Getting Near to Baby by Audrey Couloumbis Page B

the hole they’d dug, roomy as a coal miner’s shaft, and about Liz’s mom being so friendly and sweet, and about the june bug Isaac gave to Little Sister. “She’s been running with it all morning,” I said. “It’s better than a dog on a leash.”
    â€œShe must be going to run it to death,” Mom said.
    â€œOh, they don’t last long anyway.” I didn’t really know how long an old june bug goes on. But I worried that if that june bug died, Little Sister would get to thinking about Baby. “Are you painting?” I said quickly.
    â€œMm-hmm. I packed up some samples and drove them on up to Asheville,” Mom said. “I got some extra work.”
    Mom was always looking for more work. But my chest went cold at hearing of the new job. It suddenly seemed to me that Mom was finding things were easier for her if we stayed with Aunt Patty.
    â€œWe must be running up a bill,” Mom said suddenly. “Put your aunt Patty back on and let me thank her for all she’s done for us. You take good care of Little Sister, hear?”
    â€œI hear.”
    After the phone call, Little Sister and I hardly had the energy to move. When we did, it was to avoid listening to Aunt Patty rattle on about the weather in a too-cheerful voice while sad music played on the radio. We moved to the front patio. I couldn’t help thinking how different Little Sister and I would feel if Mom had told us we were going home in a day or two.
    Aunt Patty opened the front door and looked out at us. “Yes, ma’am?” I said.
    â€œNothing,” Aunt Patty said. “Just listening for signs of life.” She went back inside and sat down near the door. I could hear her flipping the pages in one of her decorating magazines. I don’t know what she expected to hear besides breathing.
    â€œDid you and Liz have a falling out?” Aunt Patty asked once, through the doorway—hopefully, I thought.
    â€œNope.”
    â€œWhere do you think she is, then?”
    â€œHelping her mom, I guess,” I said listlessly. But then I said, “She’s real helpful because her mom’s expecting another baby, you know. Twins, maybe.”
    The thought of even more Fingers was too much for Aunt Patty. She shut the front door, saying something about turning on the air.

10
    Mrs. Wainwright’s Daughter
    W e’d been at Aunt Patty’s for about two weeks when we sat down to supper and Aunt Patty told us she had a surprise for us. “Mrs. Wainwright. is bringing her daughter, Cynthia, over to play tomorrow afternoon.”
    No one said anything to this. Not me. Not Uncle Hob. Little Sister looked at me.
    â€œThis is good news,” Aunt Patty said, like she had expected to see us jumping up and down for joy. “I didn’t know you were all that friendly with Lucy Wainwright,” Uncle Hob said.
    â€œI’m friendly with everyone,” Aunt Patty said firmly. “Just because we aren’t bosom buddies doesn’t mean we aren’t friendly.”
    â€œNo, of course not,” Uncle Hob said.
    â€œI don’t know what I have to do to see some smiling faces around here,” Aunt Patty said unhappily.
    Only Uncle Hob smiled.
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    The next day, Little Sister and I were standing at the picture window when Mrs. Wainwright and Cynthia drove up. They got out of their car looking like they were going to church. Cynthia was not wearing camp shorts and leather sandals.
    â€œI don’t think she came to play,” I said over my shoulder to Aunt Patty.
    â€œOf course she did,” Aunt Patty said, her voice getting high-pitched because she was rushing around the room, giving the toss pillows a last plump and brushing imaginary crumbs off Uncle Hob’s chair.
    The doorbell rang.
    â€œThey’ve come to the front door,” I said.
    â€œWell, of course they’ve come to the front door,” Aunt Patty said, like it happened