Most Precious Blood (4 page)

“Your mother sure made a mess of things,” Val said. “Can you really clean it up by yourself?”

“I'll do what I can,” Kit said. “The main problem's my bedroom. She hacked at my mattress with some scissors. I don't know how I can get a new one without telling Pop.”

“How can you stand it?” Val asked.

“I need a new mattress anyway,” Kit said. “The old one was getting lumpy.”

“I'm not adopted,” Val said.

Kit rinsed out the sponge. “I think you'd better stop saying that,” she declared. “And really think about it.”

“There's nothing to think about,” Val said. “If I were adopted, they'd have told me. Nobody keeps that kind of thing a secret anymore. Caroline O'Mara's adopted, and she's always known. That was practically the first thing she told people in kindergarten, that she was adopted.”

“Caroline O'Mara's parents are different from yours,” Kit said.

“And what's that supposed to mean?” Val asked.

Kit started scrubbing egg yolk off the window. “It doesn't mean anything,” she said. “It means everybody's parents are different from everybody else's. Caroline's mother probably doesn't have drunken fits where she smashes up the entire house. Your mother never did either. She got sick and died. Caroline's mother plays golf. My father still thinks he's going to write a novel someday. Your father likes to go sailing. Everybody's different. Everybody handles things differently.”

“You really think Michelle was telling the truth?” Val asked.

Kit nodded.

“You're wrong,” Val said. “And I don't want to stay here any longer.”

“All right,” Kit said. “Call Bruno and tell him to pick you up.”

“I will not,” Val said. “I'm perfectly capable of walking home on my own.”

Kit put down the sponge. “I'll walk you home then,” she said.

“Why are you treating me like such a baby?” Val asked.

“Because you're behaving like one,” Kit replied. “You know you aren't allowed out alone. Now it's either Bruno or me, or you stay here. Those are your choices.”

“No,” Val said. “Those are Daddy's choices. Mine is to walk home by myself, and that's what I intend to do.”

“Fine,” Kit said. “If Bruno isn't your bodyguard, I'm certainly not. Thank you for helping me clean.”

“You're welcome,” Val said. She stormed out of the kitchen to the living room, where she got her book bag and her jacket. The torn canvas of the painting flapped its farewell.

Chapter 3

Five blocks away from Kit's, Val spotted Bruno driving the car toward her. Kit must have called him the moment she left, Val thought. She used what remained of her will power not to stop, and kept on walking, as Bruno drove just past her. He used a driveway to make a U-turn, then followed her the ten or so blocks home.

Connie was waiting at the door for her. “I have cookies,” she said. “Fresh baked. Want some?”

“Not right now,” Val replied. Bruno and Connie had to know something was up, but not even Connie would think the disaster Val was in could be salvaged by cookies. “I have a headache. I'm going to my room.”

“Michelle called,” Connie said. “I told her you were at Kit's.”

“Thank you,” Val said. She could just imagine what Michelle had to say. Probably that her parents were Siamese twins, and she'd been adopted out of the circus. She walked upstairs to her bedroom, closed the door, and threw herself on her bed. She shouldn't have. Her head began throbbing again.

The phone rang. It was Val's private line, so she knew the call was for her. In spite of that, she picked it up.

“Are you all right?” Kit asked.

“I'm fine,” Val said. “You didn't have to send for Bruno.”

“You didn't have to leave,” Kit replied. “Do you want to come back? The kitchen's pretty much done.”

“Some other time,” Val said. “Thanks anyway.”

“I'm sorry,” Kit said. “I'll see you in school tomorrow?”

Val realized that was a question. It hadn't occurred to her to skip school. “Of course you will,” she said.

“Okay,” Kit said. “Oh, Michelle called here a few minutes ago. I told her you were on your way back home.”

“Thanks,” Val said. Apparently, there would be no avoiding Michelle. She hung up the phone, and rested on her bed. She loved her bedroom. Right after her mother died, her father had agreed to let her redecorate, and it was the only space in the world Val thought of as being truly her own. The walls were lavender, the woodwork and curtains crisp and white, and the bedspread she currently lay on lavender and purple flowers. Her mother had hated lavender. “It's an old lady's color,” she'd said once. When Val had picked lavender for the walls, she'd felt naughty and rebellious and just a little bit guilty all at the same time.

