"You think he's stupid or just blind when he looks at Celeste and doesn't see himself?" I studied the shadows and stepped forward slowly.
"Maybe he knows." he continued. "Maybe he's the one hiding the truth, living the lie. Ever think of that. Noble man?"
His laughter was carried off in the flapping wings of a spooked owl. And in the wake I heard only the pounding of my own frightened heart.
13
The Problem with Betsy
.
In the days and weeks that followed. Betsy's
relationship to her new boyfriend grew more and more intense. Many nights she didn't return home at all and then showed up looking as if she had been up all night. She would sleep most of the day and walk about as if she hadn't yet gotten used to the miracle of being alive. She and her father would have frequent arguments about it and she would always threaten to move out. He and Mama discussed it often, and to my surprise she advised him to step back. give Betsy time to come to her own realizations and conclusions. Mama always seemed to be taking Betsy's side. If it was to get Betsy to like her more, it wasn't working.
In fact. I could see early on that one of the reasons Betsy was so determined to have her own romance was her disgust over her father and Mama's ever-growing-closer relationship. Mr. Fletcher, who now absolutely insisted I call him Dave, never entered the house, even a room, without kissing her. No matter what he was thinking beforehand or what sort of mood he was in when he returned from work, as soon as he set eyes on Mama, his face filled with sunshine. Every night after dinner when he wasn't on a late schedule at the pharmacy, they would take long, romantic walks together. He was forever buying her surprise gifts, and from what I saw him bring home, he had bought many things at Mr. Bogart's store.
Whenever he presented Mama with something in Betsy's presence or whenever he kissed her and Betsy was there. I watched her face. Her eyes twitched and she pulled in her lips. She looked away, and when her father asked her something, she either muttered a monosyllabic yes or HO or simply ignored him. She always looked as if she couldn't wait to get out of the house and away from us, or should I say. them.
One night after Mama and Dave had left to go on one of their moonlit walks. Betsy, who was waiting for a phone call from her boyfriend. Roy, came into the living room where I was reading to Baby Celeste. She stood over us, her hands on her hips, and shook her head.
"God, how can you spend so much time with a baby?"
she demanded. "I enjoy how quickly she learns things. You would, too."
"Right. I just can't wait. Where are they?" she asked, gazing out the window. "Where the hell do they go out there anyway?" "Just up the street, I imagine. There's a place where the road turns where you can go in a ways and see the creek at one of its widest points."
"Oh. really! Wow!" she said, turning back to me. Then she smirked. "Fm sure they're not going out there to look at the creek. They're probably necking under a tree or rolling in the grass."
"Why would they have to go outside to do that?' I asked, sounding simply curious.
"I'm sure they think it's more romantic or
something. Maybe they see how the way they slobber
over each other in front me makes me nauseous." I just stared up at her. She narrowed her eyes
and stepped toward me, her arms folded under her
breasts.
"Doesn't it bother you to see your mother
sleeping with my father, kissing him all day, holding
hands and swooning over him like that?"
"Why should it? They love each other, don't
they?"
"Please. Love." She looked away.
Baby Celeste could pick up on a tone of voice.
She sensed the tension in Betsy's and stared up at her,
her face so still, her eyes so full of interest.