Split (19 page)

While Aunt Frannie and Nick whispered at the table, Lene and I washed the dishes.

Lene pulled on my sleeve. “I have my Strawberry Shortcake panties on.”

I stared into her face for a second, then went back to scrubbing the glasses.

She set her chubby fingers on my wrist. “I love you, Derek.”

I glanced over at her.

She stood on the stool, rubbing the rag up and down the same spoon, like she hadn’t even said it.

She’s really pretty when she isn’t talking. But I’m not going to marry her.

“Hello?” Aunt Frannie had picked up the phone. We all turned and watched her. “Oh good, then,” she said. “Have they’ve got the cast on him already…Oh, I see.” She gestured for me to get the cobbler out of the oven. “Right…Johan, listen, Nicolas and Lene are here. We’ve just finished dinner…No, please, it’s my pleasure…Of course, yes…All right…We’ll see you soon.”

Nick cocked a brow. “So? Bunny boy okay?”

“Yes, he’s fine. Your father says they expect to be home within the next two hours.”

Two hours. 120 minutes. 7200 seconds.

“Watch it, hon, you’re spilling the edges over.”

Indeed.

“Set it over there, please. Let it cool off a little. Nick,
would you like me to brew some fresh coffee?” She didn’t bother waiting for his reply, just started busying herself with the making of the stupid coffee.

“O’Reilly.”

I looked up.

Nick mouthed the word
bathroom
. I pointed to it and watched him strut away. His blue jeans were torn on the bum part.

I saw his underwear, I think.

Aunt Frannie helped Lene draw a picture of a seahorse. “You should talk to him more.” Aunt Frannie’s fingers kept drawing. “I think Nicolas is lonely.”

Lonely? Who knew Aunt Frannie was so delusional.

She sighed. “Sure has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Like some kind of cold ocean nobody can ever swim in.” She glanced up. “Get the bowls from the chest, the brown ones. And the vanilla ice cream. I’m in the mood for some sweets. With all this snow we’ve been having, we should be filling our bellies with some comfort, don’t you think, Lene?”

Lene was concentrating on her drawing. She clutched that blue crayon so hard, looked like she was about to pop a vessel. “Yes, Francine. Comfort is sweet.”

The doorbell rang, and Aunt Frannie looked over at the front door like it had farted. “Who can that be?” She rubbed the crayon wax off her fingers and went to the entrance.

“I bet it’s the Bogyman,” whispered Lene.

A chill crawled up my back and I let out a nervous giggle. “Ri-right—”

“Because I called him. The other night. I said his name seven times.” She traced my chin with her finger. “He only comes for the redheaded ones, because their hair reminds him of the licking flames of hell—”

“Enough, Lene.” Nick had strutted back into the kitchen.
“Stille.”

I figured that meant something close to “shut up.”

“Oh fuck me,” Nick cursed under his breath, staring at the front door.

I looked over.

Officer Di Paglio stood in our entrance, chatting it up with Aunt Frannie.

“Fuck.” Nick pulled something out of his pocket. “I’ve got some major karma issues.”

He had pulled out a small container. It looked like White-Out. He threw his head back and squeezed the little bottle over his left eye, then the other. He blinked a few times, widened his eyes, and dropped more of that stuff into them.

“O’Reilly, look at me.”

I looked.

“No, closer. Into my eyes.” He took a step toward me and bent his face close to mine. “They red?”

My heart thundered inside my chest. Like some kind of crazy drummer boy. “No,” I whispered between two worlds. “They’re nothing but bl-bl-u-ue.”

Nick cracked a smile. “Cool. That Italian bastard’s had a hard-on for me since day one. Always looking to pin something on me—”

“Nicolas,” cheered Aunt Frannie, pulling Di Paglio into the kitchen. “You know Scott, don’t you?”

Nick looked Scott up and down. “Yeah.”

Scott returned Nick’s cool stare. “Hello, Nicolas.”

I expected one of them to draw a pistol at any time.

Could almost hear the cowboy music playing.

“How’ve you been, Lund?”

