Something Rising (Light and Swift) by Haven Kimmel

sleeveless blouse was white with small red polka dots and a wide collar. “Well.”
    â€œMom.”
    â€œCan it, Emmy.” Mike never made eye contact with anyone. He sold cars at a Ford dealership on the edge of Roseville and spent all his spare time mowing his lawn. Cassie wondered if he looked directly at his customers. He severed his spaghetti, shoveled it in his mouth.
    â€œEmmy will maybe never go to college, will you, Emmy, because you can’t pass algebra, even though I’ve already passed algebra and by the time I’m your age I’ll be taking trig and calculus and by the time I’m your age you’ll be a fat housewife.”Jeremy seemed to be riding the rails of something; Cassie felt like congratulating him, except he was red-faced and his lips seemed to periodically get caught on his braces, and he still looked like he was about to cry.
    â€œShut up, you little—Just shut up,” Emmy said, her jaw clenched. She moved as if she might hit him, and Mike didn’t say anything but rose out of his chair and hovered slightly above the table, his hands in fists at his sides.
    Diana ate a bite of peas. “You’ll give your mom and sister my best, I hope, and tell Belle we’re all real proud of her. She certainly is one of Roseville’s finest.”
    Emmy stood up. “We’re leaving.”
    â€œWhere are you going?” Mike asked, the threat thick in his voice.
    â€œTo Wal-Mart, Dad. And then probably to McDonald’s for ice cream.”
    â€œWhy do you need to go to Wal-Mart every night, Emmy?” Diana asked.
    â€œIf I see you in the McDonald’s parking lot,” Mike said, shoving his napkin under his plate, “with that group that loiters there, I’ll take your car away.”
    â€œI’m well aware of that.”
    â€œIs that an attitude?”
    â€œYou know it’s an attitude!” Jeremy sputtered. “What else does she have, she hasn’t got brains or a personality!”
    â€œThanks for dinner, Mom.”
    â€œYou didn’t eat much.”
    â€œYes,” Cassie said, “thank you.”
    Diana smiled. “Anytime. Come back anytime.”
    *    *    *
    They stepped outside into a fair summer evening, a couple hours left of daylight. Cassie patted the short stone statue of Jesus in the flower bed, as she always did, for luck. Emmy tipped her head back, spread her arms, said, “A beautiful night. A perfect night for killing one’s parents. You drive first.” She tossed Cassie the keys to her used Ford station wagon. “I’m not nervous, I’m getting way better about that. I still don’t want to parallel-park. And I don’t want to pass anybody. I don’t understand why passing is so all-fire important. But I’m not nervous, I just want to change my clothes.”
    Cassie slipped into the driver’s seat and started the car, which always gave a death rattle but never actually died. Emmy reached into the backseat for a pair of shorts and a pink tank top with spaghetti straps and began changing in the front seat as Cassie wound them through and out of Emmy’s subdivision.
    â€œWhat would old Mr. Lange make of this, I wonder,” Emmy asked, shirtless, as they drove past a white colonial on the corner, “or Mrs. Griffin, the widda-woman. They’d love it, probably, you know in the sixties? in places like this development? people used to have sex all over the place with everybody, I’m telling ya. Something about keys in a bowl.”
    â€œKey parties.”
    â€œExactly, key parties. You just know my mom and dad and people like Mr. Lange were all up in seach other’s business before we were born.” She laughed. “Poor Mom. Are these shorts too tight, I’m sucking my gut in, I can’t really breathe, are they too tight? Why won’t you look?”
    Cassie approached a Village Pantry, turned in.