Little Lies

Chapter 11: Where's Papa?

Bessie was especially grumpy. "I've got a bad feeling, Miss Clara. Something awful is going to happen today." She rubbed her knuckles.

"Maybe it's going to rain? Your knuckles always hurt before a rainstorm."

"Oh no, Miss Clara, this is much worse than rain." Bessie paced back and forth in the kitchen.

Papa stuck his head through the kitchen door. "Bessie, can you please fill a thermos with--what's wrong?"

"I don't know, Mr. Michael." Bessie put water in the coffee maker. She turned to Papa. "But you take extra special care of yourself."

Papa hugged Bessie. "Of course, I will!" He kissed me on the forehead. "You be a good girl today, kitten."

"Ok, Papa. I love you."

"I love you, too."

=

Uncle Phil came home for dinner at the usual time. "Michael wanted to work on the books for month end. He said to start dinner without him, and that he'll be home in a couple of hours."

Bessie frowned, but served dinner.

I folded my arms over my chest. "I'm not--"

"Clara, eat your food." Bessie spooned a huge meatball on top of the spaghetti on my plate.

My eyes grew wide. "That's as big as the meatball Papa gets!"

"And you'd better eat the whole thing." Bessie said.

The doorbell rang.

"Bessie, will you please answer the door?" Mama asked.

"Yes, Miss Jo." Bessie put down the serving platter and utensils on the sideboard. She was back moments later with a small package. "For you, Miss Jo."

"Who gave it to you, Bessie?"

"Nobody, Miss Jo. I found it at the door."

Mama looked at it and smiled before she stuck it in her jacket pocket. "Thank you, Bessie."

Mama sent me to bed immediately after dinner.

"But Mama, I'm not sleepy."

"Clara, go to bed."

The ends of my mouth turned down, and my eyes teared.

"I'll put her to bed, Miss Jo." Bessie took my hand and walked me upstairs.

"Bessie, do you still think something's wrong?"

"I do, Miss Clara, and I think your mama knows it, too." Bessie pulled down the covers. "Now you get into bed." She pulled a little pouch out of her pocket. "I was saving this for your birthday, but you need it tonight to fight the evil in this house."

I opened the pouch and turned it upside down. A chain with a crucifix on it fell into my hand. "Thank you, Bessie!"

Bessie put the chain over my head. "You wear this all the time, Miss Clara, and never take it off, you hear me?"

I nodded.

Instead of falling asleep, I looked out the window for Papa's car. My head was drooping when I heard voices downstairs, so I tiptoed to the landing and sat down. Mama, Uncle Phil, and Aunt Fran stood in the hallway.

"It's past the time Michael said he would be home," Mama said. "Have you tried calling him?"

"Yes, Jo, and he hasn't answered." Uncle Phil said.

"Dear, maybe you should drive over and see if anything is wrong," Aunt Fran said.

Uncle Phil shook his head. He went into Papa's study and closed the door. A few minutes later, he came back out. "I just called the police. They'll check the office."

"Now what?" Mama asked.

"We wait for their call," Uncle Phil said.

They went into the study and closed the door.

I curled up on the landing, waiting for something to happen.

Finally, there was a knock on the door. Bessie opened the door a crack, and then let in a police officer. "Would you like some coffee?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"This way to the study," she said, and escorted him down the hallway.

The policeman stood at the doorway. "We found your husband," he said to Mama.

"Is he ok?" Mama asked.

"I'm afraid not, ma'am. There was an attempted robbery. He was shot."

"He's injured?"

"He didn't survive. I'm so sorry."

I slid down the bannister and ran into the study, just as Mama said, "He's dead?" and collapsed.

"Papa's dead?" I screamed. "He's dead?"

=

Everyone in town attended Papa's funeral.

Mama wore a black lace dress, a black hat with a wide brim, and black veil.

Uncle Phil stood next to Mama, holding her hand for support. Bessie stood behind her.

Aunt Fran and I stood on the other side of Papa's grave. She held me around the shoulders. I held her around the waist with one arm. In the other hand I held a drooping red rose. My nose was running and my red eyes had run out of tears.

After the service, Mama dabbed her eyes with a black lace hanky, and accepted condolences as people filed past.

The crowd thinned out. Finally, everyone was gone except the family.

"Clara, let's go home," Uncle Phil called out. "It's over."

I pretended not to hear him. I stared at the grave.

"Let's go, honey," Aunt Fran said.

"I thought I'd see him here, Aunt Fran. Why didn't he show up?"

She sighed. "I don't know." She kissed my forehead. "Time to go."

As soon as we got home, I grabbed all of Papa's clothes, carried them upstairs to my room, and threw them on my bed. I closed the curtains, shut my door, and I locked it. Finally, I laid on top of his clothes, pulled the covers over me, and fell asleep.

