Whispering, Idaho Read online

  “You ran into him dressed like that?” Alice dropped the dust rag and glared at her friend.

  “Nothing wrong with the way I’m dressed.” Gena ran her hands over her hips as she snapped her gum.

  “Maybe a little slutty?”

  “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.” Gena lifted herself onto the counter to sit. “Tell me, what’d he want?”

  “He invited me to the celebration,” Alice smiled.

  “Jeez, Alice, you’re faster than I thought.”

  “I’m not fast. And he’s a Pastor. He wouldn’t date a slut. So I must not be one.” Alice crossed the store to the cooler, pulled out two bottles of Coke and rocked the caps off with the a church key. “Dad told me to stay away from him. What would you do?”

  Gena snapped her bubble gum. “Pastor Smith’s a man. What do you think I’d do?”

  “I don’t mean that,” Alice said, handing Gena the pop, guzzling her own. She wiped her freckled hand across her mouth and sighed. “Dad would have made a good prison guard. Like today, I could be hanging out at the river, but no—I have to work.”

  “Look at the bright side. You’re saving money for college. Guess who I’m going to the Fourth celebration with?” Gena said, inching down the hiked up edges of her shorts with well-manicured fingers.

  Alice looked away. “Who?”

  “Rod Sweeney.”

  “Motorcycle Rod? Isn’t he the one who paws his dates to death?”

  Gena’s eyes widened playfully. “Sounds like fun to me.”

  “Whatever,” Alice said, rubbing her temples. “I’d never date a guy who groped me. It’s just too weird.”

  “But then, you’re a prude aren’t you?” Gena smiled and swung her legs below the counter.

  “I’m not either. I just don’t like being touched.

  “What’s wrong with being touched? It’s nice. We can’t be picky in this town. There’s hardly any good marriage material left in Whispering. The jocks without college deferments may never return from the war. Then where will we be?”

  Alice chewed her fingernails and dismissed the Viet Nam casualties. She had enough to worry about with her dad always trying to feel her up.

  “Come to the river with me. We can skinny dip.” Gena smiled devilishly. “It’ll be fun.”

  “If Dad comes back and I’m not here, I’m dead meat.”

  “Everyone knows he’s at the tavern.” Gena examined her fingernails. “He won’t be back today. That’s a given.”

  “He had a delivery to make, then he’ll be back to do inventory. If I close early he’ll find out. He always does.” Alice rubbed her arm. “See this row of bruises? He pinched my arm just because Stephen was talking to me,” she said, jerking the money tray from the cash register. Half of the change spilled onto the floor. “Now look what I’ve done. I make a mess of everything.” She dropped to the floor, holding her throbbing head in her hands.

  Gena jumped down from the counter. “What’s the matter?”

  “My head’s throbbing. We had another fight. Just watch, my face will be all broken out tomorrow.”

  “The asshole. I’ll clean this up. Then I’m taking you to the river to cool off.” Gena handed Alice her Coke and got down on the floor to gather up the change.

  Alice drank the cold pop and watched Gena retrieve all the runaway coins. “Did Rod actually ask you to the celebration?”

  “Not yet. He said he’d call me,” Gena said. Sighing, she dumped the last handful of quarters into the tray and climbed to her feet. She set the tray on the counter and said, “He’s a pacifist, you know. Says, if he gets drafted, he’ll split for Canada. I don’t blame him.”

  Alice clambered off the floor. “He’ll go to jail.”

  “Don’t say that. Maybe I’ll go with him. Bet tons of cute American guys live up there.” Gena ran her hands through her hair and rolled her shoulders.

  “They’re AWOL, stupid.”

  “So?”

  “So, they’ll get caught, arrested and thrown in jail. Is that what you want, be married to a prisoner?”

  “They’ll have to catch him first. You coming to the river or not? It’s almost closing time.”

  “It’s four-fifteen,” Alice said. “We close at five.”

  “Jeez, Alice, you’re the most responsible person I know. Not a single customer has come in since I’ve been here. They’re all home starting up their barbecues.”

  Alice shrugged her shoulders. “Okay. You turn off the fans and I’ll put the money in the safe. Let’s get out of this dusty rat hole.”

