Free What's eating Gilbert Grape? by Peter Hedges

actress today, wasn't I? And Wednesday, too. Really believable. They don't suspect a thing. Nobody does. Nobody ever will."
    I tell her that she should have given me more notice.
    "Wednesday. I was expecting you Wednesday."
    The timer ticks.
    I start to say "I'm here now, aren't I?" when Betty, who-doesn't-look-like-a-Betty Carver, wife of the only remaining insurance man in Endora, mother of two little snotty boys, Todd and Doug, covers my mouth with her now clean, soap-smelling hands. Talking is not the idea of this.
    She points to a slip of paper on the counter. As 1 dial the number written down, she unhooks the barrette in her hair. She unbuttons her shirt. She takes it off. She lifts my T-shirt and kisses my stomach—leaving the red shape of her lips like a scar.
    "I'm dialing," 1 say, hoping she'll wait till I'm done.
    She unzips my pants. Kissing my tummy, she licks lower. I dialed wrong, I think. I hang up and she giggles. I dial again as she pulls down my underwear.
    "The phone is ringing," I say. But there is no stopping Mrs. Betty Carver. She holds me in her hand. She puts me in her mouth.
    "Carver's Insurance, good afternoon."
    "Melanie, yes uhm . . . this is Gilbert Grape . . . two sharp, I know . . . I'm going to be late . . . I've been held up. ..."
    Mrs. Betty Carver is moving her mouth slow and soft.
    "Gilbert, I should have known." Melanie is mad at me, 1 can hear it. "Well, when might Mr. Carver expect you?"
    "Soon, very soon."
    "How soon? We run a tight ship here. I need a specific time. I'm very disappointed in you."
    "You're not the onlv one."

    PETER HEDGES
    Mrs. Betty Carver is bobbing up and down now, her hair all in her face.
    Melanie says, "This a repeat of Wednesday? This your pattern? Mr. Carver has family obligations later today, you know? So?"
    I make an "Oh God" sound—Mrs. Betty Carver just hit the spot.
    "No, not God. Gilbert—you. You have to make up your mind. I'm waiting."
    "It might take longer than I think."
    "Gilbert, come on!"
    "Okay, okay. Eighteen minutes!"
    "Good boy, Gilbert. We 11 expect you at two twenty-four sharp then."
    Mrs. Betty Carver is working harder than ever, making slurpy noises. Her lipstick is smeared all over me, I bet. I put my free hand on top of her head and wish that the mouth on me was not hers but rather the mouth of that Michigan girl, that Becky from Ann Arbor, the people eater. Melanie is droning on about my responsibilities and I'm about to hang up when Mrs. Betty Carver's teeth get a piece of me.
    "Ow!" I say.
    Melanie asks. "Is something the matter?"
    "No. Nothing is wrong."
    "Is it a family matter?"
    "Is what?"
    "Is what's keeping you a family matter? Everything okay at home?"
    Mrs. Betty Carver takes me out of her mouth and checks to see if I'm cut. She whispers, "You're okay—no blood," and she puts me in her again.
    "Melanie, I'm okay. I've got to go."
    "But if I can give Mr. Carver a reason, he would be most pleased. He always appreciates a reason."
    "Tell him it's all my fault."
    I hang up.
    Mrs. Betty Carver looks up and with apologetic eyes says, "I'll be gentler." She starts in again.
    "Please stop."

    What's Eating Gilbert Grape
    "Sometimes it takes longer, that's aU."
    "Stop."
    "Is it me? Tell me what I'm doing wrong. Tell me."
    "Its not you."
    "Give me a little more time, you'll see." She wets her hand by spitting in it and she is about to start up when I firmly say "Stop!" Her hands move to her side and she stays on her knees. I kneel down and wipe the hair out of her face. Her lipstick is gone.
    "It's not you." I say.
    The timer says eight minutes. She slumps over on the floor. This will be all for today. 1 guess. I lean over and kiss her forehead. She wants a hug. but it's hard for me to when all my thoughts are of the new girl.
    She whispers, "Do I make you happy?"
    I shrug like "Yes, you do, kind of."
    We hold an awkward hug for the remaining eight minutes, and when the buzzer goes off she bursts into tears.
    "I gotta go."
    "I