Walk Two Moons

38 SPIT

At this point in my story, Gram interrupted. “Oh yes, yes, yes!” she said. “I’ve been waiting for that kiss for days. I do like a story with some good kisses in it.”

“She’s such a gooseberry,” Gramps said.

We were churning through Montana. I didn’t dare check our progress on the map. I didn’t want to discover that we couldn’t make it in time. I thought that if I kept talking, and praying underneath, and if we kept moving along those mountainous roads, we had a chance.

Gram said, “But what about Peeby? What about her mother kissing the lunatic? I didn’t like that kiss very much. It was the other one I liked—the one with Ben.”

I found Phoebe at the bus stop, sitting on the bench. “Where were you?” she asked.

I did not tell her about seeing Ben or his mother. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. “I was afraid, Phoebe. I couldn’t stay there.”

“And I thought you were the brave one,” she said. “Oh well, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. I’m sick of it.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. They sat there on the bench having a gay old time. If I could toss rocks like you can toss rocks, I’d have plonked them both in the back of the head. Did you notice her hair? She’s cut it. It’s short. And do you know what else she did? In the middle of talking, she leaned over and spit on the grass. Spit! It was disgusting. And the lunatic, do you know what he did when she spit? He laughed. Then he leaned over and he spit.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Who knows? I’m sick of it. My mother can stay there for all I care. She doesn’t need me. She doesn’t need any of us.”

Phoebe was like that all the way home on the bus. She was in an extensively black mood. We got to Phoebe’s house just as her father pulled in the driveway. Prudence rushed out of the house saying, “She called, she called, she called! Mom called! She’s coming home.”

“Terrific,” Phoebe muttered.

“What was that, Phoebe?” her father said.

“Nothing.”

“She’s coming tomorrow,” Prudence said. “But—”

“What’s wrong?” her father said. “What else did she say?”

“She sounded nervous. She wanted to talk with you—”

“Did she leave a number? I’ll call her back—”

“No, she didn’t leave any number. She said to tell you not to make any prejudgments.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” her father said. “Not make any prejudgments about what?”

“I don’t know,” Prudence said. “And oh! Most, most important! She said that she was bringing someone with her.”

“That’s just grand,” Phoebe said. “Just grand.”

“Phoebe—?” her father said. “Prudence—did she say who she’s bringing?”

“I honestly could not say.”

“Did she refer to this person at all? Did she mention a name?” He was getting agitated.

“Why no,” Prudence said. “She didn’t mention a name. She just said that she was bringing him with her—”

“Him?”

Phoebe looked at me. “Cripes,” she said, and she went into the house, slamming the door behind her.

I couldn’t believe it. Wasn’t she going to tell her father what she had seen? I was bursting at the seams to tell my own father, but when I got home, he and Margaret were sitting on the porch.

Margaret said, “My brother told me you’re in his English class. What a surprise.” She must have already told my father this, because he didn’t look too surprised. “He’s a terrific teacher. Do you like him?”

“I suppose.” I didn’t want to talk about it. I wanted Margaret to vanish.

I had to wait until she went home to tell my father about Phoebe’s mother, and when I did tell him, all he said was, “So Mrs. Winterbottom is coming home. That’s good.” Then he went over to the window and stared out of it for the longest time, and I knew he was thinking about my mother.

All that night I thought about Phoebe and Prudence and Mr. Winterbottom. It seemed like their whole world was going to fall apart the next day when Mrs. Winterbottom walked in all cuddly with the lunatic.