She could picture her mother now, in the quiet darkness of her bedroom, not just in illness and death, but the way she'd been when she'd been healthy as well. Val had loved her mother, who seemed always willing to play dolls with her, or school, or dress up. “Don't tell Daddy,” her mother used to say when the two of them would share a forbidden activity, putting on makeup, or going to the movies. Val smiled at that memory. Her mother would tell Bruno to drive them to Terry's house and pick them up there in three hours, and once they were safely dropped off, the two of them would run the five blocks to the local movie theater and see a movie instead. Bruno never suspected a thing, or if he did, he never let on. Her mother loved to laugh. That was how Val knew things were bad before anybody told her. Her mother didn't seem to laugh anymore.

The telephone rang. Val told herself not to answer it, but picked it up anyway. Michelle would just keep calling until they spoke.

But it wasn't Michelle. “Hi, honey,” her father said. “Just thought I'd see how you're doing.”

“I'm fine, Daddy,” Val said. “How's Washington?”

“Lousy,” her father replied. “Same as always. They're real song-and-dance men over at HUD. Half of them tell you one thing, the other half say just the opposite.”

“Sounds bad,” Val said. She forced herself to sit up, and was surprised by the wave of nausea the motion evoked.

“I've had better days,” her father said. “And you?”

Val laughed. “I've had better ones too,” she replied.

“Anything the matter?” her father asked.

“I skipped dinner yesterday at Terry's, and Michelle was real mad at me,” Val said. “And we had a pop quiz in English I think I flunked.”

“Sounds like a perfect Monday, all right,” her father said. “Tell you what. Next weekend, if the weather's any good, let's go sailing. We may not have another chance before springtime. We'll make a day of it. Sailing in the afternoon, dinner out someplace nice. What do you say?”

“That sounds great,” Val said. “I'd like that a lot.”

“Tomorrow, after school, tell Bruno to take you and Connie shopping,” her father said. “Buy yourself a pretty dress. You can wear it Saturday night. And a nice sweater or two. You'll need one for sailing.”

“Thanks, Daddy,” Val said. “I'll model them for you tomorrow.”

Her father was silent for a moment. “I don't think I'll be making it back tomorrow,” he said. “Probably Wednesday instead.”

Val wasn't sure whether she was disappointed or relieved.

“I guess if you and Michelle are on the outs, you wouldn't want to stay there,” her father said. “How about at the Farrells? They're always happy to have you.”

“Amanda Farrell's in a clinic again,” Val said. “They took her to one yesterday.”

“That's okay,” her father said. “Kit'll be grateful for the company. And I'd just as soon not have you spend time there when Amanda's drinking. Why don't you have Bruno drive you over now, and you can spend the next couple of days there. Connie can take both you girls shopping. Tell Kit to buy herself something pretty, my treat.”

“I think I'll stay home tonight, Daddy,” Val said. “I have kind of a headache. But maybe tomorrow I'll stay with Kit.”

“I don't like the idea of you being alone for so long,” her father said. “Is it a bad headache? Do you want Connie to call the doctor?”

Val managed to laugh. “It's nothing serious,” she said. “I'll take a couple of aspirin, it'll go away.”

“If it doesn't, you have Connie call the doctor,” her father said. “No matter how late. Promise?”

“I promise,” Val said.

“I'll try to make it home tomorrow,” her father said. “I can't make any guarantees though.”

“I'll be fine by tomorrow,” Val said. “Surprise quizzes give me headaches, that's all.”

“Do you want Kit to come over and keep you company?” her father asked. “I can call and tell her to.”

“Kit has a paper she has to write,” Val replied. “She didn't get it done over the weekend, and Sister Gina Marie gave her a one-day extension. I think we'd better leave her alone to finish it.”

“Tea's good for a headache,” her father said. “Tell Connie to make you some tea.”

“I will,” Val said.

“I'll call you in the morning before school to make sure you're okay,” her father said. “And if you need me for anything, Connie has my number here. All right?”

