The Beresfords (8 page)

“Not just that. Even though we’ll be together, we—I—we don’t—” It was Rachel’s turn to glow bright-red.

Comprehension broke over Caroline. “O-o-o-o-oh!
You two haven’t…?”

“Can we not talk about this in front of everyone?”

“Seriously,” put in Tom. “
Because
if I thought you were deflowering my little sister, Perkins, I’d have to rip off more than your trunks.”

“Shut up, everybody!” ordered Rachel, covering her face with her hands. “I’ve had enough. Let’s get out of here, Greg. You coming, Julie?”

While Greg was only too glad to obey, Julie had to be won over. It was a Beresford rule that boyfriends could come over, but the girls were only allowed to go out or to their boyfriend’s place if family or approved friends were along. Rachel clearly didn’t want to reference this rule
in front of the Grants and further embarrass herself, so a series of muttered negotiations took place, enhanced by telepathic messages, resulting in Julie’s agreement to go to the movies if she got to pick and Rachel paid.

“Hey,” Eric held out a conciliatory hand to Greg after Greg had toweled off. “Are we cool now? You can take a joke, right?”

Greg’s face was stony. He turned away.

Eric gave an I-did-my-best shrug. He poked Rachel. “You mad, too?”

She stared at the ground, biting her lip. “I—I just wish you hadn’t done that. Hurry up, Julie. Let’s go.”

It was silent after they left. Paola came to clear the sandwich tray and put fresh sodas in the cooler. She wadded up the used towels. “How’s the headache, Francisca?”

“Better, Paola. Thank you.”

“You stay in the shade. Have another soda.”

“Thank you, Paola.”

The screen door slid shut behind her.

Without speaking, Tom and Jonathan started taking down the volleyball net. Eric crawled onto one of the pool mattresses, tucking his arms behind his head and shutting his eyes.

“You beast,” his sister chided. “You ruined everyone’s afternoon, and you don’t even care.”

“Can I help it if the Perkins boy is sensitive?” He trailed one heel in the water.

“He’s only seventeen or eighteen, Eric. He just graduated high school.”

“He’s a prig.” Eric gave an elaborate yawn. “Besides. It wasn’t me who embarrassed Rachel.”

Caroline laughed. “How was I to know she was so innocent? Tom—you never said your family was so…virginal! Virgin eyes, virgin ears, virgin everything…yourself excepted, of course.”

The tips of Jonathan’s ears were pink. He looked hard at Tom. Tom said nothing, only taking the rolled-up net from him and going to stow it back in the shed.

“It’s not the way we were raised,” said Jonathan at last, since Tom would not respond.

She cocked her head. “You mean the infamous ‘Beresford’ way? Tom’s had a lot to say about how strict your dad is.”

Slowly, Jonathan came to sit at the end of the lounge chair next to hers. He was rubbing his hands together, thinking. “Yeah, Dad is strict. Not in a bad way. Or, he doesn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“Whether he means it or not is immaterial. He’s strict.”

“Whether he’s strict or not is immaterial,” spoke up Eric, flicking water at them. “He’s in China. And while the cat’s away…”

Jonathan ignored him. “It’s not just my dad, see. We were raised to believe that sex is for marriage.”

“Oh, isn’t that sweet?” said Caroline, as if he had said we were raised to believe in fairies.

“
Yo
, Tom,” hooted Eric, “told you
you
were adopted.”

“Shut up,” said Tom lazily.

“I don’t know about sweet,” Jonathan said. The color crept up his neck. I felt a fierce pride in him. He was going to tell that Caroline Grant how it was. He was going to put her in her place! “But it’s how God wants us to live.”

Caroline was floored. She gawked at Jonathan as if she wasn’t sure she heard him right, but he avoided her stare, keeping his face in profile. I hoped he would look at me so I could encourage him but he didn’t. Caroline opened her mouth to speak and then shut it again. Once. Twice. Finally she managed an offhand laugh. “I bet it is. Now, I knew—I just
knew
—you Beresfords were better than your average people. Yes—from the first moment I laid eyes on you all. (Except you, of course, Tom.)”

