The Secrets of Tree Taylor by Dandi Daley Mackall Read Free Book Online Page B

either, except in hints. Dad cut out articles from his medical journals that claimed smoking was bad for you. As far as I knew, Mom never acknowledged these articles, which he placed on her side of the bed. But I’d caught her reading them.
    Our family had other secrets like that. Nobody came right out and said that Grandmother Taylor had hated kids, but it was true, and we all knew it. Nobody ever explained why Cousin Virginia had gotten married while she was still in high school, and had a baby six months later.
    I had honestly believed that Eileen’s hair was Marilyn-Monroe-white-blond all on its own … until Jack convinced me to rummage in Eileen’s wastebasket after she washed her hair. I found a bottle of Liquid Sunshine hidden under some Kleenex.
    Who knew what other secrets lurked in the corners of the Taylor household? I just wished some of them could have been mine. It wasn’t that I couldn’t keep a secret—I could. It was just that I didn’t have any secrets of my own worth keeping—except maybe Summer Goal Number Two.
    I found Dad in the den, a tiny room carved out of the hallway outside his and Mom’s bedroom. To enter the bedroom, youhad to go through the den. Dad had squeezed a little desk and one chair into the space.
    When I walked in, he stopped reading. He was holding a copy of the
New York Times
, which he usually picked up in Kansas City, from the same shop that sold my
Mad
magazines. “Do you know who Senator Mansfield is, Tree?”
    I almost answered, “A senator,” but I had a feeling Dad wasn’t in a joking mood. “Not exactly,” I admitted.
    “He’s the Senate majority leader. And he’s a brave man who’s getting sucker-punched by the media.”
    “How come?” There was only the one desk chair, so I could sit on the floor or stay standing. I stood.
    “Mansfield, like our own Senator Symington, started out believing America needed to become involved in Vietnam. But after flying there and seeing for themselves what was going on, they changed their minds. Both oppose the war in Vietnam now. And for coming to their senses, they’re being called ‘wishy-washy’ and a lot worse.”
    Months ago, I’d found an old issue of
Life
magazine in the bathroom and read an article, “Vicious Fighting in Vietnam.” I’d asked Dad about it, and he told me straight out why he was against Vietnam. The next day, I asked kids at school what they thought about Vietnam. Most of them didn’t know what I was talking about. But everybody said they were for America beating anybody, including Vietnam. I didn’t bring it up again at school.
    After I got home, I asked Mom if she was for or against Vietnam. She growled a little, like she was tired of Dad talking about Vietnam and now here I was doing the same. “America for theAmericans,” she said. “That’s what I’ve always said. And that’s all I’m going to say. Now, go and wash up for supper.”
    I didn’t bring up Vietnam with Mom again, either.
    Dad swiveled his chair to face me. “Sorry. I have a feeling that’s not why you’re here.”
    I shook my head.
    “How’re you doing, Tree?”
    “Okay.”
    “About this morning, I wanted to say I’m sorry for yelling at you. I didn’t know what I’d find, and I wanted you safe.”
    “That’s okay.”
    “Well, I don’t know what you heard.…” He paused. Waited.
    My stomach tightened. What I heard? What I
overheard
? Had he seen me behind the cottonwood? Did he know I’d been spying on him? That I’d seen Mrs. Kinney with the gun?
    Dad looked down at his hands, which were clutching the arms of his desk chair. He had big fingers and knuckles, and calluses on his palms. Nobody would have guessed that he delivered babies and stitched up cuts with those hands. I knew that for a fact because when a carny at the state fair tried to guess Dad’s occupation by examining his hands, the guy guessed steelworker, gardener, and carpenter.
    Finally, Dad looked up again, and his face had