“Just peachy, sir.”

Scott didn’t seem to enjoy that. “Yeah? Some folks been complaining about some vandalism—some obscenities being spray-painted on the wall of the—”

“Obscenities, sir?” Nick’s arrogant smile stole a giggle out of me, but Aunt Frannie shot a hard glance my way, so I glued my eyes to the floor and held it in.

“Yes, that’s right, Lund. Obscenities. You know, garbage.
Filth.
”

“Well, that’s a shame, sir. Verdun being such an upstanding city and all.”

Scott’s brown eyes blazed. “They thought maybe they’d spotted the Pinet boy’s car down there, right about last week—”

“Last week, huh? What time exactly?”

Aunt Frannie tugged on Di Paglio’s sleeve. “Come on, let’s have some of this cobbler, the ice cream’s melting—”

“’Bout seven p.m.”

“Is that right?” Nick rubbed his chin. “Seven, you say?”

“That’s right.”

“Derek, can you set a place for Scott. Scott? Can we enjoy this cobbler?”

The tension was electrifying.

“Not right this minute, Frannie,” said Scott, his eyes still hard on Nick’s face. “I’d like to get to the bottom of this—”

“Well.” Nick ran a swift hand over his face, like he was trying to keep some beast from pouring out of his pores. “You should check your sources, you soft-cocked middle-lifing prick of the earth. ’Cause David’s got a job flipping burgers every night of the week. You know, working minimum wage, fattening your ass up—”

“Nicolas!” Aunt Frannie’s cheeks were flushed with pink. “Hush now!”

The color on Di Paglio’s face had drained out. A thin blue vein throbbed on his forehead. “You cocky piece of—”

“Scott!” Aunt Frannie’s voice had shrilling pitch to it. “Stop! Nicolas is my guest, now quiet down, please. No sense in getting confrontational.” She squeezed his hand. “Besides, Scott, you aren’t even on duty tonight.”

My body was wired, like when I’ve had too much Cap’n Crunch.

I glanced up at Nick’s face.

His blue eyes were veiled with passion. It almost looked as if he was enjoying this.

I looked down at Scott’s hand. His fingers twitched a little, folding around Aunt Frannie’s hand. “All right,” he grumbled, keeping his eyes steady on Nick’s unflinching stare. “Let’s have some of this cobbler.”

Nick drew in a short breath. “Okay,” he said at length.

Everyone’s shoulders sank with relief.

“Look,” said Lene, holding up her drawing, “I made a seahorse centaur.”

We had all eaten in silence, listening to ourselves chew.

“Sweetie,” Aunt Frannie said, pushing a curl out of Lene’s drowsy eyes. “You look pooped.” She then turned to me. “Why don’t you get Lene settled in my bed? Just over the covers, and spread the green blanket on her. It’s in the closet, under my suitcase.”

Why do I have to do these things?

“Go on, she’s tired.”

Nick lifted Lene out of her chair, and strapping her thighs around his chest, carried her down the hall to Aunt Frannie’s bedroom. Well, Mom and Dad’s bedroom.

I followed close behind.

“There you go Madame Lund.” Nick’s voice was thick with tenderness. His movements were slow and gentle. “Let’s get these socks off you.” He pulled Lene’s socks off in one quick motion, rolling them up neatly. “Can you get her a glass of water? Not too cold. Thanks.”

I went to the kitchen, wondering what “not too cold” meant. Didn’t want to get it wrong.

“Hon, Lene settled in?”

I nodded.

“Well, listen.” Aunt Frannie’s eyes twinkled. Her nose was a little red too. She had the hiccups. “Scott and I were thinking about going to catch a movie, I mean, if it’s all right with you. Johan and Helga will be here any minute, and it’s almost bedtime for—”

“It’s okay.”

“Really?” She jumped out of her chair, coming around to kiss me. Her breath smelled like vinegar and brown sugar. “Thanks, hon, thanks a million. We’ll just be downtown, less than ten minutes—”

“Frannie, the boy isn’t retarded,” interjected Scott. “Derek knows how to handle himself, don’t you, Derek? But I’m not sure leaving him alone with that hothead is such a good—”

“No, it’s o-okay.”