  “That’s my girl. Make your daddy proud.”

  Alice spun the dial on the strong box until it clicked, then she turned it back five notches. But what if her father came back early and found the store closed up? What if he came looking for her at the river? A wave of nausea came over her. She opened the heavy safe door and shoved the moneybag inside, imagining its weight to be her father’s head. She shoved hard, pushing it beneath Blue River’s icy surface until his breath was gone. Her sister’s voice whined in her head, Now you’ve done it, Stupid. You killed Daddy. You’re going to the electric chair. Alice shook the image from her mind’s eye and tried to shut the safe door.

  “What’s taking you so long?” Gena called.

  “The safe won’t close.” Alice opened the door to find an envelope stuck in the hinge. As she pulled it free, a photo spilled out. Staring out from the Polaroid image was the younger version of her mother and father flanking a dark-eyed-man with auburn hair. Looking closer, she saw that the man in the middle was wearing something around his neck. The three of them smiled at the photographer from the deck of a boat.

  “Come on, hurry it up,” Gena said.

  Alice grabbed the picture and slipped it into her back pocket. “Almost done,” she said, and returned the envelope to the safe. She hurried across the store to where Gena waited, flipped the Open sign to Closed, and locked the door.

  Loud speakers popped and squeaked from the bandstand in Whispering Park. Testing one, two, three. Carefree volunteers continued working despite the oppressive heat. Alice drew the back of her hand across her sweating upper lip, smelling the caramel scent of her salty skin mixing with the sun-heated pine pitch and river mud.

  She glanced around, scanning the streets for her father. “Cross here,” she said. “We won’t walk past the Town Tavern, just in case he’s there.”

  “Just quit taking shit off that asshole and move out,” Gena said, following Alice’s detour through the park.

  “Don’t call him that. He’s still my father, you know.”

  “Whatever. You’re old enough to live on your own.” Gena grabbed Alice’s wrist and gave it a shake. “You’re just scared to get a life.”

  Alice pulled away. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  Gena stopped under a sugar maple. “Sure I do. You’re my oldest friend and you’re on a bummer most of the time. You frown more than you smile and you jump at the slightest noise. What’s wrong with you anyway?”

  “Nothing,” Alice said, jumping as a firecracker exploded nearby.

  “See what I mean, jumpy sour-ass?”

  “That doesn’t count.” Alice turned onto the beach trail and stopped. “I found this in the safe.” She pulled the photo from her back pocket and studied it closely.

  Gena looked on. “Look at your mother. She’s a stick. Who’s that in the middle?”

  “Don’t know. But he’s wearing my cross,” Alice said.

  “Jeez-Louise, Alice,” Gena said, and grabbed the photo away. “You don’t know that. It’s too small to really see.” Gena handed the picture back to Alice and scrambled down the dusty path to the beach.

  Alice stumbled after her, catching a whiff of dank mud mixing with sweet mock orange. “If you lost your cross, wouldn’t you want it back?” she asked, stepping out onto the hot beach sand. Cicadas buzzed steadily as the water splashed past. Alice fanned her face with the photo. “I w
ant to know who this is.”

  “It’s just a cross. They’re a dime a dozen.”

  “Not to me. It could be important.”

  “You’re crazy. But if you think it’s his, ask your mother. She’ll know.”

  Alice returned the photo to her back pocket. “I can’t. It was in the safe for a reason. Come on. Let’s get out of the sun.”

  They crossed the beach and ducked into the shade of a low-hanging willow.

  “Want a peppermint?” Gena asked.

  Alice accepted the red and white candy, kicked off her shoes and waded into the coursing water.

  Gena waded in beside her. “Mom bribed me with dinner last night at the Trent Café. She’s on a campaign to get me to go to college.”

  Alice drank up the chill of icy water circling her tired calves. She reached down and drew her hands though the current. “You going?”

  “Some day. For now, I just want my M.R.S.”

  A jet roared overhead. Alice plugged her ears with wet fingers and watched the silver bird flash in the sun. Marriage wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Take her mother and father, for instance. They were always fighting. The white contrail faded along with the noise.

