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Edith Parker heard her mother call to her from downstairs. Checking her complexion in the mirror, she adjusted her brazier and tucked her pink cardigan sweater into her skirt. She slipped on her favorite pair of penny loafers and headed downstairs.


“How did you sleep?” asked Mrs. Parker listlessly, frying bacon and mixing pancake batter at the same time. Her hair was done-up, and she wore a navy blue housedress that clung to her perfect figure, a white-ruffled apron and red pumps. She always looked elegant.


“The cat woke me up.” Edith answered. She picked up a stack of plates and began setting the table. The smell of pancakes wafted through the air. The bright morning sun came in through the window, leaving patches of sunlight on the tablecloth. Edith could hear her father tinkering around in the basement.
         “Where’s Caleb?” Edith asked her mother as she poured orange juice into each glass.
         “He’s downstairs with your father.” Mrs. Parker replied. “Won’t you call them for breakfast?”
         Edith opened the door to the basement, and a burst of humid air hit her face. It smelled sweet. “Breakfast is ready!” she hollered, her dainty voice nearly lost in the noisy hum of fans in the basement. She sat down at the table and stuck her fork in a pancake.
         “Wait for your father,” Mrs. Parker scolded; she took off her apron and fixed her hair. Mr. Parker and Caleb emerged from the basement wearing gardening gloves. They took them off and joined Edith at the table, mouths watering.
         “It looks delicious, honey,” Mr. Parker said as his wife set a massive stack of pancakes in front of him. He doused his plate in syrup and dug into it, washing it all down with black coffee. Jack Parker was handsome and very well proportioned. His red polo shirt complemented his jet-black hair perfectly. The neighbors all commended Mrs. Parker for snagging such a sharp dresser.


Caleb piled his plate high with bacon and sausage patties. Edith watched with disgust as he shoveled heaps of dripping meat into his mouth. “You’re such an animal!” she muttered, rolling her eyes.
         “How Caleb eats his breakfast is none of your business,” said Mr. Parker.
         Caleb made a slurping sound and poured syrup all over his bacon. Edith scowled, she tried to concentrate on her pancakes. Mr. and Mrs. Parker made eyes at each other across the table.
         “You look just ravishing today,” Mr. Parker exclaimed. He gazed at his wife. Mrs. Parker turned red.
         “Anyone want more pancakes?” she asked, waving the plate and pointing with her fork.
Mr. Parker gulped down the rest of his coffee and stood up to leave. “I can’t be late for work today. I have a client,” he said, pushing in his chair, “Breakfast was wonderful.” He picked up a bulging briefcase from the counter and left the kitchen. Mrs. Parker hurried after him.
         “Be careful today.” Mrs. Parker said to her husband, standing by the front door and wringing her hands. “I’m worried about you. You’re getting sloppy, dear.”
         “I’ll be fine,” Mr. Parker responded assuredly, “Let’s have meatloaf for dinner.” He kissed his wife on the cheek and walked outside to his stylish new station wagon with the wood-grain sides. Laying the briefcase carefully on the seat next to him, he drove away. Mrs. Parker watched him leave, biting her bottom lip.


While her mother was out of the kitchen, Edith sneaked out of the room to avoid dish duty. She escaped to her bedroom and sank into the chair by her vanity table. Mrs. Parker hated it when she wore makeup; Edith put blush on the apples of her cheeks and powdered her nose. She slipped her string of fake pearls around her slender neck, reached for her lavender handbag, and tiptoed down the stairs and out the front door. She stepped out onto the lawn; Caleb sat cross-legged on the grass reading a science fiction novel.
         “Why are you reading that junk?” Edith asked him rudely, “You’re nearly thirteen.”
         “You’re wearing makeup,” he said, ignoring her remark.
         “I’m seventeen. I can wear makeup when I please,” she retorted. She started to walk down the sidewalk.
         “Let me come with you and I won’t tell mom you look like a whore.”
         “I’m going to get a coke…and it’s not that much blush,” she replied, rubbing at her cheeks. “Are you coming or what?”


They walked down the street, in stride, waving to their neighbors and squinting from the glaring sun. The houses were all freshly painted with well-kept yards; lawns were lined by perfectly trimmed hedges and white picket fences. Shaded by sun hats, ladies tended to flowerbeds, and men in Bermuda shorts leaned over push-lawnmowers. Children ran squealing through sprinklers and splashed around in kiddie-pools.


Caleb and Edith reached the edge of downtown. A red brick sidewalk ran along rows of shops and cafés. It was nearly noon, and the sun beat down on clusters of people on the sidewalk. They discussed the weather and local football. A tall blonde boy in a varsity sweater waved to Edith. She blushed, and Caleb jabbed her in the side. “Is that your boyfriend?”
         Edith glared at him. “He’s going to ask me to the dance on Friday,” she answered, “At least that’s what Johnny told Sara.”
         “What’s going on there?” Caleb asked suddenly, pointing across the street. Two police cars, lights flashing, were parked outside the Gregor Insurance Agency where Mr. Parker worked. A crowd was gathering on the sidewalk. “Let’s go see, Edith.”
         Edith shrugged. “It’s probably nothing,” she said and kept walking, turning the corner to the soda shop.



***


After two cherry cokes and a chocolate sundae, Edith and Caleb walked back home. It was afternoon, and most of the people downtown had gone home. They walked past the Gregor Insurance Agency again; the police cars and the crowd had left.
         “See? It was nothing,” said Edith smartly, “It’s so stupid stop and gawk.”
         Caleb ignored her. They came to their neighborhood; the sun was low in the sky, and the street was very quiet. Their neighbors had gone indoors, their lawns mowed and flowerbeds tended to.


