light was on over the stove. The radio dial cast a soft green glow.
Ellen Harper was sitting at the kitchen table. Actually, she was
slumped over it, arms folded on the tabletop, head resting on her arms,
her face turned away from the doorway where Amy stopped. A tall glass,
half-full of yellow liquid, was within Ellen’s reach. Amy didn’t have
to sample the drink to know what it was, her mother always drank the
same thing–vodka and orange juice-and too much of it.
She’s asleep, Amy thought, relieved.
She turned away from her mother, intending to sneak out of the room and
upstairs to bed, but Ellen said, “You.”
Amy sighed and looked back at her.
Ellen’s eyes were blurry, bloodshot, the lids drooped. She blinked in
surprise. “What’re you doing home?” she asked groggily. “You’re more
than an hour early.” “Jerry got sick,” Amy lied. “He had to go home.”
aBut you’re more than an hour early,” her mother said again, looking
up at her in puzzlement, still blinking stupidly, struggling to
penetrate the alcohol haze that softened the outlines of her
thoughts.
“Jerry got sick, Mama. Something he ate at the prom.” “It was a
dance, wasn’t it?”
“Sure. But they had food. Hors d’oeuvres, cookies, cakes, punch, all
kinds of stuff. Something he ate didn’t agree with him.” “Who?”
“Jerry,” Amy said patiently.
Her mother frowned. “You’re sure that’s all that happened?” “What do
you mean?”
“Seems . . . funny to me,” Ellen said thickly, reaching for her
unfinished drink. “Suspicious.” “What could possibly be suspicious
about Jerry getting sick?” Amy asked.
Ellen sipped the vodka and orange juice. She studied Amy over the rim
of the glass, and her stare was sharper than it had been a minute
ago.
Exasperated, Amy spoke before her mother had a chance to make any
accusations.
“Mama, I didn’t come home late. I came home early. I don’t think I
deserve to be subjected to the usual third degree.” “Don’t you get
smart with me,” her mother said.
Amy looked down at the floor, shifted nervously from one foot to the
other.
“Don’t you remember what Our Lord said?” Ellen asked. a Honor thy
father and thy mother.” That’s what He said. After all these years of
church services and Bible readings, hasn’t anything sunk into your
head?”
Amy didn’t respond. From experience she knew that respectful silence
was the best way to deal with her mother at times like this.
Ellen finished her drink and got up. Her chair barked against the tile
floor as she scooted it backwards. She came around the table, weaving
slightly, and stopped in front of Amy. Her breath was sour. “I’ve
tried hard, so very hard, to make a good girl out of you. I’ve made
you go to church. I’ve forced you to read the Bible and pray every
day. I’ve preached at you until I’m blue in the face. I’ve taught you
all the right ways. I’ve done my best to keep you from going wrong.
I’ve always been aware that you could go either way. Either way. Good
or bad.” She swayed, put a hand on Amy’s shoulder to steady herself.
“I’ve seen the potential in you, girl. I’ve seen that you have the
potential for evil. I pray my heart out to Our Lady every day to look
over you and guard you.
There’s a darkness deep inside you, and it must never be allowed to
come to the surface.”
Ellen leaned very close, put a hand under Amy’s chin, lifted the girl’s
head, and met her eyes.
Amy felt as if ice-cold snakes were uncoiling inside her.
Ellen stared at her with a peculiar, drunken intensity, with the
burning gaze of a fever victim. She seemed to be looking into her
daughter’s soul, and there was a mixture of fear and anger and
hard-edged determination in her expression.
aYes,” Ellen said, whispering now. “There’s a darkness in you.
You could slip so easily. It’s in you. The weakness. The
difference.
Something bad is in you, and you have to fight it every minute. You
have to be careful, always careful.” “Please, Mama. . .
“Did you let that boy touch you tonight?” “No, Mama.”