“Eat your peas.”
I did and we fell quiet for a bit, while I tried to think of something worth telling her. It was a normal day for the most part.
“There’s a new English teacher.”
“I heard.”
“He seems nice. Different, you know, from the other teachers.”
“Elsa Reever’s son-in-law. He and Mary came to live with Elsa this summer.”
A few more bites. Dad’s clock on the wall that was radio-synced with the international standard clock in Denver said it was 9:52. Mom’s clock on the microwave read 10:03. She said it felt like it gave her a cushion.
But Dad’s clock is right there, I always pointed out.
I don’t look at it, she always replied.
“Tommy Kinakis came in for some pictures.” I said, just to make some conversation. Dad walked in to refill his water in his undershirt and boxers. He used to drink root beer while he watched the news every night, until the doctor told him he was pre-diabetic. He wasn’t fat, not like some people with all their jiggles and bulges. He was just—solid. But I guess he was getting more solid than the doctor wanted, so now he drank water at night.
“Tommy Kinakis? He’s looking to be one hell of a linebacker this season. They’re expecting he’ll get a pretty good ride at the U.”
“I think he was trying to ask me out.”
Dad grunted like Tommy had to be reevaluated now. Mom scraped off the last bits of hot dish from the pan and tossed them out the side door for the barn cats. She looked like she was talking to the cats when she replied.
“Tommy’s a good kid. You could do a lot worse than a Kinakis.”
“I don’t know. I guess.”
“You don’t have to date anyone, Kinakis or no Kinakis.” Dad gave my shoulder a squeeze on his way back to the bedroom.
“Did you get those convent brochures you’ve been waiting for?” I yelled at his back and heard him chuckle.
I helped Mom clean up the table and load the dishwasher. She never said thank you or anything, but she appreciated it when I helped out. That was at least one thing I knew about her.
“Thanks for having supper with me.” I picked up my book bag and was on my way to my room when she stopped me.
“Hattie.” She wrung the dishrag out in the sink and draped it over the faucet to dry.
“Yeah?”
“Maybe you should go out with Tommy. It would be good for you to socialize, make friends in the real world, instead of surfing away on your phone like you do all the time lately.”
I should have just agreed, but ever since I bought my Motorola this summer she acted like I was carrying Satan in my purse. Like I wasn’t going to school, and work, and rehearsals. Why couldn’t I text my friends and check my forums? “The internet’s not full of made-up people, Mom. They’re real, too.”
“Yes, but it’s important to talk to people face-to-face. You don’t know who some of these people are.”
“Of course I do. They’re people just like me.”
“Oh, honey . . .” She shook her head and looked at me, looked right through me until I really did feel like I was nothing more than a ten-year-old girl playing New York dress-up by way of Rochester, Minnesota.
“There’s still a lot for you to learn about the world.”
“Like what?” I bristled, ready to argue with her, but she just smiled like I’d proven her point.
“Don’t stay up too late.” She came and kissed me on the cheek, her library book in one hand, cholesterol pills in the other. I watched her walk down the hallway into their bedroom and turn on her nightstand lamp. Her hair was almost half gray now. And for about the millionth time in my life, I wondered who my mother wanted me to be.
DEL / Sunday, April 13, 2008
JAKE AND I headed over to the Kinakis place right after the play.
“You think Tommy had something to do with it?” he asked.
Jake was still acting a little sore because I’d made him leave his cruiser at the station and ride with me. He didn’t think two seconds ahead sometimes. I wasn’t going to spook Tommy with two cop cars pulling up in front of his house. Out here, intimidation is never the right way to go, no matter what the city boys say. Country people know themselves. They don’t do anything they think they shouldn’t just because you wave a badge at them. And the more badges you wave, the more stubborn some of them get. It was all the Norwegian and Irish blood.
“I don’t think anything about Tommy, except from what we know so far, Hattie might have left the school with him.”
“And she was definitely dating him,” he added.
“Yep.”
“Big kid.”
“Hmm.”
I could tell Jake was thinking along the same lines as me. Last year, sixty-five percent of all the women killed in Minnesota were done in by domestic violence. The number rang true around the station when the stats came out. We were a quiet county and we didn’t have the murders, but we still saw a fair amount of domestics. Too many.
“So he takes Hattie out to get a little action at the Erickson barn after the play. Friday night, springtime, kids are going to be kids. They get into a fight about something and things get out of hand.”
I snorted. “You’re no more than a damn kid yourself. Sound like some TV cop.”
“I’m just putting together the story.”
“That’s Tommy’s job.”