Chapter Twelve

Mom discovered her wine bottle was missing the morning after Thanksgiving. I was still asleep.

Though Dad had told me to go to bed the night before when it was still light out, I hadn't actually fallen asleep until well after midnight. I'd gone to my room and only once did I try to sneak out to call Luke. I needed to explain to him what he'd seen earlier plus I had to tell someone the news. I knew Luke would keep his mouth shut about it, especially if I blackmailed him with his own little poetry-writing secret if I thought he might blab. But when I tiptoed out of my room I ran into Dad in the hallway. He was staring at his closed bedroom door. I could hear Mom moving around inside. In my father's eyes, I saw anguish and the aching desire to go into that room with her.

His gaze shot to mine when he saw me approach. I stopped short.

"What do you need?" he said in a sharp manner.

"I, uh..." I glanced hopefully around for a sign of the phone. "I was just getting a drink." He nodded once and I dashed into the kitchen, filled a glass with tap water, and quickly retreated to the harbor of my messy lair. I sat on my mattress and sipped the water. It was incredibly warm, so I spit it back into the cup and set it on my nightstand.

Marty was going to be a daddy. I was going to be an aunt. There was going to be a baby. I tried to imagine Abby as a 161

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part of the family. I set up a picture in my head of her and Marty coming through the door for a Christmas celebration, a wide grin on his face as he carried a heaping pile of wrapped gifts. Abby tagged regretfully along behind him, toting a blond-headed child on her hip. She didn't smile as she set the toddler on the floor as soon as she stepped inside. The little boy wobbled across the ivory carpet with his arms spread open, ready to be held by the first person to reach him. Then I pictured myself sitting across from her at our family table. She made this disgusted face as Dad started talking about motor problems. The little tow-headed boy in the high chair next to her picked up his plate and smashed it upside down on the table. Mom scurried to her feet for a washrag and Abby yelled at him.

I shivered and shook my head. It didn't seem possible. A baby? No, it was too weird to be true.

I tossed and turned half the night, thinking about how my mother and father had responded to the news, worried how Marty was holding up, and wondering how Principal and Mrs. Eggrow had reacted when they learned. And I thought of Luke.

He'd come to see me on Thanksgiving Day. It put a warm spot in my heart. I was sure I'd figure out a way to see him the next day but it turned out Mom had different plans. She woke me by slamming open my door and ripping the covers off me. I winced and curled into a ball.

"Mom," I groaned, groping for my blankets. I opened one eye to discover them at the foot of the bed. 162

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"Get up, Carrie." Mom's voice brooked no room for discussion. "We need to talk."

My eyes opened fully then. It felt early but it was late enough for the room to be flooded in light. I blinked a couple of times and finally sat up. I shivered, then reached for the blankets and pulled them over my legs. "What?" I said, and yawned.

Mom loomed over me with a drill sergeant's stance, her jaw set and her hands fisted in a pair of yellow dishwashing gloves. She brought the very potent aroma of lemon-scented disinfectant with her.

I forgot to mention earlier how she deep-cleaned when she was upset. She didn't just dust and vacuum; she got down on her elbows and scrubbed when something was troubling her. And from the smell permeating my room, I figured she must've been at it for a while.

She thumped one foot repeatedly against the floor and folded her arms. "There's a wine bottle missing from the kitchen drawer."

I stopped in the middle of a full body stretch. My arms fell limply down to my side.

I was busted. But I didn't go down lightly. With all the innocence I could muster, I said, "There is?"

"Don't play dumb with me." She was loud enough for anyone inside the house to hear. "I didn't take it. And I've already asked your father. He didn't take it. Your brother doesn't live here anymore. So that just leaves you." I attempted to move deeper inside the warmth of my blanket. "Are you sure there's one missing?" I tried. 163

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"Carrie," she said, her voice stern.

"OK," I said, dropping my eyes. "I took it." My words were mumbled, but she heard me just fine.

"Where is it?"

I shrugged. In some ditch, busted by the side of the road.

"It's gone."

"You drank the entire bottle by yourself?" At my lack of answer, she hissed out a long breath. I glanced up and shrank even further away. If she'd looked upset before, she was completely ticked off now. "You shared it with that boy, didn't you?" She spat out "that boy" like it was some kind of despicable disease.

I wanted to ask since when had Luke turned into "that boy"? This was the same guy she'd practically pushed me into being alone with in my bedroom. But I already knew the answer. It was since my brother had come home with the news he'd impregnated Abby Eggrow.

"That's it," she said, her voice rough and angry. "You're grounded."

My jaw fell loose. "Grounded?" I'd never been grounded in my entire life. I wasn't even sure what the punishment entailed.

"You stole from your parents," Mom said, lifting her index finger. "You lied to us." She lifted a second finger. "And you drank under age." Up with finger number three. "So you've broken the state law along with the laws of this house." She turned away disgusted. "And I don't know how many other things you've done.

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"I expect you to be more responsible than this, Carrie. Alcohol is a dangerous thing. At first, you think you've having fun and then the next thing you know, you're pregnant and getting married at age eighteen." She pinned me with a sudden glare. "How many times have you snuck out of the house to be with him?"

I shook my head. "Mom, it's not what you think. We're not—"

But she held up an I-don't-care hand and said. "How many times?"

My shoulders fell and my head dropped. I stared at the hands I had folded in my lap. "Just that once," I said. Then I remembered the first ride he'd given me in his Mustang. Our first kiss. "Twice," I quickly amended. Mom sighed in disgust. Then she tossed a dusting rag and a can of furniture polish onto the mattress beside me. "Clean this mess," she ordered. "And when you're done in here, wipe out the shelves in the kitchen."

She stormed out, leaving the door wide open. I was left in my room, barely awake and still in my pajamas. This wasn't how I'd expected to start my day. I crawled out of bed, not bothering to make it, and started picking things up from the floor.

This was grossly unfair. Marty had knocked up some girl and I was the one who ended up grounded? OK, so it'd been wrong to swipe the wine. But come on. I'd never done anything even remotely bad before. Didn't I deserve some kind of reprieve for a first-time offense?

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I guess not, because Mom frequently came to the doorway to check my progress. Sometimes, she'd throw out orders, telling me to make my bed or fold that pile of clothes or stack that pile of books straighter. It was just before noon when Luke called.