Deliver Us from Evie Page 6

  He said, “I’d like to know who on this earth could get you to stop smoking. Cord doesn’t have any guts that way.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Evie said.

  “Whoever did it did you a favor,” I said.

  “I know it,” said Evie.

  “You read an article?” Dad again.

  “No, I didn’t, Dad. It doesn’t matter who. I’m just taking Parr’s side of the argument. You give things up sometimes if there’s good reason.”

  “There was good reason for three or four years and it didn’t stop you smoking,” said Dad.

  “I guess now I found a better reason,” said Evie, but she didn’t say what it was.

  Dad finally got silent.

  I said, “Dad, I’ll flip you for who cleans the mower.”

  “I’ll do it,” he said.

  “Since when?”

  “Since when what?” He sounded glum.

  “Since when do you make it so easy for me?”

  “Easy’s better than hard,” Dad said. “Why not make it easy if you can do it?”

  “Oh!” I said. “A little philosophy on the way home.”

  “Snap up the offer while you can, Parr,” said Evie.

  We both chuckled but Dad was silent.

  Evie said, “Have Angel over for some venison steak this weekend, Parr. We’ll do a big dinner. I’ll invite Cord, too.”

  “Angel’d bring one of her mother’s pies, I bet,” I said.

  Evie’d been going a lot of places with Cord since Christmas. Movies. Bowling. She was in a better mood than I could remember in a long time.

  I kept thinking about that Jane Doe mailbox over in King’s Corners. I’d think about it, and then I’d knock it off because I didn’t like mysteries I believed I’d never have the solution to. I might have come right out and asked Evie a time we’d been alone together if she knew why Patsy Duff would rent a box there, but I didn’t want to get Mrs. Kidder in trouble.

  “I like Angel,” said Evie. “She’s got Anna Banana beat by miles.”

  “It’s easy to beat Anna Banana,” I said.

  “You know what I mean, Parr. Angel’s great!”

  “I just wish I could drive,” I said. “I hate having to hitch a ride there and back. It cramps my style.”

  “It doesn’t seem to,” Evie said.

  Dad still wasn’t joining the conversation.

  He was sitting next to me, staring out the window, twiddling his thumbs. His hands were so rough we could hear the thumbs going.

  We finally pulled into our drive and started down the road just as it was getting dark.

  Long lanes of smoky gray clouds were traveling past the top of the sinking sun. Pete and Gracie were running to meet the truck, barking greetings. The snowdrifts were piled up on both sides of us.

  Dad pushed the ashtray back and looked inside, as though he expected to see some old butts in there, even though Evie always emptied it before we took off to go anywhere. Maybe he wanted to believe she’d been kidding. I didn’t know what he was doing that for.

  We were walking up toward the house when Dad suddenly reached over and gave a little tug on the red scarf Evie had around her neck.

  “That new?” he asked. Then, before she answered, he added, “You didn’t get that around here.”

  “No, it was given to me,” said Evie.

  “I never saw you wear it.”

  “She’s been wearing it every day,” I said.

  “Since when?” he said.

  Evie said, “Since Christmas.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Uh-huh.”

  That was all.

  Then we went inside.

  17

  WE ALWAYS MADE A big fuss on Valentine’s Day, maybe because winter was so boring.

  Dad always bought one of those big, red, heart-shaped chocolate boxes from the drugstore at King’s Corners, along with a huge, mushy “To My Wife” card.

  Mom and Evie and I made our valentines, and Mom decorated the table, put on the pink cloth, blew up some balloons, made heart-shaped cupcakes with red-and-white frosting, and put out red candles.

  We invited Angel to dinner. Evie offered to drive her over to our place and back, but Mr. Kidder said he’d come get her after—Evie shouldn’t have to do all the driving.

  Evie kept insisting she wanted to do the driving, but Mr. Kidder wouldn’t hear of it.

  The trouble started about an hour before it was time for Evie to leave for the drive to Floodtown.

  I’d shown everyone the valentine I’d made for Angel, with the promise they wouldn’t read what I’d printed inside.

