Page 316 - What They Did to the Kid

304 Jack Fritscher

tightly, hold on, hold your breath, and I sank us both inches below the
surface. The dark water was cold, but she did not fight to come back
up. My thumb signed her forehead with a Cross and I thought the
words of Baptism, In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the
Holy Ghost. I stayed under, held us both under, as long as I thought
we could both hold our breath.
“Jesus!” She gasped for air, came up clawing at me, slapped me
hard across the face.
We swam and waded toward the beach through the warm night
air, dressed silently, quickly, and one went one way, and the other,
the other.
At Louisa’s, standing alone on the dark porch, I banged on
the door. She came in her wrapper. “What in the world,” she said
through her sleep.
“I lost my key,” I said.
“Men,” she said. “You’ve been up to something.”
“Nothing.”
“You all lie.” She yawned. “I don’t believe a word men say.”
“I don’t lie.”
“You! I don’t believe a word you say.” She rocked with sleepiness,
talking in her sleep. “You!” One of her eyes opened wide, wider,
widest, malocchio, evil eye.
“What?”
“You lie like a rug.”
“I never lie.”
“I’ve read in your shoe box.”
“Bitch.”
“B-i-t-c-h, I may be. But, kiddo, I know what they did to y-o-u.”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.” Her wrapper parted between her breasts, opening down
her torso. “Liar! Liar!”
I backed away from her up the stairs. “What am I supposed
to do?” I asked, waiting for no answer, treading on up to her attic,
packing my suitcase, lying alone on the bed, grasping hold of myself,
hanging on, interfering for dear life.

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