The Full Cleveland: A Novel - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Terry Reed wrote the original screenplay for the independent film Cherry, released in 2000. A graduate of the Columbia University MFA Writing Program, she lives in New York City.

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Chapter One

When we were rich, we had no real use for the Easter Bunny.

We had an Egg Man. When I found out other children had the Bunny, I didn't envy them. Because either way it's your father, of course, and a father is an important thing and things happen to them over time, plus I'd just rather not have the Easter Bunny. Who needs the embarrassment. Especially if you went downtown and found him in Public Square trying to amuse everyone as well as sell them something, except he was eight feet tall and his eyes didn't blink and his teeth didn't move and some of the smaller children started screaming or sobbing and had to be instantly whisked into the arms of their mothers. All because of the Easter Bunny. No, I'm sorry, I mean maybe I should apologize, but we had Egg Man.

But I already said, that's when we were rich.

Easter Sunday, Egg Man was in charge of hiding. He was very good at it, so it was natural to think it came to him naturally. He hid chocolate eggs in baskets from us and jewelry and such in a blue box from Mother, but the main thing is, he did it with clues, and the whole thing got harder as you got older. We had a big house, and Egg Man made sure finding the stuff was almost impossible.

Mother said it was so Protestant of him. To maybe make us look until Christmas. Once Mother had to, her clues were so hard.

Egg Man hid other things also from Mother. Easter afternoon, after she took us to church, he took over and took us to Cleveland. To the worst parts of it, was the best part. Which was the part he hid from Mother. It was about the one thing he did alone with us all year, but it was a good one. Sometimes it was to a river he claimed was famous for burning. The Cuyahoga, it was called, but Matt called it The Combustible. It had already caught fire twice, see, so Matt said that was the name for it.

Easter when I was still ten, all of the hidden things had been found except Mother's.

Noon mass was over and Clarine, Matt, Cabot, Luke, Lucy, and I were all packed in Mother's blue Buick convertible, except the top wasn't down. It was hot but we were helpless, because Mother was hanging back in the church parking lot, planning to talk to people. That's what she did after church on Sunday and it was much worse on Easter. We were usually used to it, but today we wanted to get home and see about Egg Man.

But a woman in a wide black hat saw Mother across the parking lot and started over on her walker. All of us in the hot car moaned. Clarine flashed dark eyes around, so we stopped. Then she told us to roll our windows all the way down.

Clarine was the oldest except for our parents. She lived with us and all, but she wasn't our sister. She was really the nanny, but really the housekeeper. Today she sat up where Mother would sit if Egg Man were driving. Shotgun, Matt liked to make a big point of calling it.

Like Egg Man himself, Clarine wasn't Catholic. Today she'd come to see the Easter hats, to hold Lucy, and maybe for curiosity, because in Catholic Church, you can see people kneel down. During mass, she hadn't knelt down herself, though. When I'd tried to not do it with her, Mother had frowned.

"Boyce, girl," Clarine had whispered when I tried it. "Do like the others." But at first I thought she said, Dounto others. It was an unbelievable coincidence, to have that happen in church, and instead of praying like I was supposed to, I sat around smiling about it.

Matt was the oldest. He sat up front, his head all slumped, due to staring down chronically at his new double-breasted, brass-buttoned blazer. He'd complained that morning that cool kids would see it. Now he lifted his head for about the first time since being ordered into the jacket regardless. "People," he said, "let us pray. Let us pray she doesn't run into any more people." He said it with his hands up, palms out, as if he had self-appointed himself our personal preacher. It was pretty funny, but you couldn't laugh too much or he'd do a ton more of it.

Clarine said, "Children. Please. Shut up." Which was something, because she usually said, "Children, please hush up." She was from the South, and that's where they say that. But "shut up" wasn't even allowed. Even for adults, strictly forbidden.

But she sure had said it, and Cabot and I turned to look at each other, bumping our hats with the streamers. We were so close in age, we had to wear the same hats. Except Cabot had long blond hair and looked like a picture from a magazine that sometimes features the world's most presentable children. Pictured in a riding habit with a horse, I bet, riding along with her beautiful mother. ThatTown and Country, no doubt. Anyway, under my hat, I had a crew cut.

Luke, in pint-size brown loafers, sat with his legs and arms ramrod straight and his eyes squeezed shut, bearing up under the delay rather nicely. He'd once had special preschool psychologists who had taught him to do that.

Over Clarine's shoulder, Lucy tried to wing her own head off, but then I suppose she gave up. Her Easter bonnet went all cockeyed, and she had to peer around the brim of it to still see us in back. This made her appear of debatable character for a two-year-old, like one of those questionable men in the movies you're not allowed to watch, the ones with the guns and the crooked fedoras.

I knew in my heart church hadn't made any difference.

We had been quite in love with each other inside when we were told to thank God and sing Hallelujah, but now we'd forgotten all that, because of Mother keeping us waiting. If we didn't get home soon Easter was pointless. Egg Man might say it was too late for Cleveland.

During the sermon, my stomach felt strange, though to be fair to the speaker that could have been chocolate for breakfast. But it did seem that every time you tried to really listen to a preacher, you automatically heard about another leper. Then I decided it wasn't chocolate or lepers. The problem was, I was lapsing. Which can happen to Catholics. Lapsing made my stomach feel strange, is all that I'm saying.

Outside the Buick, Mother was still stalling.

Mrs. Taft waddled over, trailed by two more ladies with canes and heavy pearl necklaces....