  “Is it a love poem?” Dad asked.

  “It’s not a poem. Never mind.”

  “I wrote your mother poems,” he said.

  “Those days are gone forever,” Mom said. “Now Hallmark writes them for you.”

  Mom had finished setting the table, and called up to Evie that she was coming up to shower before dinner.

  Evie yelled back, “Me first. I’ll be fast.”

  We all had our valentines out on the table except for Evie, who hadn’t brought hers downstairs yet.

  I’d gotten one from Toni Atlee in Florida saying she didn’t miss anything about Duffton, including me, signed “Love and kisses, T.”

  Cord was off in Kansas City going to some lecture sponsored by Reed Joseph International, bird and predator control experts. We were trying to get rid of the pigeons and starlings on our land, because they caused hog disease.

  Mom told Dad the timer was set for the casserole in the oven, and to pull it out when it dinged.

  We went upstairs together. I wanted to show her the locket I’d picked out for Angel before I wrapped it. I hoped she’d offer to wrap it and she did, but we couldn’t find any scissors.

  She went to Evie’s room to look for them and I heard her say, “What’s this?”

  Then I heard Evie charge out of the bathroom and say, “Are you in my room?”

  “I was looking for a scissors and I couldn’t help noticing—”

  “Give me that!” Evie said.

  “It was right out in the open on your bed, Evie! Who’s Jane Doe?”

  “It’s a package I picked up for someone.”

  “It’s open.”

  “I know it’s open! Mom, here are the scissors. Just let me have some privacy.”

  “But who’s Jane Doe, honey?”

  “It’s me. Okay?”

  “I see the return address,” said Mom. “Appleman School.”

  “So now you know…. I’m forced to sneak around to spare your feelings.”

  “I don’t want you sneaking around, Evie. Don’t do that for me.”

  “Really? You want to hear about it?”

  There was a pause and then Mom said, “Maybe not.”

  “You bet not!” said Evie. “I didn’t think you did.”

  “If you want to talk about it, I do.”

  “All right, Mother. This is a Valentine’s gift from Patty. It’s an ID bracelet, and there’s also some k. d. lang tapes in the box.”

  “Why is it addressed to Jane Doe?”

  “I’ve got a P.O. box over at King’s Corners in that name. I didn’t want to chance getting mail at the Duffton post office, even under a false name.”

  “So you two have been writing each other all along.”

  “I mail my letters from King’s Corners, no return address, just in case her father’s got the school on the lookout for anything with my name on it mailed from here…. I’m eighteen years old and I have to sneak around.”

  I could hear Mom sigh, and the bedsprings squeak as someone sat down.

  “Evie,” Mom said, “I wasn’t born yesterday. I’m not unfamiliar with lesbianism. Gays. Whatever you call it. Is that what you claim you are?”

  “It’s not what I claim I am. It’s what I am.”

  “You don’t know that for sure, honey.”

  “I know it. For sure. I’ve always known it. I just never m
et anyone like me.”

  “She did this to you.”

  “She didn’t do anything to me, and I didn’t do anything to her. Did Angel do anything to Parr to make him fall in love at first sight?”

  “That’s different.”

  “Did Parr do anything to Angel? Didn’t it just happen?”

  “I’m not going to get into an argument with you, Evie. I’m going to tell you what I think. If this is true, if you really are what you say you are, all the more reason for trying to fix yourself up a little. Be more presentable. Be a little more feminine.”

  “Patty likes me the way I am. She likes me in pants, with my hair slicked back, in my bomber jacket—”

  “Your brother’s bomber jacket.”

  “Okay. She likes me in my brother’s bomber jacket, and she likes me taking long steps, sinking my hands in my pockets, and all the other stuff you say I shouldn’t do. The only thing she didn’t like was my smoking. The only reason she didn’t like my smoking was because it isn’t good for my health. So I gave it up!”

  Mom was silent.

  Then Evie said, “Some of us look it, Mom! I know you so-called normal people would like it better if we looked as much like all of you as possible, but some of us don’t, can’t, and never will! And some others of us go for the ones who don’t, can’t, and never will.”