“I'm fine, Daddy,” Val said. “I won't be needing you.”

Her father laughed. “I'm not sure I like the way that sounds,” he said. “But you don't feel well, so I won't argue with you. Take it easy tonight. Don't worry about homework. You can catch up tomorrow when you're feeling better.”

“I'll see you on Wednesday,” Val said.

“I'll talk to you tomorrow,” her father replied. “And think about shopping. That always used to cure your mother's headaches.”

Val hung up the phone and rested her head against the pillow. She hated going shopping with Connie, who had no taste whatsoever. It was more fun to go with Amanda, who could be scathing if she or Kit picked out something really wrong, but who had a great eye for just what would look good and could even explain why. But Amanda was out of action for the next few weeks.

The telephone rang again. Val grinned. She was never so popular as when she wanted to be left alone. She picked it up, said hello, and waited to hear Michelle's anguished or angered voice.

But it wasn't Michelle. “Val?” the voice said instead. “This is Sister Gina Marie.”

Val sat up, her back absolutely straight, the way the sisters always taught them. “Yes, Sister,” she said.

“I'm just calling to see how you are,” Sister Gina Marie declared. “You must have been quite upset after that scene today.”

“I'm okay,” Val said.

“I called you at Kit's, but she said you'd gone home. Is your father home? Have you had a chance to talk with him?”

“He's in Washington,” Val said. “He just called.”

“Did you discuss what had happened with him?” Sister Gina Marie asked.

“No, of course not,” Val said, starting to feel annoyed. Most Precious Blood was a small, expensive school, and it prided itself on its teachers' involvement with students, but this was carrying things too far.

“Do you think …” Sister Gina Marie began. “Well, maybe it would be best for you and your father to talk about it in person.”

“There's nothing for my father and me to talk about,” Val declared. “Goodbye, Sister.” She hung up the phone before Sister Gina Marie had a chance to protest. What business was it of hers? She'd just happened to overhear Michelle's lies, that's all. And now she was acting like they were true.

Val continued to sit up. The room was dark, but she could see the framed photograph of her and her mother she kept on her dresser. If Michelle hadn't been lying, then there might be something about it in the school records. Maybe Sister Gina Marie had looked up her file and read that she was adopted, and that's why she called. Maybe all the teachers knew, had known for years, since Val had started school there, and none of them had told her.

The phone rang again. Val's thoughts were so upsetting she was willing to speak to anyone, even Michelle. So she answered.

This time it was Michelle. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“I'm fine,” Val said. She was getting tired of having to tell people that.

“I've been trying to reach you forever,” Michelle said. “First you weren't home and then you weren't at Kit's, and then the phone's been busy. I thought maybe you took it off the hook so you wouldn't have to talk to me.”

Val instantly regretted not having thought of that. “It's okay,” she said.

“I just wanted to apologize,” Michelle said. “For being mad at you all day and being so bitchy, and then for what I said.”

“I should have had dinner with you last night,” Val said. “That was my fault.”

“Then you forgive me?” Michelle asked.

“Sure,” Val said. “Why not.”

“Well,” Michelle said. “I mean, I shouldn't have said all those things.”

“You were angry,” Val said. She didn't understand why she had to absolve Michelle, but Michelle certainly seemed to expect it.

“I was,” Michelle said. “But I still should have kept my mouth shut about the adoption.”

“It was a stupid lie,” Val said.

“It wasn't a lie,” Michelle said. “Are you accusing me of being a liar? I've never lied about anything in my life!”

Val hung up the phone before Michelle's shrill voice pained her any more. When the phone rang again, she didn't answer, and then she took it off the hook. For a moment it buzzed its annoyance, and then it was silent.

This is foolish, Val told herself, and she turned on the light by her bed. It took her eyes a moment to adjust, but even though the light made her head throb, she kept it on. What difference did it make that Michelle was sticking to her ridiculous story, that Kit believed her, that Sister Gina Marie was concerned? Val knew herself. She knew her parents. She could hear the love in her father's voice when he spoke to her on the phone. She could remember how she and her mother had giggled together when they snuck off to the movies. Caroline O'Mara's mother never giggled. She just played golf.