I try not to let my disappointment show. “That’s okay. How about tomorrow after school?”
She’s smiling for real now. “Okay, sure!”
“Great!” I return the smile, which feels plastic on my lips. “But here’s the thing. You can’t tell anybody we’re going to hang out.”
She frowns. “I can’t?”
“Think about it,” I say. “Our friendship has got to be a secret. If you tell other people, Tiffany is going to find out, and then she’s going to try to convince me not to hang out with you. I don’t want that.” I raise my eyebrows. “Doyou?”
Marjorie shakes her head slowly. “No…”
“You probably shouldn’t even tell your parents,” I say. “Because you know how all the parents talk to each other.”
“Right,” she says, although she doesn’t look entirely convinced.
I wish Marjorie had agreed to meet me after school today. That would make things so much simpler. I wouldn’t have to worry about her blabbing to the world. “If you tell anyone,” I say, “including your parents, then we can’t hang out tomorrow. Okay?”
“Okay,” she finally agrees.
I stare her in the eyes, wondering if I can trust her. I think I can. Marjorie Baker has never had a friend, and she wants one.Desperately. She wants to believe so badly that I want to hang out with her. She wants to believe that I’m doing this because I actually like her, and not because Tiffany put me up to it.
Well, Tiffany didn’t put me up to this.
It’s something much worse.
_____
“I’m going to be late coming home from school tomorrow,” I tell my parents during dinner.
“Oh?” Mom spoons a bite of casserole into her mouth. “What time?”
“Maybe an hour? I just need to look some stuff up atthe library.”
“Okay,” Mom says. “Just give me a call if you need a ride home.”
“I will.” Except I won’t actually.
“Linda.” Dad is looking down at Mom’s plate. “You’re not really going to eat all that, are you?”
Mom frowns. “What do you mean?”
My father’s voice is calm and even, like it always is. But there’s an edge there. “Isn’t it bad enough that you’ve gotten fat like a house? Are you trying for abuilding?”
Mom’s cheeks turn red. “I’ve just been really hungry.”
“Still.” My father takes a long swig from his Old Fashioned. It’s his favorite drink—he has one every night with dinner. “It’s embarrassing, Linda. I don’t even want to take you out in public anymore.” He looks over at me. “Nora, this is an example of what youshouldn’tdo after you get married.”
With those words, my mother stands up from the table and grabs her plate. She disappears into the kitchen, and the door swings shut behind her. This isn’t the first time they’ve argued like this. My mother is probably finishing her casserole in the kitchen where he can’t see her.
Now that my mother is gone, my father seems to have forgotten I’m at the table. He shovels his own food into his mouth and drains the last of his Old Fashioned. Once he’s done, he stands up so fast, the chair almost tips over. He takes his keys out of his pocket, unlocks the door to the basement, and disappears inside. I probably won’t see him the rest of the night. He always goes down there after they fight.
I’ve only finished about half my casserole, but I’m not really hungry. I quietly get out of my seat and creep over to the basement door. I reach out and gently try to turn the knob. Of course, he locked it.
I press my ear against the door. I hear a whirring noise. Some sort of a mechanical saw? I wish I could see what’s going on down there.
As I press my ear harder into the space between the door and the frame, the lavender scent becomes almost overpowering. But there’s something else. Some other smell intermingling with the lavender. It smells like…
Something rotting.