  Mom didn’t answer.

  Then Evie said, “There’s nothing to cry about!”

  “I’m not crying for myself. I’m crying for you, honey.”

  “I’m trying to tell you save your tears, Mom. For the first time in my life someone likes me just the way I am.”

  Another silence.

  “Loves me,” Evie added. “Mom, look at this bracelet. See what’s engraved here.”

  “I can’t, Evie,” Mom answered. “Not now…. I have to shower. I have to get ready. I can’t deal with this now. You have to get Angel, too.”

  “And after dinner I have to go somewhere, Mom. I was going to take Angel home and call you from the road. Lie and say the Pontiac broke down. But the truth is I’ll be gone overnight. I’m meeting Patty tomorrow. We’re having lunch over near Appleman.”

  I heard the bedsprings creak again, heard Mom say, “Don’t tell your father this, Evie. I’ll call Mr. Kidder and say you’re going somewhere anyway. Then you do what you’d planned on doing.”

  “Lie,” Evie said.

  “Yes. Lie.”

  18

  ANGEL’S VALENTINE GIFT TO me was a wash-off tattoo of an angel flying through clouds. She’d made me a card drawn with a heart, our initials inside, pierced by an arrow.

  Before I could stop her she’d read aloud what I’d written inside my card: I love everything about you!

  “Now you’re talking!” Dad rubbed his hands together, pleased.

  Mom helped her put on my locket, and Dad said now he supposed Angel wanted his picture to put in there.

  We laughed a lot. Angel was right at home with my folks, as they were with her.

  I felt sorry for Evie, even though she seemed to be in a great mood. I kept remembering hearing her ask Mom to look at the ID bracelet Patsy gave her, and Mom saying she couldn’t.

  Angel had to be back by ten o’clock, which was just when Cord surprised us by showing up with candy and a card for Evie. He’d skipped the last half of the lecture so he could make an appearance. He was having a cup of coffee with us when Dad answered the phone and told us all the fan belt gave out on Evie’s car and she was going to stay over at the Twin Oaks motel.

  Cord said, “I thought Evie always had an extra fan belt in her trunk.”

  “Seems she doesn’t.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll go get her. I got to go back over that way tomorrow, anyway.”

  “After all the driving you did today?” Mom said. “I won’t hear of it!”

  “I asked her why she didn’t just go back to the Kidders’,” said Dad, “but she said there wasn’t room there and she didn’t want to wake them up.”

  “I’ll go get her,” Cord said. “You can’t give a gal a valentine on the fifteenth of February.”

  “She’s probably already in bed,” said Mom.

  “Let him go,” said Dad. “I never can sleep away from home, and I bet Evie can’t, either.”

  Mom followed Cord out the door, spoke to him, came back looking worried.

  We were all in bed when the phone rang the second time. I wasn’t asleep and I bet Mom couldn’t sleep, either, but Dad got awakened and cussed his way downstairs saying who was that calling up at midnight?

  Then he yelled up to Mom, “Evie’s not there. Cord says should he call up the Kidders at this hour?”

  “No!” said Mom. She’d gotten out of bed and was just outside my door.

  “Well, where the heck is she? Twin Oaks doesn’t know anything about it!”

  “Tell Cord to come back to Duffton,” Mom said.

  “Maybe she’s trying to get a ride somewhere on the road,” said Dad. Then I heard him tell Cord, “Did you take a look by the Texaco station down at the turn to King’s Corners? There’s a phone booth—”

  Mom interrupted. “Tell Cord to come home, Douglas.”

  “But why? He’s already there. He might as well look around for her. He maybe ought to call the Kidders.”

  “I know where Evie is,” said Mom. “I told Cord she wasn’t there, but he wouldn’t believe it.”

  “Because she is there, somewhere!”

  “Tell Cord to come back, then hang up.”

  “I spoke to her, Cynnie, and she said she was—”

  “Do as I say, Douglas! Evie didn’t have car trouble.”

  My father came back up the stairs, shouting, “What is this about? Where is Evie?”

