The Secrets of Lake Road - Karen Katchur Page 0,74

However, having been awakened in the middle of the night during the dead hour wasn’t as cool as it sounded in daylight.

Someone in the kitchen burped, which meant it had to have come from Johnny. When wasn’t he disgusting?

Her mother continued talking in a hushed voice, and something about her tone pulled Caroline from the bed. It was obvious whatever they were saying they didn’t want anyone else to hear. She dismissed the idea they were whispering because it was the middle of the night and they didn’t want to wake anyone. Johnny wouldn’t have cared. He only thought of himself.

She could say the same for her mother, but that kind of thinking always made her feel bad. She couldn’t discount the times her mother had tried to be the kind of mom Caroline had wanted—one who baked treats for special occasions, cheered from the stands at sporting events, applied Band-Aids to booboos, prepared home-cooked meals.

Her mother wasn’t good at being a regular mom.

But maybe Caroline should give her a break. After all, Caroline was fed—mostly fast food—but still, she never went hungry. Her mother had sent store-bought cookies into school for Caroline’s birthdays, and twice her mother drove past the ballpark looking for one of Caroline’s softball games, only to discover she went to the wrong field.

She peeked through the crack of her bedroom door. The overhead light in the kitchen allowed for a narrow view of the table, the pantry, a basket hanging on the wall. Gram had several baskets, all hung in the kitchen for decoration, but also for use. Gram thought nothing of grabbing one of them off the wall and filling it with chips or pretzels or popcorn.

Her mother and Johnny were sitting at the far end and out of sight, their voices muffled. She slipped into the hall to listen, stopping to hide in the shadows.

“I’m glad Gram’s okay,” Johnny said. “I would’ve been here had I known.”

Her mother said something Caroline couldn’t make out.

“We took the girls to the drive-in. What else were we supposed to do? It’s too damn depressing hanging around here.”

Caroline heard the strike of a match. Her mother or Johnny or both were smoking.

“Whose car did you use?” her mother asked.

“Chris’s mom’s.”

“Damn it, Johnny. I wish you wouldn’t have. Why didn’t you ask to use one of our cars?”

“What difference does it make whose car we used?”

“It just does. I don’t want you taking anything from them.”

“What does that mean? I wasn’t taking anything from them. What do you have against Chris? What has he ever done to you?”

“I don’t have anything against Chris. It’s not him.”

“Then who is it?”

Her mother didn’t respond.

“Tell me, Mom, because I know it’s something, and whatever it is, I can handle it.”

There was a long stretch of silence.

“It’s Chris’s mom, isn’t it? What happened between you two?” Johnny asked. “Why don’t you like each other?”

Caroline craned her neck, eager to hear her mother’s reply. There was another long silence. Caroline’s mind raced. It must have something to do with Billy. Wasn’t Chris’s mom, Dee Dee, Billy’s sister?

Movement across the hall caught her attention. There was a dark shadow behind her parents’ bedroom door. Her mother said something, but she missed what it was, too distracted by the dark figure.

“Dad,” she whispered.

He darted away without saying a word, taking his shadow with him. Then Caroline heard Johnny say, “Whatever, I’m going to bed.”

Caroline scurried back to her bedroom and climbed underneath the covers. She wondered what her mother had said to Johnny. It couldn’t have been much, or he wouldn’t have retreated so quickly. But what was strange and what bothered her more than missing a big part of their conversation, was why her father would be spying on her mother and Johnny too?

She burrowed under the sheets. Maybe her father felt as she had—closed off from her mother, pushed away. Johnny was the only one who had a solid relationship with her. When was the last time her mother had sat in the kitchen and talked with her? Had she ever? Not that Caroline remembered.

A batch of tears threatened to spill, and she swiped her eyes repeatedly until the skin underneath was dry and raw. She wouldn’t cry over the things her mother did or didn’t do. She was too old for that. She just wished she didn’t feel so alone and mixed up inside. What she wanted more than anything was for her mother to hold her, comfort her, and tell her