Free What We Knew by Barbara Stewart Page A

night, so we could get an early start on Saturday. The company picnic was at an amusement park this year—something new. They used to hold it at the Rod and Gun Club. Hamburgers and hot dogs and contests for the kids. Scott and I always went home with half the prizes.
    Lisa sighed heavily.
    “If you don’t want to go,” I said, “tell me now. I’ll bring Adam. He hates rides—”
    “No, I want to go.” She sounded torn. “Can I let you know tomorrow?”
    Katie came back waving four dollar bills. Outside, she dragged us toward the yellow arch shining brightly against the storm-bruised sky. “That’s a lot of food if we order off the Value Menu,” she said. She was right. Four bucks won’t buy a grilled chicken salad, but it will buy two cherry pies, a strawberry shake, and a hot fudge sundae. When my mother got home from work, I wasn’t hungry. Which was too bad—she was actually planning to cook. Parmesan chicken and the first green beans from the garden. She made herself a frozen dinner instead.
    “Can Adam come over and watch a movie?” I asked.
    My mom blew on her fork. “Sure,” she said. “I need to do some weeding tonight, anyway.”
    “You don’t have to hide,” I said. “We won’t get anything scary. Nothing sexy, either.”
    The phone rang. My mother froze. “If that’s Chip, I’m not here,” she whispered.
    I picked up the receiver. “This is Tracy,” I said. I looked at my mother; a mouthful of beef tips squirreled in her cheeks like she was afraid whoever was on the other end would hear her chewing. “Chip?” I said. “That’s so funny! We were just talking about you. Yeah. Hold on, she’s here.”
    My mother bulged her eyes angrily and swallowed. Putting the phone to her ear, she croaked, “Hi!” As soon as she realized it was a recorded message for some company trying to sell us something, her face relaxed into a smile. “Ha-ha,” she said, hanging up. She tossed the black plastic tray in the trash and her fork in the sink. She was smiling. Good. It was the perfect time to ask what I’d been wondering about since the drugstore: “Can we bring Katie to the picnic?”
    My mother went to the fridge and pulled a couple of plastic deli bags from the meat drawer. Her silence meant she was considering my request. I got out the chips and stuck a fruit cup in her insulated lunch bag. “She’s a good kid,” I said, trying to sway her. “She’ll do whatever you say.”
    “Katie’s not the problem.” My mother chucked a loaf of moldy bread. “I’ll have to pay full-price at the gate. And she wouldn’t get any lunch. You need a special wristband for that. They came with the tickets I got through work.”
    “The problem is, Larry might have to do overtime,” I said. “If she can’t go, Lisa can’t go.”
    I hated lying, but the truth was ridiculous: my best friend was afraid of the bogeyman.
    “Let me see what I can do,” she said. “Maybe somebody has an extra ticket.”
    Leaning on the counter, watching her build a sandwich, I asked if she’d ever heard a creepy story about a guy called Banana Man.
    “Banana Man? Like the fruit?” She rolled a slice of turkey and popped it in her mouth. “Sounds kind of silly. Where’d you get that from?”
    “Never mind.”
    My mom screwed the lid on the mayonnaise and rinsed the knife. After everything was put away, she sat next to me at the counter and dug into the chips. “When I was a kid we were all afraid of the Hillhurst Demon,” she said crunching. “He stalked the triangle of woods between the park and the hospital. You know where I mean?”
    My temples throbbed. The kitchen started spinning. I nodded for her to go on.
    “My friends used to say that if you ever saw the creature—even just a quick glimpse—your eyes would melt like wax.” My mother elbowed me and then offered me a chip. “Kinda scary, huh? What’s your monster do?”

nine
    The last time we went to Action Adventure, my family was happy. At