Steph gently pushed her away. “We can’t today. My dad’s home and he’ll come looking for me if I forgot one of my chores.”
Paula frowned and her eyes gleamed with tears. Steph didn’t know if she was upset at losing the moment, or the letter from Berkeley or both. They’d never talked about Steph’s fear. Paula’s soft lips confused her terribly. She wanted to run away—right into Paula’s arms. She’d created an emotional circle that she couldn’t escape but her sexual terror trumped the guilt over leaving her.
“It’s just…” Paula stammered.
She sucked in air but failed to complete her thought.
“It’s just what?” Steph asked impatiently, peering around the rock, willing the back door to stay closed.
She stared at Steph for a long time before she said, “I’ll miss you a lot.”
She immediately looked down and Steph exhaled, not realizing she’d been holding her breath.
The screen door squeaked. After a flurry of redressing, they peered over the rock. Steph’s mother, Debbie, tottered out, highball glass in hand.
“Steph! Stephanie! Yoo-hoo! C’mon, Stephie, where are you? John, are you home?”
She was wearing a silk negligee, having changed out of the leggings and oxford cloth shirt she’d worn when she’d greeted Paula an hour before at the front door. The thick blond tresses Steph had inherited were stacked on the top of her head with a black clip and her customary deep-red lipstick proved a stark contrast to her ghostly white skin.
She glided back and forth across the deck, scissoring her legs in one of her old dance moves. Her lithe body shifted effortlessly and the alcohol did little to thwart her natural grace. She’d told Steph a hundred times she’d given up a theatrical career in New York to be with her father.
Periodically she’d stop and take a serious drink and then sweep across the deck in the opposite direction. They watched her performance and Steph thought that without her glasses she couldn’t see them. Steph hated that Paula was there but she loathed the prospect of babysitting her mother so she stayed behind the rock. Her father was obviously ignoring her mother—at least for now—and Steph couldn’t blame him. He was a saint, constantly caring for her mother, suffering her abuses and enduring the public embarrassments she caused the family. There wasn’t an adult resident of Eugene who didn’t know Debbie South, the drunkard, and her unfortunate husband, John.
He kept his sanity by frequently traveling his sales route through the Midwest where he sold medical supplies to hospitals. Steph missed him but she understood his work. They’d had long talks about her departure for college and she felt horrible about abandoning him, but he assured her everything would be fine and she had nothing to feel guilty about.
“I wish I could dance like your mother,” Paula said, interrupting her thoughts. Steph knew Paula admired Debbie, despite her weird quirks and antics, but Paula couldn’t see what she did. Steph thought Paula’s mother, Francine, was the epitome of a great parent and she’d sought refuge at the Kemper house hundreds of times over the years.
Debbie pirouetted and stopped short of falling over the balcony railing. Hopefully she would give up soon and go back to her La-Z-Boy recliner and the bottle of Jack Daniel’s she’d bought yesterday.
She serenaded them with music from the Rocky Horror Picture Show, a movie she’d seen dozens of times. As long as she kept her clothes on—which wasn’t a guarantee—Steph didn’t care. They lived at the top of a cul-de-sac at the base of Spencer Butte. It afforded them a privacy they frequently needed—like today. Steph took comfort that their closest neighbor, old Mr. Crick, wouldn’t be able to check out Debbie South’s latest performance.
Paula wrapped one of Steph’s blond locks around her finger in a playful gesture of understanding. It was her trademark. She never offered pitiful looks or spoke in a sad tone because she knew it made Steph feel more pathetic. Paula always distracted Steph from her misery by filling her heart with Paula’s own optimism and logical view of the world.
“I know you won’t miss this when you’re gone. Debbie is just…Debbie.”
Steph turned away, hoping Paula couldn’t see how the simple gesture affected her.
Debbie hit a high note and raised her hands to the sky in a big finish. The glass slipped through her fingers and crashed to the deck but she didn’t seem to notice. She held the pose, obviously hearing thunderous applause in her head. With her arms outstretched the silk clung to her curves.
“She’s beautiful,” Paula sighed. “I hope I look that good when I’m in my forties.”