Silenced by the Yams - By Karen Cantwell Page 0,13

loud that I’m sure the CIA picked it up on satellite.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, one of the women in the waiting room had to get judgmental and vocal at the same time. “Where on earth would such a young girl hear that kind of language?”

Amber pointed to Judi. “Dr. Horner’s house.”

Judi Horner gasped and Mama Marr asked it again. Louder, this time, if that was possible. “Tell me what this means, ‘well-hung’?”

By now, mothers were evacuating their children out of the office with the speed of Olympic runners racing to the finish line. Soon the only people left were Judi, her stunned receptionist, me, Amber and Bethany, and poor, uneducated Mama Marr.

“Judi, I’m so sorry,” I stammered.

Judi had the same look on her face as that mother in The Exorcist when she saw her daughter’s head turning 360 degrees. “I . . . I . . .” Sadly, she never finished that sentence.

The door swished open and Howard stepped in with Callie right behind him. “Mom,” he said, his arms outstretched for a welcome hug. His stride stopped suddenly when she planted a frown on her face and her hands on her hips. “Sonny. No beating around the rosy bush. Tell me what this means, ‘well-hung’.”

That definitely wasn’t the reception Howard was expecting. Behind him, Callie’s face blanched and I realized I had a culprit. Callie and Brenna Horner were best buds. It didn’t take a giggly teenage rocket scientist to figure out who had introduced Amber to nearly x-rated slang.

Amber tugged on my shirt. “Don’t worry, Mommy,” she said, “I’ll tell her.”

Judi yelped, “Oh, dear!”

Amber’s blue eyes were sincere. “Well-hung means that he wears really nice clothes, Mama.” She sniffed. “Geez. Everyone’s acting like it means something dirty.”

Chapter Five

Three hours and one sexual education lesson later, we all sat around the dinner table twirling spaghetti onto our forks. Howard had broken out a special bottle of Merlot to complement the faire.

Callie had received a stern talking-to, but we kept the punishment minimal since it was the first night of Mama Marr’s visit. She lost computer privileges for twenty-four hours.

“This sauce is very good, Barbara,” Mama Marr said as she twirled. “You should give me the recipe. Even an old lady like me can learn some new tricks, yes?”

I hesitated, unsure how to reply. Scanning the faces around the table, it was clear that at least three others knew the truth, so I decided it best not to attempt a lie. Not even a little red one. “Thank you, but it’s just sauce from a jar,” I admitted. Whew. That felt good.

Mama Marr sighed, touching her hand to her chest in relief. “Oh, thank the goodness, because it really is not that good. I was just being nice. I will teach you tomorrow my recipe.”

Suddenly, I wished I’d lied.

Callie’s cell phone beeped.

“Don’t text at the table, Callie.” Howard snapped. “Do we have to take away the cell phone too?” Again, a little unusual for Howard. He’s generally not the snapping type of dad. Something was definitely bothering him. Having his mother around didn’t usually put him on edge. I wondered if he’d seen the news article. It didn’t seem likely since he’d spent most of his day tracking down Mama Marr, but I didn’t have any better ideas.

I was about ready to stuff a wad of spaghetti into my mouth when the phone rang. Fearful it was someone that would tell Howard about my new infamy, I jumped to grab it first. Thankfully it was Colt. The timing of the call was nearly perfect since I had decided to hit him up for a favor. “Oh,” I fibbed, “it’s Peggy. She probably wants to talk about Roz’s farewell party. I’ll take this in the other room so I won’t bother you.”

My Academy Award winning performance was lost on everyone at the table, who continued to munch away on the meal despite Mama’s one-star rating.

Now there are those who might judge me, call my “fib” a lie, and say that I shouldn’t be deceiving my family in this manner, but really, the way I see it, I was saving them (and by “them” I mean Howard) the needless hours of apprehension, concerned that I might have been diving into the deep waters of another calamity. And why cause such worry, when I had things under complete control?

“Hello, Peggy,” I answered as I scooted from the dining room to the living room.

There was a momentary silence on