Jonathan shifted his weight, shaking his head. “Not better—no. That isn’t what I meant.”

I saw her drum her fingers and give the chaise cushion a convulsive squeeze. “Oh, I’m just kidding. Anyhow, how long do you think it’ll take Mr. Hothead to cool down?”

Her obvious unwillingness to follow up on his God comment left Jonathan looking both disappointed and relieved. He took her cue. “I don’t know. I hardly know the guy.” He looked over at me now across the pool and raised his voice a little. “What do you think, Frannie—is Greg the forgiving type?”

My eyes got round to be thus consulted. From Caroline’s startled expression, you would think Jonathan had asked a pet hamster for its opinion. Both she and her brother gave me measuring looks, Eric struggling up on the air mattress to do so. I tried not to shrink visibly. “Uh…I’ve never seen him upset before. But—well—he does go to our church. If Eric a—apologized, Greg would have to forgive him.”

“I don’t follow,” said Caroline. “Why would he have to?”

I gulped, my eyes begging Jonathan to take over. He gave the tiniest smile. He wanted me to speak up. I floundered on. “Because…we’re taught…Jesus said to—to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us.”

“
‘
Enemies
ʼ
!” crowed Caroline. “Hear that, Eric? You’re Greg’s enemy, and you’ve been ‘persecuting’ him. That does sound bad. Eric: I absolutely forbid you to persecute Greg any more. You stop right now.”

“Stopping!” her brother sang.

My cheeks flamed. I clamped my lips together. I would never say anything to her again! Never, never! Everything was a joke to them. Reaching for my towel, I gathered it to wrap around me so I could go inside, but the next instant Caroline was on her feet. She cut off my retreat by going to the cooler for another soda. Then, popping the top on her Tab, she ambled around the bottom of the pool to where I sat.

“You aren’t going inside, are you, Frannie? That was so helpful of you to explain Greg’s point of view. I would’ve had no idea he was the religious type.” When I said nothing, she sat
down on the neighboring lounge and leaned toward me conspiratorially. “I bet you think it was mean of Eric, what he did to Greg.”

I nodded once. She might act like we were having a private conversation, but she didn’t lower her voice any.

“It was,” Caroline agreed. “You’re right. And you know what, even if that kind of stuff happens all the time in college—and I’m afraid it does—that didn’t make it less mean, does it?”

She waited this time, and I was forced to break my vow never to speak to her again a pathetic thirty seconds after I made it. “I don’t think so,” I said in a low voice.

“I know so,” said Caroline. “You’ve convinced me. Eric must apologize to Greg. And Greg must forgive Eric. If he doesn’t, I’ll
set
you on him, Frannie, and you can tell him exactly what you told us—that it’s his religious duty.” She smiled at me. “We’re going to see a lot of each other this summer, you know, your family and mine. We can’t have anyone mad at anyone. I dub thee Frannie the Peacemaker.”

To my relief, the sliding glass door opened and the comparatively welcome sight of Aunt Terri greeted me. “Frannie! What are you doing, lolling about? Did you forget you were babysitting for the Carters this afternoon? You can’t go over there looking like that. You’re all red, and your hair—!You’d better take a shower. Don’t forget to chop up Lea’s food really small. I swear, at the block party a week ago, that little Lea had a chunk of hot dog that was a textbook choking hazard. Textbook! And if Mrs. Carter doesn’t have cash, have her make the check to me, Frannie, because it’s too much trouble to have your Aunt Marie cash it for you.” Before my aunt was halfway through this speech, I was already back in the house, her words pursuing me up the stairs. While I wasn’t sorry to spend the afternoon with Lea and Aaron Carter, I did hate to leave Jonathan with the Grants. I hoped Tom would have some crazy plan that Jonathan would excuse himself from, but even if he did, that would only take care of one afternoon. What about all the rest of them, and Caroline’s threat that our families would “see a lot of each other”?

Little Lea tugged on my hand. “What will we play, Frannie?”

