she was. I picked up my letter and read from the top:
I pictured Charlie on the floor by my room: hands clasped around knees, elbows jutting like wings. Amy, how could you leave me? he probably wanted to know. But all that came out was a whispering of my name. How could you leave me with Mom? he might have thought. I made a building, but at cleanup time, I didn’t put the blocks in order. And she told me to do it again—the right way now, Charlie, she ordered. Your father will be home soon. And dinner will be on the table, and the laundry will be folded, and the house will be clean. Everything in its place, and a place for every thing.
I read my father’s letter again and saw my mother glancing at Charlie, curled into a ball on the hallway floor. I pictured her turning away, leaving him there all alone.
Why couldn’t my mother just love us?
Chapter 7
I’m Not Fooling with You Now
M y mother sat on my shoulder—watching me, warning me—in the dining hall. It’s a lot easier putting on weight than taking it off , she whispered when Nancy announced we won an ice cream party for having the cleanest senior cabin. You’re not going to eat that cake, Amy. Not if you’re having ice cream later.
I longed to shove her off, to replace her with a mom who wouldn’t demand I be thin, who wouldn’t make me explain why I needed another bar of soap or tube of toothpaste. I wanted a home where I wouldn’t have to ask my mother to unlock the closet in which she stashed shampoo and tissues, extra combs and toilet paper—parceling out each item as if it were rationed.
I scraped lines into the icing on the piece of cake I’d taken, then rested my fork at the edge of my plate.
“What’s the matter, Amy?” Patsy asked. “Aren’t you eatin’ that cake?”
“I’ll take it,” Donnie said.
I pushed my plate over.
“Just a minute.” Rory reached across the table. “Who said you could have it?”
Donnie tightened her fingers around the rim.
“Give it here,” Rory demanded.
“No. I called it first.” Everyone jerked to attention as Donnie’s fingers curled around the plate, her knuckles whitening.
“Quit it, you two,” Patsy said. “How ’bout you share it?”
“How ’bout you mind your own business?” Rory countered as Donnie shielded the plate with her arms.
“How ’bout you mind your manners, Rory, or no ice cream party for you.”
“How ’bout you quit telling me what to do, Patsy. You’re not my father.” Rory stood up. She reached across the table, pushed Donnie’s arms out of the way, and grabbed the plate. Campers applauded when it hit the floor.
Jessica giggled. “Nice play, Shakespeare.”
Rory glared at me. “Clean it up, Amy. It was your plate.”
“But it was your fault, Rory,” Patsy said. “So go on and get some napkins to clean it with, or you’ll be alone in the cabin tonight while we’re making sundaes at Mr. Becker’s house.”
“You can’t keep me from that party.”
“Oh no? Just try me, gal.”
I wanted to jump up and throw my arms around Patsy.
“It’s your choice, Rory,” she went on. “Clean up now, or no party later.”
Rory slinked away. I was surprised she surrendered for an ice cream party. She took a couple of steps, then shot a grin back over her shoulder as if she had heard my thought. “You girls think I’d miss Patsy weaseling her way into Mr. Becker’s house? No siree. I’m gonna be there when the sparks fly. Wouldn’t wanna miss that show.”
“And just what show are you talkin’ ’bout?” Patsy asked. Rory walked on, leaving Patsy’s question in the air. But then she turned and looked at me, hatred glowing in her eyes. “And you, Amy Becker, you should’ve eaten your goddamn cake,” she called. “This is your fault.”
I didn’t believe her then. This time I knew I wasn’t to blame. It was my mother who had stopped me from eating that cake. Would I ever be able to get her off my shoulder?
We headed for the
I pictured Charlie on the floor by my room: hands clasped around knees, elbows jutting like wings. Amy, how could you leave me? he probably wanted to know. But all that came out was a whispering of my name. How could you leave me with Mom? he might have thought. I made a building, but at cleanup time, I didn’t put the blocks in order. And she told me to do it again—the right way now, Charlie, she ordered. Your father will be home soon. And dinner will be on the table, and the laundry will be folded, and the house will be clean. Everything in its place, and a place for every thing.
I read my father’s letter again and saw my mother glancing at Charlie, curled into a ball on the hallway floor. I pictured her turning away, leaving him there all alone.
Why couldn’t my mother just love us?
Chapter 7
I’m Not Fooling with You Now
M y mother sat on my shoulder—watching me, warning me—in the dining hall. It’s a lot easier putting on weight than taking it off , she whispered when Nancy announced we won an ice cream party for having the cleanest senior cabin. You’re not going to eat that cake, Amy. Not if you’re having ice cream later.
I longed to shove her off, to replace her with a mom who wouldn’t demand I be thin, who wouldn’t make me explain why I needed another bar of soap or tube of toothpaste. I wanted a home where I wouldn’t have to ask my mother to unlock the closet in which she stashed shampoo and tissues, extra combs and toilet paper—parceling out each item as if it were rationed.
I scraped lines into the icing on the piece of cake I’d taken, then rested my fork at the edge of my plate.
“What’s the matter, Amy?” Patsy asked. “Aren’t you eatin’ that cake?”
“I’ll take it,” Donnie said.
I pushed my plate over.
“Just a minute.” Rory reached across the table. “Who said you could have it?”
Donnie tightened her fingers around the rim.
“Give it here,” Rory demanded.
“No. I called it first.” Everyone jerked to attention as Donnie’s fingers curled around the plate, her knuckles whitening.
“Quit it, you two,” Patsy said. “How ’bout you share it?”
“How ’bout you mind your own business?” Rory countered as Donnie shielded the plate with her arms.
“How ’bout you mind your manners, Rory, or no ice cream party for you.”
“How ’bout you quit telling me what to do, Patsy. You’re not my father.” Rory stood up. She reached across the table, pushed Donnie’s arms out of the way, and grabbed the plate. Campers applauded when it hit the floor.
Jessica giggled. “Nice play, Shakespeare.”
Rory glared at me. “Clean it up, Amy. It was your plate.”
“But it was your fault, Rory,” Patsy said. “So go on and get some napkins to clean it with, or you’ll be alone in the cabin tonight while we’re making sundaes at Mr. Becker’s house.”
“You can’t keep me from that party.”
“Oh no? Just try me, gal.”
I wanted to jump up and throw my arms around Patsy.
“It’s your choice, Rory,” she went on. “Clean up now, or no party later.”
Rory slinked away. I was surprised she surrendered for an ice cream party. She took a couple of steps, then shot a grin back over her shoulder as if she had heard my thought. “You girls think I’d miss Patsy weaseling her way into Mr. Becker’s house? No siree. I’m gonna be there when the sparks fly. Wouldn’t wanna miss that show.”
“And just what show are you talkin’ ’bout?” Patsy asked. Rory walked on, leaving Patsy’s question in the air. But then she turned and looked at me, hatred glowing in her eyes. “And you, Amy Becker, you should’ve eaten your goddamn cake,” she called. “This is your fault.”
I didn’t believe her then. This time I knew I wasn’t to blame. It was my mother who had stopped me from eating that cake. Would I ever be able to get her off my shoulder?
We headed for the
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