it’s a lost cause. The fierce frozen eyes are Veronica’s eyes and the thin bluish lips are Veronica’s lips.
“Erase it,” Veronica says.
Lana gives an okay-okay shrug and reaches for the eraser. Veronica unzips her little beaded party bag, checks for something inside, rezips it.
It is during the rezipping that Lana thinks something important:
If she’s taking her beaded party bag, she won’t be taking the blue purse. And the pills are in the purse
.
Lana says, “You going somewhere?”
Veronica ignores this. “Every line of it,” she says. “Erase every line of it.”
Lana starts with a hand and is working her way up the Ice Queen’s quiver-holding arm when a car pulls up to the curb. It’s Louise and her church deacon husband. They’re wearing their Snick-tending clothes—white sneakers, creased unfaded jeans, and T-shirts—and they’ve got their little bag of
VeggieTales
videos for doing the Lord’s work on the disabled.
So Veronica’s definitely going out.
“Where’re you going?” Lana says.
Veronica doesn’t answer. She walks out to meet Louise and her husband on the front lawn, where they talk briefly before Veronica departs.
Lana stops erasing. She’s almost to the Ice Queen’s elbow.
“Hi, Leeze,” Tilly says. “Hi, Marvin. Did you bring Bob the Tomato?”
“Yes, Tilly, we did,” Louise says. Bob the Tomato is the funny one in
VeggieTales
, and, Lana has to admit it, Bob can be funny.
“So where’s Veronica going?” Lana says to Louise’s husband, but it’s Louise who answers. “I believe she said she was meeting her husband for dinner.”
“Well, that’s a good one,” Lana says. “Because her husband left two hours ago and wouldn’t say where he was going. I heard Veronica ask him.”
“Oh,” Louise says airily. “He probably called.”
“I suppose you’re right, but then if he called, you might think the phone would’ve rung.”
“I imagine it was prearranged, then,” Louise says. “Somekind of little secret.” She lets her eyes settle on Lana. “It’s one of those aspects of matrimony you’ll learn someday—the tender little secrets between a wife and her husband.” Louise glances at her husband. “Am I right, Marvin?”
Marvin nods, and Lana wants to say,
You don’t talk much, do you, Marv?
but instead she turns to Louise and says, “You’ve got a point there, Louise, and I don’t mean the one on your noggin,” and lets loose a big laugh to make it seem like just a joke and nothing more, no offense intended, none whatsoever.
They both stare at her, and then Louise manufactures the stiffest smile Lana has ever seen and says, “Jesus’ forgiveness is roomy, Lana, roomy enough even for you.”
Lana despises Louise. From her clean white Nikes right up to her gold cross earrings, she despises Louise, and yet an image flows unbidden from Louise’s words, an image of an enormous gilded ballroom filled with all the people Lana has ever disappointed—her mother, Hallie, a whole assortment of foster parents and foster kids and teachers and coaches and headshrinkers. They are all there in beautiful dresses and suits and ties and in smooth slow motion they are dancing to perfection the dance they are doing, which is the dance of forgiveness.
The screen door slams shut.
Mr. and Mrs. Louise have gone inside, and Tilly has gone in, too. Lana hears her shout to the other Snicks, “Here comes Bob the Tomato! Yes, yes, yes!”
Lana looks down at her sketch. She likes it—it has the same loose, free flow to it that her sketch of Chet had—and even with her lower arm erased and gone, Veronica still looks like an Ice Queen, which, in Lana’s book, is exactly what she is.
She slides the sketch back into the black box and secures the lid. She smoothes her hand over the box’s pebbly leather cover. She closes her eyes and tries to imagine again the Giant Ballroom of Forgiveness, but it won’t come. She wants to see if she can find Veronica
“Erase it,” Veronica says.
Lana gives an okay-okay shrug and reaches for the eraser. Veronica unzips her little beaded party bag, checks for something inside, rezips it.
It is during the rezipping that Lana thinks something important:
If she’s taking her beaded party bag, she won’t be taking the blue purse. And the pills are in the purse
.
Lana says, “You going somewhere?”
Veronica ignores this. “Every line of it,” she says. “Erase every line of it.”
Lana starts with a hand and is working her way up the Ice Queen’s quiver-holding arm when a car pulls up to the curb. It’s Louise and her church deacon husband. They’re wearing their Snick-tending clothes—white sneakers, creased unfaded jeans, and T-shirts—and they’ve got their little bag of
VeggieTales
videos for doing the Lord’s work on the disabled.
So Veronica’s definitely going out.
“Where’re you going?” Lana says.
Veronica doesn’t answer. She walks out to meet Louise and her husband on the front lawn, where they talk briefly before Veronica departs.
Lana stops erasing. She’s almost to the Ice Queen’s elbow.
“Hi, Leeze,” Tilly says. “Hi, Marvin. Did you bring Bob the Tomato?”
“Yes, Tilly, we did,” Louise says. Bob the Tomato is the funny one in
VeggieTales
, and, Lana has to admit it, Bob can be funny.
“So where’s Veronica going?” Lana says to Louise’s husband, but it’s Louise who answers. “I believe she said she was meeting her husband for dinner.”
“Well, that’s a good one,” Lana says. “Because her husband left two hours ago and wouldn’t say where he was going. I heard Veronica ask him.”
“Oh,” Louise says airily. “He probably called.”
“I suppose you’re right, but then if he called, you might think the phone would’ve rung.”
“I imagine it was prearranged, then,” Louise says. “Somekind of little secret.” She lets her eyes settle on Lana. “It’s one of those aspects of matrimony you’ll learn someday—the tender little secrets between a wife and her husband.” Louise glances at her husband. “Am I right, Marvin?”
Marvin nods, and Lana wants to say,
You don’t talk much, do you, Marv?
but instead she turns to Louise and says, “You’ve got a point there, Louise, and I don’t mean the one on your noggin,” and lets loose a big laugh to make it seem like just a joke and nothing more, no offense intended, none whatsoever.
They both stare at her, and then Louise manufactures the stiffest smile Lana has ever seen and says, “Jesus’ forgiveness is roomy, Lana, roomy enough even for you.”
Lana despises Louise. From her clean white Nikes right up to her gold cross earrings, she despises Louise, and yet an image flows unbidden from Louise’s words, an image of an enormous gilded ballroom filled with all the people Lana has ever disappointed—her mother, Hallie, a whole assortment of foster parents and foster kids and teachers and coaches and headshrinkers. They are all there in beautiful dresses and suits and ties and in smooth slow motion they are dancing to perfection the dance they are doing, which is the dance of forgiveness.
The screen door slams shut.
Mr. and Mrs. Louise have gone inside, and Tilly has gone in, too. Lana hears her shout to the other Snicks, “Here comes Bob the Tomato! Yes, yes, yes!”
Lana looks down at her sketch. She likes it—it has the same loose, free flow to it that her sketch of Chet had—and even with her lower arm erased and gone, Veronica still looks like an Ice Queen, which, in Lana’s book, is exactly what she is.
She slides the sketch back into the black box and secures the lid. She smoothes her hand over the box’s pebbly leather cover. She closes her eyes and tries to imagine again the Giant Ballroom of Forgiveness, but it won’t come. She wants to see if she can find Veronica
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