  “Marriage is cool, don’t you think?” Gena asked.

  Alice studied her friend’s face. Haloed in blond hair and backed with green willow leaves, Gena almost looked innocent. But Alice could see the longing in her friends gray eyes. In some ways, the best friends weren’t very different.

  “Marriage is a bummer.” Alice turned back to the river and watched a family of swallows swoop in low arcs, snatching up bugs in their yellow beaks. She thought of her mother slamming cupboard doors, drinking too much, and forever waiting for her father to stagger in from the tavern. “Anyone can get married. Love is what’s important.”

  “So, marry Pastor Smith. You love him, don’t you?”

  “I barely know him. Besides, he’s married to God.”

  “You’re weird, Alice Sharp,” Gena said. She picked up a rock and tossed it in the river. It landed with a splash not far from where the girls stood. “He’s got the hots for you, you know? Don’t play hard to get.”

  Alice laughed. “I’m not.” She grabbed a flat stone and whisked it across the rippled surface. It skipped once, twice, three times and disappeared. “It’s Dad who makes it hard.”

  CHAPTER 3

  That evening, Alice stood at the kitchen sink, watching her mother smolder along with the chunks of onion browning in a hot iron pan. A cigarette dangled from her red lips; her coiffed hair wilted from steam. Clanking, the fan sucked smoke and the scent of goulash into the hot summer evening.

  “Where were you?” she asked, snubbing out her cigarette, refilling her drink from a jug of bourbon.

  “At the store working, where else?”

  Violet Sharp’s dark eyes flashed. She wiped her hands across the flowered apron she’d tied loosely over her orange Bermuda shorts. She looked Alice up and down. “Dressed like that?”

  “Yeah! Just like this.”

  Alice turned away from her mother’s prying eyes and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. She dumped an aspirin into the palm of her hand and washed it down. “It’s summer. Too hot to wear anything but shorts. Even you’re wearing them.”

  “It’s my prerogative to dress this way at home. Not proper work attire for a lady, though. Surely your father disapproved.”

  “He didn’t mind. Why do we always have to eat goulash?” Alice asked. “I’m tired of it.”

  “Hamburger’s cheap.” Alice’s mother dumped a hunk of ground beef into the frying pan and chunked it up with the spoon. “Your father works hard for our money.”

  “I was the one working hard. He left early.” Some nights, her father missed the meal entirely; stumbling into an overly clean kitchen well after her stewing mother had stumbled off to bed.

  “Don’t be so dramatic. We all work hard. But your father works the hardest.”

  “Dad’s doing inventory tonight,” Alice said, and looked down. There was sand on her legs. She slipped one ankle behind the other to hide the evidence. “If he’s always counting everything, it wouldn’t be covered with dust, would it?”

  Her mother switched off the fan and lit another cigarette. “Fan needs oiling,” she said. “We’ll have Dad fix it. He’s good at fixing things.”

  “More like wrecking things,” Alice said, tearing at a loose tag of skin alongside her thumbnail. A tiny spot of blood pooled next to her cuticle. She wiped it on her cutoffs.

  “Ladies don’t land good husbands with mouths like that.”

  Alice pictured Stephen coming into the store, brushing aside his sandy hair, his soapy scent lingering between the aisles. She knew he’d seen her father roughing her up. He’d believe her when she told him what it was like living with Jim and Violet Sharp. If she told him, that is.

  “Pastor Smith came into the store today to buy washers. He invited me to the celebration.”

  “You told him no, of course. He’s much too old for you.”

  “Not really. He’s twenty-three.”

  “Like I said, much too old for you. Where’d you get that cross?” her mother asked, reaching for the jewelry.

  Alice pulled it back from her mother’s burning Viceroy. “Found it in the river mud. The water’s low. Every thing’s exposed.”

  “You know the river’s forbidden.”

  “Don’t worry. I stay back from the edge. Where’s Christie?”

  “With Belle, of course. Your sister’s obsessed with that girl’s pregnancy. If I were her mother, I’d kill the girl.”

  “It’s Christie’s night to set the table.”

  “Just do it, Alice. We do what we have to do around here, whether we like it or not.”