  “I expect she’s gone on to Jefferson City!”

  “Jefferson City?”

  “Don’t get Parr out of bed now. Come on in and I’ll tell you about it.”

  Their bedroom door slammed.

  I couldn’t hear her clearly after that, but I could hear him.

  I could hear “loan.” I could hear “Duff.” I could hear “Patsy,” “Evie,” and a whole lot of other words my dad wasn’t known for saying inside our house.

  19

  BY THE END OF February Cord and Evie had had a showdown, so Cord knew what was going on between Evie and Patsy.

  He acted like it was a big joke. Once, when he’d gone to St. Luke’s with us and we were all saying The Lord’s Prayer, he said in this loud voice, “Deliver us from Evie,” instead of “Deliver us from evil,” and he laughed and nudged Evie, who gave him a sharp elbow in his ribs, her face flushed for a moment.

  Dad was heartbroken, I think. This was an Evie he didn’t know, and the two of them together were always on edge. It got worse in March, when Mom went down to Little Rock to visit her folks. Every year at that time she spent a few days at the Parrs’, but this year it seemed longer because of what was going on between Evie and Dad.

  One Sunday Evie came down to breakfast in new navy-blue pants, a new navy-blue cashmere jacket, and a white shirt open at the neck. Her hair was slicked back and she had the red scarf around her neck.

  Dad said, “I won’t be going to church with you, Evie.”

  “Since when do you miss church?”

  “I got work to do.”

  “Why don’t you relax? You got the loan.”

  “No thanks to you,” he said.

  Evie got herself some coffee and sat down at the table with us.

  “Is she buying you clothes now?” Dad asked her.

  “I got a birthday coming, remember. So we went shopping yesterday.”

  Evie’d been going to Jefferson City every Friday night for weeks. She’d come back late Saturday night.

  According to Evie, Patsy Duff would meet her for lunch on Saturday, they’d go to a movie, then Evie’d drive home.

  Dad never talked any of it through with Evie, but he made cracks, and he kept his distance from her. In fact, if
he could help it he didn’t spend any time alone with her.

  I knew he wished he could control her or throw her out of the house, but he needed her too much. I heard him complain to Mom they were sitting on a tinderbox—it was just a matter of time before Mr. Duff got wind of it.

  Mom just kept saying, “They aren’t doing anything, Douglas.”

  He’d say back, “We don’t know what they’re doing and not doing!”

  Evie didn’t let up on him that Sunday morning.

  She said, “Come on and go to church, Dad. This is the Sunday Parr’s going to The Church of the Heavenly Spirit, remember.”

  “You don’t need to say remember after everything you say. I’m not dotty yet, despite your shenanigans.”

  “I’ll be all alone in our pew,” said Evie.

  “You made your bed,” Dad said. “Anyway, it’s going to rain cats and dogs. I got to get a fence in before it does.”

  “Do you know how you can tell if it’s rained cats and dogs?” Evie asked.

  “No and I don’t care,” Dad said.

  “How can you tell?” I asked her.

  “You step in a poodle,” said Evie, grinning.

  I laughed but Dad just grunted and got up from the table. He took his cup and plate over to the sink.

  He said, “Parr? Are you having dinner with the Kidders?”

  I said I was and he said to call him when I was ready to come home.

  Then he said, “You’re too dressed up for church, Evie, if you know what I mean.”

  “What do you mean?” she said.

  “Those aren’t farm clothes, they’re serious clothes. Be different if it was Doug wearing them home from college.”

  He left the room before Evie could answer.

  I was used to talking with her about Patsy Duff. We never got on the subject of homosexuality, or even how they felt about each other, but she’d tell me things Patsy’d say and stuff they did together.

  Patsy was teaching her to dance, teaching her a little French, getting her to eat things she’d never tasted like calamari and steamed mussels.

  On the way to Floodtown she asked me if I thought her clothes were “too much.”

  “I wouldn’t mind having them,” I said. I felt the buttery texture of her jacket with my thumb and first finger. “They even feel rich.”