Mary Jane, Jessica Blau [diy ebook reader TXT] 📗

Beanie Jones’s house (Sheba’s finger in the air).Past the beautiful, messy Cone house.

Out of Roland Park.

Jimmy climbed into the front seat as Sheba got on the expressway. Izzy sat on my lap and I wrapped my arms around her andstuck my nose into her curly hair. I was so happy, I couldn’t speak. The window was still down and hot air blew into the carlike a torch.

“I missed you all so much,” I said at last.

“We missed you!” Sheba ripped off her wig and threw it behind her. It landed on the seat beside me and Izzy.

Izzy turned her head and kissed my cheek. “I cried every night. The family wasn’t the same without you.”

“It’s a family af-faaaair . . . !” Jimmy started singing the Sly and the Family Stone song that Izzy loved.

“It’s a family af-faaaaair. . . . !” Sheba jumped in.

And then Izzy and I sang along too.

13

The first thing I saw was my mother, seated on a chair in the Cones’ living room. Her thick orangey-beige stockings lookedVelcroed together at her crossed ankles. Then there was the even more startling sight of my father on the couch. Beside him,Mrs. Cone was wearing an untucked gold silk blouse. Her nipples tented out from the thin fabric. Dr. Cone stood near the fireplace,one hand flat against the mantel. The house was only slightly messier than I had left it, so either Sheba or Izzy had beentidying up in my absence.

Our Starsky and Hutch escape had only lasted about twenty minutes, so my parents couldn’t have been sitting there long. Sheba had worried they would call the police, so we’d returned to the Cones’ with the idea that we’d have a quick snack and then Sheba would walk me home and seduce (her word) my parents into a blanket pardon: the escape, the clothing, the lies. We’d even gone so far as to plan the outfit Sheba would wear: a tidy pink sheath that wasn’t too short or revealing. I knew the dress Sheba was talking about, as I’d seen it in her closet. It was something my mother would never wear, but it was the only piece of clothing Sheba had brought that my mother might not criticize.

Izzy and I were hand in hand. One of us was sweating; I could feel the wetness pooling in our palms. Jimmy and Sheba stoodbehind us.

No one spoke for a fraction of a second. Then Dr. Cone said, “Mary Jane, we’ve missed you!” He stepped forward and gave mea hug that felt both wonderful and terrifying. I couldn’t look at my father. What could he think of this grown man, this grownJewish man, touching me?

“Oh, Mary Jane!” Mrs. Cone got up from the couch and kissed me.

“We came back so Mary Jane wouldn’t get in trouble.” Izzy turned to me and put her head in my belly. I picked her up and heldher close against me, her head now deep in my neck.

“Gerald Dillard.” My father stood. He walked around the coffee table and shook hands with Jimmy first, and then Sheba. Mymother did the same and then sat back down on her chair. I knew my father wouldn’t sit again until Sheba did, and maybe Shebaknew this too, as she went to the couch and sat. Jimmy had claimed the other chair, so the only logical place for my fatherto plant his body was between Sheba and Mrs. Cone.

“Mary Jane,” Izzy whispered loudly. “I’m hungry.”

“Is it okay if I take Izzy to the kitchen for a quick snack?” I asked. I didn’t know who I was asking—my parents? Dr. andMrs. Cone?—and I didn’t know where to look, so I stared at a misdirected whorl of shag carpet in front of Jimmy’s chair.

“Oh, that would be wonderful,” Mrs. Cone said. “She hasn’t had lunch; she doesn’t seem to like anything I make for her now!”

Dr. Cone said, “Mrs. Dillard, what an amazing chef you’ve made of your daughter. Each night another superb dinner!”

My mother smiled, so I took that as a yes and escaped to the kitchen with Izzy still monkeyed on me. We scooted into the banquetteand Izzy tumbled out of my arms. There was a chill of cool air on my sweat-damp neck.

“Mary Jane,” Izzy whispered. “Are they going to put you in home jail again?” Jimmy had been calling it that in the car. Hewanted to know what they fed me in home jail and if I was allowed to go to the bathroom unescorted when in home jail. We hadto explain to Izzy what escorted and unescorted meant, and she pointed out that she rarely went to the bathroom unescorted,as she missed everyone when she was in there alone.

“I hope not.” I leaned in and kissed the top of Izzy’s head. Her loamy, sweet smell and the feel of her curls on my face calmedme. “Let’s eat.”

I scooted out from the banquette and went to the fridge. When I opened it, I found, to my relief, that it was still clean,though less stocked than I’d kept it.

“Birds in a nest!”

“Okay.” I pulled out the eggs. “Who made dinner when I was gone?”

“No one.”

“No one?” I got out the mixing bowl and started cracking eggs.

“Hmm, Jimmy made breakfast-dinner one night.”

“Fried bread and bacon?”

“Uh-huh. And we got Little Tavern.”

“Yeah?” I was cracking far more eggs than was necessary for just me and Izzy. Would others come in and eat? Or was I about to be carted off to home jail?

“And I can’t remember the other nights.” Izzy looked up, thinking. “CHINESE! We had Chinese.”

“Good remembering!” I whisked the eggs, then got out the milk. “What else did you do when I wasn’t here?”

While I mixed up the pancake batter and heated the pan, Izzy climbed onto the orange stool and talked through her days andnights without me. Nothing particularly exciting had happened, but still I felt that I had missed things in simply not havingbeen part of the daily routine.

Izzy was salting the birds in a nest when my mother and