  “Like putting up with Dad hanging out at the Town Tavern?”

  As quick as undertow, Violet’s hand came down across Alice’s cheek. “I won’t put up with this kind of talk, young lady. He has no reason to lie to me.”

  Alice grabbed her stinging cheek. “I hate you,” she hissed, dropping into a kitchen chair.

  “What’d you say?”

  “I hate both of you. He left me alone all afternoon. It was too hot in the store. The customers were crabby and I had a pounding headache. I always get stuck with all the work.”

  “You and your imagination.” Violet swallowed the rest of her bourbon. “It’s not even possible to do all the work.”

  Alice cradled her head in her hands. She imagined her father returning early to a locked-up store. Her stomach twisted as she thought of his anger upon arriving home. The front door slammed. Alice jumped.

  Christie yelled, “Where is everybody?”

  “In here, honey,” Violet said.

  Christie flicked Alice’s shoulder with her fingers as she strolled past. “Hey, Stupid. What’s wrong with you?”

  “What do you think? You’re here.”

  “Poor Alice. Don’t have a date for the celebration?” Christie twirled around in her pink checked tube-top and matching shorts. She stopped mid-spin and steadied her mousy-haired head between her skinny fingers.

  “Unfortunately, she does,” her mother said. “Like I was telling her, she needs to find herself a nice man to marry. Someone who makes a good living. Pastors are as poor as church mice. You don’t need that, Alice. Better keep looking.”

  “Yeah, Stupid. Pastors are boring anyway.”

  “What, now I’m supposed to buy love?”

  “As usual, you’re reading into what I’m saying. Nothing wrong with being secure, you know.”

  “But you’re not. Look at you. You don’t even know where Dad is.”

  “Yes I do,” she snapped. “He’s at work. We’re secure because your father works hard for us. End of story!” Violet blew a stream of cigarette smoke in Alice’s direction.

  “Yeah, Alice,” Christie said, and flicked the rubber band stretched across her braces. “Belle’s going to have her baby any day now.
I can’t wait. Don’t you just love babies?”

  Alice was about to press on with her argument about her father’s whereabouts when the phone interrupted the conversation.

  “It’s Belle, I just know it.” Christie lurched for the receiver. “Hello! Hi, Daddy. Yeah, she’s here. He wants to talk to you, Stupid.”

  Alice’s stomach flipped. With shaking fingers, she took the receiver from her sister’s outstretched hand. “Hello?”

  “Angel. Ran into Joe Henry today. Says the storefront looks sharp.” He laughed heartily. “Good work. Give the phone to your mother.”

  Alice handed her mother the receiver. “Hello,” she said, taking a seat at the table. Listening, she rolled the cigarette ash against the side of the ashtray and turned and waved a hand at Christie to stop rattling plates. “Okay, then,” she said. “Don’t be too late.” She sat with the receiver dangling from her hand, the dial tone sounding faintly in the background.

  “Everything okay, Mommy?” Christie asked, hurrying to the table with the stack of dinner plates.

  Alice watched her mother’s eyes darken. “When is drinking dinner at the Town Tavern okay?” she said.

  “I’ve had it with your dirty mouth, Alice Sharp.” She slammed down the receiver, grabbed her drink and ran from the kitchen.

  “Now you’ve done it.”

  “Shut up.” Alice swallowed her bitterness. She dropped into the kitchen chair and attacked her bleeding cuticle with her teeth.

  The phone rang again. “This time it’s Belle for sure,” Christie said, dropping the plastic plates onto the table and springing for the phone. “Belle? Oh it’s you! Just a minute. Pastor Smith’s calling for Stupid.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Alice heard the rumble of Stephen’s truck in the driveway. The fight with her mother had left her stomach feeling queasy. In some ways, having her mother throw a fit and fall in it would have been simpler. Instead, when she asked her if she could join Stephen for a burger, her mother turned as chilly as the ice in her drink. She’d shoved some money at her and said something about not wanting to be indebted to the poor man. Alice would be the ruin of them all.

  Alice smoothed her hands over the front of the yellow dress she’d changed into and walked out.