I refused to come out for lunch. I refused to come out for dinner. Uncle Phil yelled. He pounded on the door. I didn't answer. I didn't get off the pile of clothes.

The next morning, I refused to come out for breakfast.

Aunt Fran knocked on the door. "I'm leaving a tray of food for you, Clara. You don't have to talk to me, but you do have to eat. I'll be back in an hour, and I expect the dishes to be empty."

Her footsteps grew fainter as she walked downstairs.

I opened the door, and I pulled in the tray. I was hungry. I left the tray and empty dishes outside the door. I closed the door, locked it, and fell asleep on top of Papa's clothes.

Aunt Fran and I repeated this ritual every meal for a week. When I wasn't eating, I was stretched out on top of Papa's clothes.

One morning, Aunt Fran knocked on the door. I opened it.

Aunt Fran looked at me. Her eyes grew wide. "Clara, your papa would be horrified if he saw you now. You look like you've been burrowing with the foxes!" She walked into my room and shook her head. "You and your room are a disaster. Go clean yourself up. We're going on an adventure. You have half an hour."

"Tell me about our adventure," I said as I got into the car.

"You'll see," Aunt Fran said. She drove downtown, and parked the car. "First stop." We walked into a beauty parlor. "Maggie, I have an emergency situation here. Can you help?"

Maggie ruffled my hair. "Oh, my stars. Mats! I'll have to cut them out."

"Whatever you have to do." Aunt Fran said. "Clara, you're going to have short hair."

"Just like Papa's?"

"Yes, exactly like Papa's."

I smiled for the first time since he died.

After my haircut, we went next door.

"George?" Aunt Fran called out. "We need you to work some of your magic."

A stooped man with a tape measure around his neck emerged from behind a curtain at the back of the shop. "Miss Franny. How good to see you!"

"Good to see you, too, George. This is Clara, Michael's daughter."

George adjusted his glasses and kissed my hand. "Hello, Clara. I thought you might be Miss Franny's daughter. You have her eyes."

Aunt Fran smiled. "No, she's my twin sister's daughter."

"Ah, I see the family resemblance," George said. "So, Miss Franny, what can I do for you?"

"Clara needs some pants and shirts like Michael's."

"Michael, yes, a good man. I attended his funeral. Such a shame. I'm so sorry." He adjusted his glasses and sorted through some packages on his desk. "Ah, you're in luck. I had some clothes ready for him to pick up."

"Can you alter them to fit Clara, and have at least one pair of pants and a shirt ready in about two hours?"

"Clara, step up on that platform. I'll take some measurements. I have a new apprentice, so we should be able to get several sets of pants and shirts altered in two hours."

As George took measurements, Aunt Fran said, "I hate to put you out, but I have a few bags of Michael's clothes that also need to be altered. Unfortunately, they also need to be cleaned."

"Miss Franny, for you, I'll get them cleaned and altered."

"You're a wonder, George. Please give me a call when they're ready."

"Are we done yet?" I asked.

Aunt Fran laughed. "Why?"

"I'm hungry."

"Let's have lunch at your papa's favorite restaurant."

"I would love to do that! How did you find out about it?"

"About a year ago, I was buying some pastels downtown when I ran into your father. He invited me to lunch, and now it's my favorite place to go. While we're there, I'll introduce you to your papa's mistress."

"What? Papa was seeing another woman?"

"I suppose you could say that."

"That's horrible!"

Aunt Fran laughed. "I think you'll fall in love with her. She's a very sweet lady."

The waiter sat us down at an outside table under a tree.

"This is the table Uncle Phil and I like to sit at when we come here at night." Aunt Fran smiled at me. "The fairy lights sparkling in the tree are very romantic."

I scowled and picked at my salad. "How could Papa do that?"

"Do what?"

"Have a mistress? I thought he was perfect!"

Aunt Fran wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "He was the most perfect person ever. You were very lucky to have him as your papa." She studied the menu. "You'll see her after you eat your pasta, ok?"

"Ok." I swiveled around and looked at all the people eating around us. "Are you certain she's not here yet?"

"I'm certain. But don't worry. She's very punctual." Aunt Fran watched me eat. "Clara, you're supposed to eat your pasta, not stab it to death."

"Sorry."

The waiter came to our table, and Aunt Fran whispered in his ear.

"She'll be here in just a moment," Aunt Fran said.

"Don't we need another chair?"

"I don't think so. She won't be here long." Aunt Fran looked over my head. "Close your eyes now, she's coming."

I put my hands over my eyes.

"You can look now."

The waiter stood in front of me, grinning. He held a plate in his hands.

"Well, where is she?" I asked.

Aunt Fran laughed. "Right in front of you. Her name's Suzette. Crepes Suzette."

"Aunt Fran!"

"I told you she was a sweet lady. And I told you your papa was perfect."

I grinned. "Give me that plate. Please. I'd like to introduce myself to Papa's mistress."