Craving Resurrection
Page 9

“Sweet girl,” she murmured into my hair. “Now, put me down so we can eat.”
We sat around the table, talking and laughing like we always did, but there was a significant difference with Patrick there. It was hard not to stare at his mouth as he told us stories about school and the mechanic shop where he worked, and it was equally hard not to groan in mortification every time Peg glanced between us with a small grin on her face. I’m not sure what she saw when she watched us bantering back and forth, but whatever it was had her acting like she knew something I didn’t.
“It’s five, Amy.” Peg warned me suddenly, as I smiled at Patrick. Wait, what?
I jumped up hastily, tangling my feet in the legs of my chair and barely catching it before it tipped backwards.
“What de hell?” Patrick asked in confusion.
“Her parents get home soon, son.” Peg replied quietly.
“So?”
“I’m supposed to be home before they get there,” I explained hurriedly.
“Why?”
“I don’t know, I just am.” I slipped the chair gently into its spot against the table, and carried my dish to the sink where I began to rinse it out.
“Yer not allowed to have friends?” He persisted, following me to the small sink.
“Yes, I am…”
“Name one.”
“Peg.”
“Dat doesn’t count, does it? Yer racin’ home so yer parents don’t know ye’ve been spendin’ yer time here.”
“That’s not it at all!” I huffed, quickly drying the bowl in my hands. “I just have to be home when they get there.”
“So dey know ye come here after school, den?”
I clenched my jaw as my irritation grew. Why was he pushing this?
“No.”
“Well—”
“Patrick, leave it alone,” Peg warned from the table as I moved to go around him.
“Why don’t yer parents know ye come here? Why de big secret, eh?” he asked again, ignoring his mom completely. “Ye ashamed?”
Frustrated tears began to form at the back of my eyes as he moved with me, refusing to let me past him. “Don’t want yer American parents to know ye’ve been spendin’ time wit’ de poor mick t’ree houses down?”
I reached out and shoved him hard in the chest, taking his second of surprise as an opportunity to slide past him.
As I reached the doorway and freedom, I spun back toward him.
“My mother’s Irish, you prick.” I said, lifting my chin. “And I didn’t know you before, but now I don’t like you.”
I tore my gaze away from his and met Peg’s over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Peg. Thank you for the shortcake. It was amazing. I’ll see you later.”
It was a good thing he didn’t try to follow me home, because I was livid by the time I crawled back through my bedroom window. The telephone was ringing in the living room, and I ran as fast as I could to answer it, picking up just as the answering machine message began to play.
“Hello?”
“That’s not how you answer the phone, Amy.”
“Hi, Mom. What’s up?”
“Why are you out of breath?”
“I was working out.”
“Oh, well that’s good. You don’t want to get fat.”
There was an awkward silence as she waited for me to agree with her. It wasn’t going to happen.
“Well, I was calling because your father and I have decided to spend the night out tonight. He met some friends through work and they’ve invited us over.”
“Okay, well, what time will you be home?”
“Honestly, Amy? I just said we wouldn’t be home tonight. We’ll be back tomorrow mid-morning. You’re almost eighteen. You can spend one night alone, for Christ’s sake.”
She’d used the Lord’s name in vain as if it was nothing, and it reminded me of the house I’d just ran from. Suddenly, I didn’t care if they never came back.
“Oh, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” I mumbled.
“Speak up!”
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I enunciated obnoxiously. I was feeling brave, knowing that I wouldn’t see her for almost twenty-four hours.
“You’re such a fucking brat.”
The line clicked and she was gone.
“Bye, Mom! Have a nice time!” I called sarcastically to the dead connection.
I set the phone in its cradle and looked around the house, suddenly unsure. It was really quiet, and I’d be there all night by myself…
I smiled huge and pumped my arms wildly above my head in jubilation. Then I carried my boom box to the living room and turned on some music, changed into a ratty pair of sweats, and went to the kitchen to make myself some dinner. I rarely had use of the kitchen for any length of time, so even though we usually had all the vegetables and fruits I could want, I never got to make anything elaborate or fun. My night was going to be awesome.
By the time I was done making beef stew from scratch, I was practically giddy. I couldn’t wait to have my own place one day, to not have to worry about making too much noise or filling the house with ‘food’ smells—which was one of my mom’s pet peeves. I was thinking about running over to Peg’s to see if she’d like some stew when I heard someone knocking on the front door.
I wondered who it could be, maybe Patrick or Peg? I didn’t really know anyone else. When I opened the door though, it definitely wasn’t anyone I’d ever met.