. Who would I be interested in?”
“I don't know. That's why I asked.”
“Well, there's nobody.”
“There must be dozens of boys who are interested in you.”
“Boys,” Amy said, “my God. I'm tired of boys.'”
“Now, what does that mean?”
“It means I'm tired of boys, that's what it means.”
“You're not seeing somebody older—?”
“I'm not seeing anybody, for God's sake! How many times do you want me to tell you that?”
“Then why are you carrying condoms in your purse?”
The question surprised her as much as it did her daughter. She hadn't intended to ask it, it had just come spitting out. Amy was staring at her openmouthed, color staining her cheeks—embarrassed and angry. She had Chet's dark good looks and smoky eyes, and at moments like this she looked just like him. Acted like him, too: flew off the handle, became aggressively defensive. The time Cecca had caught Chet with the waitress from LeGrande's … his expression of flustered outrage had been the same as Amy's was now.
“You've been in my purse. How could you do that?”
“No, I haven't. You left it on the dining room table the other afternoon, right on the edge. I brushed against it accidentally and things spilled out when it fell.”
“Oh, sure, right. Accidentally.”
“I'm not lying to you. Now don't you lie to me. Why're you carrying condoms around with you?”
“What's the next question? Am I still a virgin?”
“That isn't the point—”
“Isn't it? Sure it is. But I'm not going to tell you. What I carry in my purse is my business and what I do with my body is my business. Okay? All right? And don't you ever go through my personal stuff again. Don't you ever!”
“Listen to me—”
“No,” Amy said, and grabbed up her shopping bags and stormed out of the kitchen.
Cecca sat at the table. She'd handled things badly; Eileen would probably say she couldn't have handled them any worse. It had taken so long to mend the painful rift that the divorce had caused, and now she'd let that damned phone call rip it open again. Why hadn't she just told Amy the truth instead of letting herself slide into the mother-from-hell role?
Too late to tell her now? Maybe not. She took another minute to compose herself and then went upstairs to Amy's room. The door was shut; she knocked and tried the knob. It wasn't locked.
Amy was in her bra and panties. The shopping bags and their contents were all over the room, as if she'd hurled them around in a demonstration of her anger. Glaring, she said, “Now what? You want to search my room, too?”
“No. I want to apologize.”
“Oh, you do? Isn't it a little late for that?”
“I don't mean about your purse. That really was an accident; I wasn't snooping. And you're right, your personal life is your own and you're entitled to your privacy. If you want to tell me about the condoms, fine, but I won't ask you again. Is that fair?”
“… I guess.” But Amy wasn't mollified. When she felt wronged she had a tendency to nurse her anger. Just like her father in that respect, too.
Cecca said, “I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm sorry for that, too. But I had a reason.”
“What reason?”
“Another one of those calls this afternoon. Only this time he said something that upset me. Something ugly.”
“What did he say?”
Cecca told her.
“God, what a dickhead creep,” Amy said. She plunked herself down on the edge of her bed. “But you should have known it was just crap.”
“I can't help worrying. I love you, you know that. The thought of anything happening to you …”
“Nothing's going to happen to me. I mean, he wanted you to worry. That's how those weirdos get off.”
“I know that.”
“So don't let him get to you, okay? If he calls again, which he probably will.”
“If he does and you answer, don't say anything to him.”
“Why not? I'd like to tell him some things.”
“We talked about this before. Talking back will only provoke him. Promise me you'll just hang up.”
Amy scowled. But then she said, “All right. It's no big deal anyway. He'll go away eventually. Chris Ullman's mother had an obscene caller last year and he said all kinds of crazy things to her. And he went away after a few weeks. This one will, too.”
Will he? Cecca thought as she returned to the kitchen. Yes, probably. Except that he's not a random caller. He knows my name, he knows Amy's name, he knows where we live.
What if he's more than just a telephone freak?
What if he's some kind of psycho?
They went to the new Tom Cruise movie. Kimberley wanted to see it, she was a big Tom Cruise fan, and there wasn't anything else playing that excited Amy much. It was all right. Funny in parts; once Amy even laughed out loud. Lots of sex. But every other word was “fuck” or “shit,” like a lot of movies you went to, and it got to be pretty monotonous and silly. People didn't really talk like that, and if they did, who wanted to listen to them? It just wasn't very intelligent. Kids' stuff. She wasn't a kid anymore, even if Mom insisted on treating her like one sometimes. Like tonight. Big scene in the kitchen with Owen there, and then going ballistic about the rubbers. And all because the creep on the phone had upset her and she'd been worried. There wasn't anything to worry about, for God's sake. Besides, she could take care of herself. The divorce had turned her into an adult a long time ago, more than three years ago. The divorce, and then Davey Penner.
After the movie Amy wanted to go to Big Red's for something to eat, but Kimberley didn't. Kim thought she was getting fat. She wasn't, she was positively anorexic, but that was the way she was. So they drove around instead. Cruising (Tom Cruising, Kim said, ha-ha), which was technically illegal in Los Alegres, but the cops didn't hassle you as long as you didn't ride in packs. Amy didn't mind. She liked to drive. In fact, she loved it. The Honda handled like a dream. Not much power, but she wasn't into fast driving like some of her friends were. That was kids' stuff, too. Adults, if they had any brains, didn't drive like maniacs and endanger other people's lives.