Scott’s eyes roamed over my face. Scanning. “Keep an eye on him.”

To ask me to watch Nick all night was like asking a quadriplegic to sit down.

Scott got to his feet. “Page me at this number if you need to reach your auntie.”

He handed me a paper. I stuffed it into my pocket and went to the sink to fill a glass of water. I ran the water for a few seconds, but the pipes are cold, on account of it being winter and all, so I fiddled with the faucet until I got the right temperature. I took a sip. It was satisfactory.

When I came up to Mom and Dad’s bedroom, I heard Aunt Frannie whispering to Nick. “Keep an eye on Red. His asthma pump is on the kitchen counter.”

Great. Nick Lund was going to be babysitting me.

She waved to Nick. “Okay, be good.” She kissed my forehead. “Don’t stay up too late, hon.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Saint-Jacques.” Nick was smiling from ear to ear. “I’ll make sure he brushes his teeth and everything.”

Scott squinted suspiciously and pulled Aunt Frannie out the door. “Come on, or we’ll miss the previews.”

They shut the door behind them.

Brush my teeth?

I frowned and folded my arms over myself.

Nick glanced back at Lene. She was sleeping soundly, drowned in a sea of green flannel. “Okay,” he whispered. “Go brush your teeth and get into bed.”

The corners of my mouth sagged.

He walked off, heading for the kitchen. “O’Reilly,” he said without looking back, “I’m fucking kiddin’. Get your ass in here.”

My heart fluttered, but I followed.

“Think I can have the rest of this lemon pie?” Nick’s head was inside the fridge.

I nodded.

His blue eyes appeared over the fridge door. “Did you say yeah?”

I nodded again, trying to steady my beating heart.

“Want some?” he asked, scooping the citrus mess into his hand.

That lemon pie had been on the shelf since Monday. It was yellow in the middle, but tawny at the edges.

Nick stuffed a whole piece inside his mouth, grimaced, and hurried to the cupboard. He fumbled for a glass and filled it with milk. “Wish I hadn’t eaten that.” He looked my way. “O’Reilly, you should have warned me.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and a long shiver rattled him. “That was the nastiest lemon pie I ever had, and I’ve had my share of nasty food, trust me.”

My shoulders shook a little as I held back a laugh.

Nick popped the pantry open. “Need to get this taste out of my mouth.” He began rummaging through the cans and dry goods. “Let’s see.”

Unless Nick knew how to make something out of corn meal and old molasses, that lemon pie was going to be the last decent thing he would find in our house. Aunt Frannie doesn’t believe in shopping for food. She likes to stop by the store after work and buy something for that night’s dinner. No more, no less. Problem is, what am I supposed to eat in the remaining twenty-three hours?

“You got ten bucks?” Nick had emptied the contents of his wallet on the counter. I counted twenty-seven cents.

I shrugged.

“Forget it.” He rubbed his chin, staring out into space. “Bad idea anyway. I’m just food trippin’. It’ll pass.”

Food tripping?

“You got a tape deck?” He was flicking lights on in the living room. “Some tapes or records?”

I pointed to my dad’s sound system. I’m not allowed to play it.

Nick crouched down next to it. “Sweet.” He looked up. “You got some tapes?”

There’s a box of them in Dad’s closet.

“In-in my pa-pa-par—”

“O’Reilly. Take a breath. Your parents’ room?”

I nodded. “Clo-closet.”

Nick got to his feet and disappeared into the hall. I chewed on my lip, watching the snow fall, trying not to see the redheaded boy in the window’s reflection. I couldn’t believe that boy was me. So insignificant looking.

So mediocre.

“All right, let’s see what we can find.” Nick had found the big red box and set it on his lap. He pulled a cassette out and flipped it around. His blond eyebrows met as he stared at the white label. He shrugged, tossing the tape back into the box. I watched him do this for twelve minutes. Finally, he had exhausted the box’s contents. “Your dad a religious nut or something?”