The Monsters of Templeton by Lauren Groff Read Free Book Online Page B

called it. For a long time, the stories have scared the bejeepers out of summer campers around their campfires as they spun their yarns above the s'mores and hot dogs, as they sat on the lakeside during those halcyon days of--" and here my mother turned off the television, her hands still truffled with feta cheese.
    "Wilhelmina Sunshine Upton, I said I had something to tell you," she said.
    "Jesus," I said. "I've been waiting for about three minutes for you to finish your sentence."
    "Don't take His name in vain," she said.
    I sighed. "Vi," I said. "Just because you believe in all that God stuff doesn't mean you have to censor me, does it?"
    "My house," she said. "My rules." She sat down at the table, bringing with her a waft of cheese and raw meat. "That's rule number one. Rule number two is that until we pull you out of this mess you've gotten yourself into, you're not just sitting around, moping all day. You hear me?"
    "I hear you," I muttered. I played with the pollen from a vase of tiger lilies that sat, bold and cloying, on the table.
    "You're getting yourself a project. Go do some work for NYSHA. I'm sure the Native American Museum would like some more potsherds or something. Dig up stuff, who knows. Or docent. Or get a job at the Baseball Museum. Or wear a nineteenth-century dress and learn the art of broom-making at the Farmers' Museum. God knows there's enough history around here to satisfy you until you can go back to Stanford."
    "Vi," I said. "I hate disappointing you. I really do. But I really don't think going back is going to be an option."
    "We'll see about that," she said, and squinted at me. "In the meantime, you're doing something. Worse comes to worst, you'll be a candy striper. I'll make you mop up diarrhea all day. I think I'd like that." She grinned, and her face looked briefly youthful again. "A little atonement is always good."
    "I love you, Vi, but I'll never wipe up diarrhea for you. Ever," I said.
    "Well, if you're living with me I'm afraid you'll have no choice." She sighed at me, and she rubbed her forehead, her mouth stretched into a down-curved string. "Willie, I just can't believe this. I can't. I mean, I wanted so much for you, I wanted you to do all the things I couldn't ever do because I was never as smart or beautiful as you. I ran away when I was fifteen because my mother tried to send me to finishing school for heaven's sakes. I tried to do my best. Yet, here we are."
    "You did beautifully, Vi," I said, and then found I couldn't say anything more.
    There was a painful rubbery silence then, when the noise of the crowd down at the park burbled up to the house and a few chirps from the frog-pool began to rise and the grandfather clock ticked and ticked in the dining room. My mother said, "Well, I'd like to hear the full story sometime, when you're ready to tell me. Maybe I can help. And it is always cathartic to confess one's sins."
    I looked down at my hands. I saw a brief flash; the red glow of the tent on my sleeping bag, the whorls of hair on Primus Dwyer's arm, the empty flask of whiskey. I shuddered. "I don't think I can tell you, Vi," I said. "It's bad. Really bad."
    "Oh," she said. "Of course you think that now. It'll get better. You'll see." She patted my hand, leaving cheese flakes on my fingers. "I hate to see you like this, Willie. All your vim gone. All your spice. It makes me so sad."
    "I know," I said. "My vim's frozen into a little ball in the middle of the Alaskan tundra."
    "Ha," she said, her face briefly filled with a soft kind of light. "Well, in the meantime, welcome home. Anyway," she said, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, "I said I had something to tell you, and I do. I've been putting it off for a while now, and perhaps this is not the best time to tell you. But every day I don't tell you the whole truth is a day I lie to you." She was clutching her cross in her greasy fingers, and gazing at me with such intensity I felt myself grow hot and nervous.
    "What?"