Lost by Gary; Devon Page A

gaze there.
    â€œIs there something you want to tell me now?”
    She did not flinch; her eyes began to smart.
    â€œMamie, you were in on this from the very beginning. You’re just as guilty as he is. Maybe more. All along you’ve lied to me. Now tell me you don’t know about this.” He dumped the contents of the sack on the table, the harder things—the fountain pen, the silver dollars, and the tiny telescope—bouncing and skittering on the tabletop, the noise deafening, then clattering to a standstill. “Now, what am I going to tell all these people—all our neighbors?” A web of bleary light skimmed across her eyes. She couldn’t gulp her tears any longer. She twisted from the chair, but he caught her in midair and thrust her down on the seat. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said. “I’m putting an end to this right now. Tonight. I want to know what you did. Everything you did. If there’s more than this, you’d damned well better tell me.”
    Her mother opened the door to the kitchen and stood there, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. He didn’t glance at her or pause. “There’s more to this than meets the eye. You didn’t do this by yourself. You couldn’t have. So let’s find out who helped you. And stop that bawling. Don’t you dare cry.” She choked and swallowed and wiped her face.
    She would never know what caused him to notice her ring at precisely that moment. But he did. “I suppose that’s part of it, too,” he said, and for a second she didn’t know what he was talking about. “All this time you’ve been parading it right in front of me, and like a damned fool I didn’t even look. What d’you want with this trash?” Suddenly he pulled her fist up from her lap, forcibly undid her fingers, and yanked off the skull ring—all while she was begging, “No, Daddy! Oh, no, Daddy! That’s my ring! Toddy gave it to me! Daddy, it’s my ring! Please, Daddy! Please! Oh, please! Oh, please, Daddy, that’s my birthday ring! We didn’t take that! ” But he had gone to the window and shoved it up and, with a snap of his wrist, the Phantom’s skull ring sailed into the night. Shocked, she stood completely still, her voice like a rock stuck in her throat, astonished at the irreversible suddenness of it. Her ring was gone.
    Her father crossed the dining room, threw open the living-room doors, and strode toward the lounger. Her mother followed after him. “Ray, don’t, for God’s sake. Let it pass.”
    â€œDon’t start on me, Ellie,” he answered. “I won’t live in a nest of trashy thieves.”
    From under Mamie’s hair the sweat trickled down her back. She shuddered.
    Her father brought Sherman into the dining room, with Sherman in front. In dungarees, a plaid shirt, and his Pirates baseball cap, the boy looked like any other strapping thirteen-year-old, except for his cold, blank eyes. Immediately he saw the jumble of trinkets on the table and sauntered to a stop.
    â€œSherman,” their father said, “have you ever seen any of this junk before?”
    Mamie saw the realization flicker on his boyish face. Almost imperceptibly his expression drew tight—his jaw muscles clinched, his brow peaked slightly as he squinted, the rekindled hate flowed in his eyes. “I been tryin’ to remember,” he said under his breath.
    â€œOh, you remember, all right. There’s nothing wrong with your memory .”
    Recalling that other time, Mamie rushed between them. “Daddy, don’t hurt him,” she cried. “Don’t hit him! He don’t know any better.” The bile rising in her throat was so sour it burned. She tried to cover her mouth but couldn’t in time, vomiting into her hands and down the front of her dress. Everything blurred. Doubled over, she retched and vomited and blindly