Pursuit Of The Cygnus Thief

Chapter 21 - Helllo, Pinks

Chapter 21

"Hello, Pinks"

Wednesday, May 23, 1956

My father explained nothing about the ownership of our house and Matildas' marriage but he was vocal about John; our boarder was to have breakfast each day at the table and though it remained unspoken, John had to do so while properly dressed. It took a bit of prying before my father explained there'd been talk and a few telephone calls, that our neighbors had glimpsed John and me together on the shed stairway, taken an interest in Johns' pyjama clad state and set their minds toward a meticulous survey of my virtue.

While I knew Matilda had as much to do with the talk as did the nature of the village, I imagined how she'd cooked it up; spiking the neighbors' sensibilities, enticing their hunger for scandal, supplying the fire and oil for a crispy fry of my character. It was another sure sign that my unofficial disguise, pigtails and puffed sleeved dresses had worn thin. Yet my father would not budge, even on clothing just slightly more mature than those I wore yet less advanced than those Mrs. Abel had chosen. Everyone sees you Pinks! Mr. Abel's words, his voice, stained. Yes. Everyone could see that I was a sixteen year old girl; too old in the eyes of most to emerge as the wronged party against any of their salacious insinuations.

He came to breakfast freshly trimmed, dressed in work clothes, John smiled beautifully as I let him in through the backdoor. He joined my father at the kitchen table and they began to talk about the repairs John would make to the old shed. I served their breakfast, listened to their conversation that unsurprisingly, covered many subjects but never touched on Matilda or what had happened just a few hours earlier in our home. I knew he'd heard most of it; sound carried too well in the desert but it was simply none of Johns' business and in matters of discretion so far, he'd proved to be a good egg.

By the time my father finished his coffee Edmund McKee, the youngest of the McKee brothers, was at our front door. When he saw me from the other side of the storm door, Mr. Edmund tipped his Stetson hat and mouthed the words "Hello, Pinks" just before he delivered a proper, audible greeting. I paused but I was not surprised, Edmund McKee had been at the Towns Council meeting. I realized abruptly that I'd made a debut that went far deeper than the surface when I'd appeared at Mr. Abels' elbow and taken the meeting minutes. I shrank from the doorway, grateful for the glass that separated me from Mr. Edmund. His glare pursued me, Mr. Edmund leaned forward, his tall, wide-shouldered McKee build loomed bear-like in the rectangle of glass and blotted out the morning, he grasped the handle on his side of the door and twisted it.

"My father's here. Please wait, Mr. Edmund." I said. He released the handle and removed his hat.

"I know he is." Edmund McKee was pleased with himself. I noticed the implication, that things might have gone differently if I'd greeted him at the door and my fathers' truck had not been parked in the driveway. Mr. Edmund then turned away, set his interest on the cul-de-sac and began to hum as he waited.

"Matilda's headed up to Bodega Bay this morning Ernie, she'll be gone a few days at most." Mr. Edmund said after my father had let him into the livingroom and they'd both taken seats.

"Not my business."my father replied. I tried to linger nearby without being obvious but a glance from my father sent me on a retreat to the far end of the dining room to listen in just out of sight.

"She told us what happened." Mr. Edmund said. I was certain Matilda had lied and I was sure that Mr. Edmund knew it too. Matildas' family knew her too well and I supposed that the one time in-laws mentioned by my father knew her well also.

"Matilda can come get her things when she returns." my father said. Upon Matildas' departure he'd told me to keep out of her room, my father had no idea how the very prospect of Matildas' space had always frightened me. I'd never had the nerve to go in there, just beyond te second bathroom door, my nagging inner thought was that Matilda was somehow ever present and awaited my intrusion.

"Ernie you ought to be more reasonable about all of this, Matty's been with you for-." Mr. Edmund said.

"-too long. You McKees ought to be more realistic about her. She needs help, she's a menace and she's as unwelcomed here as she is at your house. She attacked my daughter." my father was adamant but I knew it was of little use, Matilda would return to her room in my house because her family would make it so. I felt ill suddenly, the awful residue of her attack and Mr. Abels' swirled around in my head at the same time, only after a few moments was I able to suppress the memories. Edmund McKee alluded once to Matildas' state when she'd arrived on his doorstep hours earlier; she'd worn only her bathrobe as if to indict my father on more prurient charges. My fathers' voice deepened, Matilda was insane and everyone knew it, Mr. Edmund backed-off immediately he told my father to take it easy. When Matilda returned I'd tell my father that I'd have the extra bedroom, the one my brothers had shared, I'd refuse to sleep another night where Matilda could get to me, he'd have to see it, yes, the sense of it, because Matilda had become violent. The conversation continued, my father never volunteered any details about the attack and Edmund McKee never demanded anything except that my father be more circumspect.

"I'll be back with Marty and Glen. You should reconsider until then Ernie." Mr. Edmund said as my father led him to the front door. The two older McKee brothers would return, they would find a way to wedge their sister into our home once more. My father wouldn't be able to resist them, he'd drink a few extra afterward, he'd call me to the kitchen table, some memory about my mother would slip from his mind, onto his voice. He'd look at me, aching to tell me something more, I'd wait for my father to say it but he would shut down. Oh!Janus close the gate! He'd send me to my room and in the morning, with the moment safely long gone, my father would remind me that we had little time left, just two years in Assumption but this time, I would know that we had far less time than he realized.