always be Alex’s fault and never James’s. The Kinneys hadn’t done their son and brother any favors by setting him on such a high perch, in my opinion. James had a lot of self-confidence, which was good. He wasn’t so great about taking blame, which wasn’t.
“So tell me what they did that was so bad, then.”
Molly rinsed and wrung one of the dishcloths and proceeded to wipe down the center island, though I’d already done it. This annoyed me much less from her than it would have from her mother, who’d have been doing it deliberately. Molly simply had been conditioned to following after someone else’s efforts and straightening the edges—even if they weren’t untidy.
“Alex doesn’t come from a very good family.”
I didn’t comment. If you want to know how someone really feels, you almost never have to ask. Molly swiped at invisible spots with her cloth.
“They’re white trash, to be perfectly honest. His sisters were sluts. One or two of them got pregnant in high school. His mom and dad are drunks. They’re all low-class.”
I don’t think I flinched at her judgment of Alex’s family. She wasn’t talking about my sisters, or my parents. Or about me.
I wanted to tell her that she was lucky nobody judged her based upon how her parents acted, but I kept that opinion to myself, too. “There must have been something good about him for James to be his friend, Molly. And we aren’t always what our parents are.”
She shrugged. There was more she wanted to tell. I saw it in her eyes. “He smoked and drank, and more than cigarettes, if you know what I mean.”
“Lots of kids do that, Molly, even the so-called good ones.”
“He wore eyeliner.”
My eyebrows rose, both at once. There it was. The worst of it. Worse, somehow, than the drinking or the weed smoking, or even the fact his family was white trash. This was the real reason they hadn’t liked Alex Kennedy, and didn’t like him now.
“…eyeliner.” I couldn’t help saying it like it was ridiculous, because…well…it was.
“Yes,” she hissed, glancing again to the deck. “Black eyeliner. And…sometimes…”
I waited while she struggled with whether or not she could possibly bring herself to continue.
“Lip gloss,” she said. “And he dyed his hair black and wore it spiked out all over, and he wore high-collared shirts with pins at the throat and suit jackets….”
I could picture him, a Robert Smith wannabe, or like Ducky from Pretty in Pink. “Oh, Molly. So did lots of people. It was the 80s.”
She shrugged again. Nothing I could say would change her mind. “James didn’t. Not until he started hanging out with Alex.”
I’d seen pictures of James from that time. He’d been scrawny and gangly, a hodgepodge of stripes and plaids and battered Converse sneakers. I hadn’t noticed any liner or gloss but could easily imagine him wearing it. It would have set off his vivid blue eyes quite nicely, I thought.
“Anyway,” Molly said. “He doesn’t seem to have changed much.”
“I’ll keep an eye on my makeup bag.”
This time, she didn’t miss the veiled sarcasm. “I’m just telling you, Anne, Alex was bad news then, and he’s probably no better now. That’s all. Do with it what you want.”
“Thanks.” I didn’t want to do anything with it. The more they all hated Alex, the better I felt I wanted to like him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“We were all really glad when James didn’t hang out with him anymore,” she added, unprompted, and I looked up at her again.
“I know they had a fight.”
If you want someone to tell you something they really want to say, all you have to do is let them.
But however much Molly might want to say about it, she couldn’t. “Yes. I know. James never said what it was about. Just that Alex had come to visit him in college—Alex didn’t go to college, you know.”
It hadn’t seemed to hurt him at all. I didn’t comment on that, either.
“Anyway, he
“So tell me what they did that was so bad, then.”
Molly rinsed and wrung one of the dishcloths and proceeded to wipe down the center island, though I’d already done it. This annoyed me much less from her than it would have from her mother, who’d have been doing it deliberately. Molly simply had been conditioned to following after someone else’s efforts and straightening the edges—even if they weren’t untidy.
“Alex doesn’t come from a very good family.”
I didn’t comment. If you want to know how someone really feels, you almost never have to ask. Molly swiped at invisible spots with her cloth.
“They’re white trash, to be perfectly honest. His sisters were sluts. One or two of them got pregnant in high school. His mom and dad are drunks. They’re all low-class.”
I don’t think I flinched at her judgment of Alex’s family. She wasn’t talking about my sisters, or my parents. Or about me.
I wanted to tell her that she was lucky nobody judged her based upon how her parents acted, but I kept that opinion to myself, too. “There must have been something good about him for James to be his friend, Molly. And we aren’t always what our parents are.”
She shrugged. There was more she wanted to tell. I saw it in her eyes. “He smoked and drank, and more than cigarettes, if you know what I mean.”
“Lots of kids do that, Molly, even the so-called good ones.”
“He wore eyeliner.”
My eyebrows rose, both at once. There it was. The worst of it. Worse, somehow, than the drinking or the weed smoking, or even the fact his family was white trash. This was the real reason they hadn’t liked Alex Kennedy, and didn’t like him now.
“…eyeliner.” I couldn’t help saying it like it was ridiculous, because…well…it was.
“Yes,” she hissed, glancing again to the deck. “Black eyeliner. And…sometimes…”
I waited while she struggled with whether or not she could possibly bring herself to continue.
“Lip gloss,” she said. “And he dyed his hair black and wore it spiked out all over, and he wore high-collared shirts with pins at the throat and suit jackets….”
I could picture him, a Robert Smith wannabe, or like Ducky from Pretty in Pink. “Oh, Molly. So did lots of people. It was the 80s.”
She shrugged again. Nothing I could say would change her mind. “James didn’t. Not until he started hanging out with Alex.”
I’d seen pictures of James from that time. He’d been scrawny and gangly, a hodgepodge of stripes and plaids and battered Converse sneakers. I hadn’t noticed any liner or gloss but could easily imagine him wearing it. It would have set off his vivid blue eyes quite nicely, I thought.
“Anyway,” Molly said. “He doesn’t seem to have changed much.”
“I’ll keep an eye on my makeup bag.”
This time, she didn’t miss the veiled sarcasm. “I’m just telling you, Anne, Alex was bad news then, and he’s probably no better now. That’s all. Do with it what you want.”
“Thanks.” I didn’t want to do anything with it. The more they all hated Alex, the better I felt I wanted to like him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“We were all really glad when James didn’t hang out with him anymore,” she added, unprompted, and I looked up at her again.
“I know they had a fight.”
If you want someone to tell you something they really want to say, all you have to do is let them.
But however much Molly might want to say about it, she couldn’t. “Yes. I know. James never said what it was about. Just that Alex had come to visit him in college—Alex didn’t go to college, you know.”
It hadn’t seemed to hurt him at all. I didn’t comment on that, either.
“Anyway, he
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