“When did mom say to come home?” Caleb asked.
         “I didn’t tell her we left,” Edith answered, smoothing her skirt.
         “She’ll eat you alive.”
         “She will not. We’re almost home. I bet she didn’t notice we were gone.”
         Laughing, Caleb ran ahead. He reached their yard and sat down again with his book.
         “I’ll stay out here,” he said.
         “She won’t be mad,” Edith insisted. “Look. Dad isn’t even home yet.” She made a gesture towards where their father always parked.
         “Fine, Edith,” he said, “But I’m staying out here anyway.”


Edith wiped her face on her sweater, leaving a smudge of powder on her sleeve. She took off the string of fake pearls, put them in her handbag, and went into the house. All the living room curtains were closed; the room was black. Edith flipped on the light switch and gasped. She dropped her handbag on the floor.


Mrs. Parker sat sideways in a chair, legs hanging over the arm. Her dress was crumpled above her knees, and her hair lay undone and in her eyes. The floor and coffee table were strewn with empty liquor bottles, and a brandy glass dangled in her pale hand.
         “Your father’s in prison,” she said. Her face was blotched with tears and her words slurred together. “I told him he was getting sloppy. That stupid son-of-a-bitch.”
         “Mom?” Edith ventured tentatively, “What happened?”
         “He was caught. They’ve known all along. They’ve been following him.” She took a swallow of brandy. “He had a client today. I told him he was getting sloppy.”
         Walking calmly over to the armchair, Edith took the brandy glass from her mother’s hand and set in on the rug.
         “Mom?” she said again, “If they’ve really been following him, they will come here. We have a lot of work to do.”
         Mrs. Parker just sighed, reaching for a half-empty bottle of red wine. “It’s useless,” she said, “Please pass me that wine; I can’t reach.”


Edith burst out the front door and yelled to Caleb. He came running from the backyard.
         “Dad’s in prison. We have to get rid of everything,” she said, telling him all she knew.          Caleb acted surprisingly calm. They went inside together, passed the living room where Mrs. Parker lay, and hurried down to the basement.
         “We really have to get rid of everything?” Caleb asked, looking around him. “Dad worked so hard for this.”
         “Everything.” Edith answered. She walked further into the room.


The basement was hot and sticky, and the smell of damp soil was overwhelming. All the windows were blacked out. The walls were painted stark white, and parts were covered in aluminum foil, the whole room glaring and refulgent. The concrete floors were covered in large sheets of plastic. Huge fans surrounded the room, humming so loudly that Edith couldn’t hear her own thoughts. Rows and rows of bright white shelves spanned the room, and fluorescent shop lights hung above each shelf, casting pools of brilliant light onto the floor. Huddled on the shelves were rows upon rows of perfect marijuana plants.


Edith walked down the rows of plants, running her fingers through the sea of green that they had raised and nurtured.
         “Rip down the paper from the windows last,” she told Caleb, “Let’s get to work.”


Edith took trays of marijuana up to the kitchen. Pulling a meat cleaver out of the butcher block, she chopped the plants into smaller pieces and stuffed them down the garbage disposal. Hurriedly, she destroyed tray after tray of marijuana. The kitchen filled with its odor, sweet and herbal. Sweat accumulated on her brow, but she worked unceasingly. Slowly the supply dwindled.


Caleb remained in the basement. He rummaged about, taking down lights and disconnecting hoses. He tore the aluminum off the walls and removed the plastic from the floor. Then he disassembled most of the shelves, leaving a few in the corner. When everything was in piles, he hauled armfuls of lights and hydroponics equipment to the garage, loading the trunk of his mother’s car.


When Edith had defeated the final marijuana plant, she returned to Caleb. “They’re gone,” she told him, wiping her hands on her skirt. She looked around the basement, and her jaw dropped. The room was hardly recognizable.
         “Take Mom’s car and get rid of this stuff.” Caleb said and tossed her the key ring. “Most of it is in the trunk.”


Edith sprinted up the stairs and into the garage. She got into her mother’s car and backed out of the driveway. Trying to stay within the speed limit, she headed for the landfill. Must not be stopped by police she thought, glancing at the speedometer. She flew through town, shopping centers and perfectly planned neighborhoods blurred into the countryside.


Edith sped down the gravel road that led to the landfill and stopped abruptly. There was no one there. She scrambled out of the car and opened the trunk. Bustling about, she threw the equipment out of the trunk madly. When everything was out, she got back in the car and rushed towards home.


Edith returned to the basement to find her mother assisting in Caleb’s efforts. Her hair was carelessly tied back into a ponytail and her navy dress was stained and wrinkled; she was dragging a crate full of old sports equipment across the floor.
         The paper was torn off the windows, and they were open, airing out the odors of soil and marijuana. The floor had been swept clean. Caleb was busy moving in junk from the garage and scattering it around the basement. They piled boxes in the corners, tools and coffee cans full of nails on the remaining shelves. An old guitar case and a fish tank were strategically placed over the two largest water stains on the floor.


As the sun sank beneath the horizon, Edith, Caleb, and Mrs. Parker looked for any evidence that they had failed to cover. They found none.



***


With her legs crossed at the ankles, Edith sat on the couch and worked math problems from her Algebra book. She wore a clean skirt and a yellow cardigan sweater. There was a hint of blush on the apples of her cheeks. Caleb lay on the floor clutching his science fiction book. Mrs. Parker sat daintily in an armchair, sipping a cup of very black coffee. She wore a starched floral dress and white pumps, and her hair was done up and fastened with a diamond barrette. “So what is our story?” she asked her children.
         “We can not believe that our father was a drug lord,” Caleb recited.
         “We had no idea,” added Edith picking the dirt out from under her fingernails.