Absolutely Truly by Heather Vogel Frederick Page B

the usual response to one of my father’s orders. “Who made you boss?” she retorted.
    The two of them were too wrapped up in their quarrel to notice me, so I quietly slung my jacket and backpack onto the old church pew by the door that served as a bench.
    My father’s face was the same color as Lucas Winthrop’s mitten-and-scarf set, a sure warning sign that an explosion was imminent. This didn’t seem to faze Aunt True in the least.
    â€œWe’re running this place together, J. T., remember?” she continued.
    â€œWe’re already saddled with a stupid dog,” my dad told her. “We don’t need a cat, too.”
    The “stupid dog” in question was curled up on her bed by the sales counter, watching this exchange anxiously.
    â€œMemphis has been with me through thick and thin,” replied Aunt True. “He’ll get lonely upstairs all by himself.”
    Aunt True had been dog-sitting until we got settled. Miss Marple was scheduled to go home with us tonight, and Lauren could hardly contain herself. She’s always wanted a dog, but our constant moves—one of them overseas—had ruled that out.
    â€œBesides,” Aunt True continued, “the two of them are already great friends.”
    It was possible that she was stretching the truth. Memphiswas perched on the sales counter staring balefully down at my grandparents’ dog, his coal-black tail lashing back and forth. By the wary expression on Miss Marple’s face as she glanced up at him, I figured it for an uneasy truce at best.
    â€œThe two of us are a package deal,” Aunt True stated firmly. “If Memphis goes, I go.”
    Hearing her bicker with my father reminded me of Hatcher and Danny. It was weird to think that to Aunt True, my dad wasn’t a lieutenant colonel in the United States Army, but just her baby brother.
    The muscles in my father’s jaw twitched. He swiveled on his heel. “Fine,” he said, stalking off toward the office. “But one whiff of litter box and he’s out of here.”
    Aunt True spotted me and smiled. “Truly!” She came over and gave me a hug. “Cup of tea?”
    â€œNo, thanks,” I replied.
    â€œYou’d better be off to the dragon’s lair, then.” She nodded toward the office door. “Watch your step in there; he’s a little cranky today. Bossy older sister, out of his element, too many pets. You know the drill.”
    She disappeared toward the back of the store and I headed into the office. “Truly Lovejoy reporting for duty,” I announced with a smart salute, hoping to get a smile out of my father.
    No such luck. He was too busy frowning at a piece of paper clamped in the steel pincers at the end of his prosthesis.
    â€œI’ve got you set up over there,” he said, waving his left hand at the other desk.
    I slid into the beat-up leather swivel chair in front of it and stared glumly at the book that was waiting for me. Pre-Algebra for the Clueless! blared the familiar bright blue-and-black cover from the Clueless series.
    â€œWe’ll start at the beginning and work our way through,” my father said, still not looking up.
    â€œBut—” I began. It wasn’t like I was a complete moron at math, after all.
    â€œA firm foundation is the key to success,” he continued, ignoring my protest. “That and review, review, review. Oh, and there are worksheets, too.”
    Of course there were. I sighed and opened the book. At the beginning, just like he’d ordered.
    An hour later, my head was spinning. I was algebra-ed and Lieutenant-Colonel-Jericho-T.-Lovejoy-ed out. “Can I go help Aunt True now, please?” I begged, handing over my latest worksheet.
    My father inspected the results, then nodded. “Dismissed.”
    I scuttled out before he could change his mind.
    Aunt True was nowhere to be seen, but I could hear rustling in the back of the