The Book Club

Chapter 10

"I can't just leave George here," I told Priscilla. She'd been edging the two of us closer to the door as the minutes past nine o'clock ticked by. I still had a bit of stuffing on the edge of my third plate of food, some spiked cider in my party cup, and I was generally having a good time getting to know Priscilla's family. "I mean, he's lasted this long without much help..."

"Yeah," Priscilla said out of the corner of her mouth, "because I saved him from my mom's cousin Monty. And he'll be fine. We have to go."

"Right, right," I said as I balanced the plate over my cup in order to scoop the last of the stuffing into my mouth. "Where are we going again?"

"Research, I told you."

I managed to wave my fork at George without flinging too many stuffing crumbs on the carpet and got his attention. He, a little too tipsy from the cider, waved a backhand in my direction and continued on with the wild story he was relaying to a group of captivated small children. Realistically the children had caught onto the idea that George was not really their Uncle, Great-So-And-So, Cousin or otherwise and merely listened or watched him out of fascination that he had duped so many. Like spectators marveling at a caged animal, they oohed and ahhed at his antics and never let on that they knew he shouldn't be there.

Priscilla backed us away to the door, making sure that Mitch was entertained in the kitchen and wouldn't insist they stay for another round of cider, and pulled me with her out the door after she snatched it open.

"It's just once a year, that's all. But can you imagine all those people? Dealing with them more than that?"

I'd thought it was a lot of fun, actually. More people enjoying each other's company than I'd ever experienced in my family. Good food, genuine laughter, and, thanks to George—even though his stories were either fake or stolen from books or magazines—there was plenty of entertainment. I couldn't think of a better time I'd ever had, especially since leaving home, as dreary as it had been.

"Yeah, crazy," I said, a token response I used a lot.

"Come on, my car's over here. Well, not my car, but the car," Priscilla said, catching and correcting herself needlessly.

She walked us down the sidewalk George and I had traveled a few hours before. I noticed that his puffy coat and binoculars were still safely tucked under the bush where I'd left them. I hesitated for a moment, but I knew I'd be back in a little while and I'd meet back up with George somehow. Seeing my hesitation, Priscilla pulled on my arm a bit more firmly and I followed. The chill cut through my shirt and, since I'd left my coat back in camp, it was enough to send a full shiver through me. It wasn't quite that cold yet and I was accustomed to the weather for the most part, but I felt a bit embarrassed that it affected me.

The car was an old hatchback, probably something like a Gremlin, but it was too dark for me to get a good look at it. California plates and a paint job that even in the dark looked like a faded orange, the car was barely road-worthy by the look of it, and when Priscilla turned over the engine after four tries, I had sudden doubts that we'd be going anywhere.

"So, it's not far, this place we're going?"

"Nope. Lots of dark alleys and great places to dump bodies of party-crashers too," Priscilla said of my skeptical tone.

"Ha ha, but really."

"There's a woman whose family lived nearby. We're going to their family house."

"In the dead of night. On Thanksgiving."

"Well, as I said, I was going to be in town visiting my family for the holiday and my travel partner had to bail at the last minute, so this is what I've got."