“Dress-up?” I suggested, spilling out the array of
vintagewear
I salvaged from Aunt Terri’s Goodwill pile.

The four-year-old squealed with joy, and her five-year-old brother Aaron dropped his
Gobot
to come running. Together, the two of them hurled the riches in the air and at each other, occasionally pulling an item over their heads or shoving one at me to try on. “Model, Frannie! Model!” ordered Lea.

We had a fashion show afternoon, strutting up and down in get-ups we designed for each other and pretending to snap pictures with the old family Polaroid. Lea loved anything shiny and Aaron preferred prints. I only hoped his mother wouldn’t pop home early and find him in a paisley skirt—or, worse, that Aunt Terri would go for a stroll around the block and discover my pilfering.

Mrs. Carter returned after dinner, before I had a chance to clean up the macaroni-and-cheese pot. “Don’t worry about it, Frannie. I’m so glad you picked up the living room and got the kids in their pajamas. Oh, rats, I thought I had cash,” she added, inspecting her empty wallet. “Let me write your mother a check.”

Aunt Terri’s instructions stuck in my throat. It was absolutely true that Aunt Marie never got to the bank. She would tell me to just remember how much she owed me and get money out of her purse when I needed it, but months later my employers would ask me if I’d lost the check because it had never been cashed. And who knew, with Uncle Paul in China, if Aunt Marie would even have cash? It was always Uncle Paul who withdrew it and gave her some. On the other hand, I hardly wanted Aunt Terri as my financial go-between. She would certainly have comments on whether or not I deserved my wages and what I should do with them afterward.

“Could you—could you make it to me, Mrs. Carter?” I blurted.

“Oh! Did you open your own savings account, Frannie?”

“I’m going to,” I said.

“Well, good for you. Just do it soon, okay? Don’t leave this check lying around forever like you did that last one.”

“I won’t. Thank you.”

“And Frannie—I was talking to some other moms I know. Everyone needs a little help this summer. Could I give your name around? Would you have time? I told them just as long as I have dibs on you.” She gave me her crooked-teeth smile.

“That would be fine,” I said. “Thank you, Mrs. Carter. Good-night.”

The check folded in my pocket was modest, but I thought the symbolism of it might burn a hole through my jeans as I walked home.
Pay to the order of Francine Price
.

“Frannie.” Jonathan’s voice made me jump. He emerged from the garage, a box in his arms that he’d retrieved from the trunk of his car. Books, cassettes, a sweatshirt.

“The Imperials!” I exclaimed, snatching up one of the cases. “Can I listen to this one?”

“Sure.” He laid the box on the porch. “Do you need to borrow my Walkman?”

“Could I?” Then I wouldn’t have to ask Rachel for hers. A thought occurred to me: I could save up babysitting money this summer and buy my very own.

Instead of picking up his box again and going inside, Jonathan took a seat on the steps. “Got a second, Frannie? I wanted to talk to you. You’ve always been my sounding board.”

“Of course!” I plopped down beside him and hugged my knees to my chest,
Walkmen
and money and music forgotten.

“How was babysitting?”

“Fine. Everything went fine. What did you do the rest of the day?”

“I went down and talked to Pastor Donald. Tammy’s interning in Children’s this summer, and I was wondering if he could use me somewhere.”

I couldn’t prevent a little gasp. “You want to work in Children’s, too?” Had he prayed about God wanting him to marry Tammy and found out it was really the case?

Jonathan gave me a curious look. “Not particularly. But what would be weird about that? You think you’re the only one who’s good with kids?”

Trying not to sigh with relief, I collected myself. “No. You know I don’t think that at all. I just thought it would be weird if you wanted to work with Tammy, since you guys aren’t together anymore.” And since she turned out to be a freak, I added inwardly.

“We’re still friends,” Jonathan said. He was watching me, and I wondered if a readout was going across my forehead like the ticker in Times Square:
Yes, I crawled out on the roof yesterday night and overheard you talking to Tammy…and it was eavesdropping…and I am totally guilty…