grandmother on her birthday, Christmas, even Groundhog Day, the kid had more walking-around money than Josie did.
“I have to get Emma’s present from Dry Ice,” Amelia said. She sounded desperate. “It’s important, Mom.”
Josie knew it was. As a child, she’d shown up at too many birthday parties with off-brand Barbie dolls that Jane bought on sale. Josie’s mother had forgotten what it was like to be a kid. “Those dolls look just like the real thing,” Jane would say. “Children can’t tell the difference.”
But they could. Josie could remember the birthday girl’s curled lip when she unwrapped Josie’s gift. There was dead silence, until the girl’s mother prompted, “What do you say, Tara?”
Tara’s grudging “Thank you” was worse than an outright insult. Josie still felt the sting of shame twenty-two years later. Her daughter was never going to feel that way. Josie wasn’t a supermom, but she understood that much.
“What do you want to get Emma?” Josie said.
“Dry Ice has this laptop cosmetic kit. It’s sweet, Mom. Looks just like a laptop computer, except instead of keys it has sixty-six colors of lip gloss and eye shadow. The applicators are in the mouse pad. Emma will love it.”
“I’m sure,” Josie said. “But her mother won’t. You girls are not allowed to wear makeup.”
Amelia stuck out her lower lip. “Zoe does.”
Josie mashed her molars together again. Zoe’s mother had had her brains sucked out during her last liposuction. Zoe’s mother thought it was okay for her nine-year-old daughter to wear eyeliner and belly shirts. She let Zoe play laser tag, which Josie thought was way too dangerous for kids that age.
“Zoe gets to do everything. I don’t get to do anything,” Amelia said. The whine was back, worse than ever.
“If Zoe got to jump off the Poplar Street bridge, would you follow her?” Josie said. Omigod, I sound like my mother, she thought.
“Oh, Mooom,” Amelia said. “That’s not fun.”
Her whine would make any mom hit the margaritas. Give me strength, oh, Lord, Josie prayed. She’s not even a teenager yet.
“We’ll go to Dry Ice, but you’re not getting Emma a makeup kit,” Josie said. “How about a gift card? Then Emma can buy what she wants.”
The sunshine fairy must have waved her wand over Amelia. Josie’s daughter suddenly became all smiles. Her jutting chin was tucked back. Her lower lip retracted into a tender curve. The cinnamon sprinkle of freckles reappeared on her nose.
“Sweet,” Amelia said. “Cards are good. Thirty-five dollars?”
“Thirty, and that’s my final offer.”
“Sold,” Amelia said.
Josie realized she’d been suckered into paying for Emma’s gift. The fat wad of cash in Amelia’s sock drawer would remain untouched. Oh, well. Josie had her Soft Shoe bonus. She could afford the gift card. She’d planned to take Josh to dinner with that cash, but now it didn’t seem right to eat, drink, and be merry with money earned by getting a future murdered man fired.
As Josie’s car turned into their Maplewood street, the late-afternoon sun was smiling, too. It warmed the old brick houses to a mellow red and turned the broad lawns seed-catalog green. Jane’s flower garden glowed with the deep, rich colors of fall: dark reds, golds and oranges.
Two boys in baggy shorts skateboarded in the street, leaping a homemade wooden ramp. A small girl rode her pink bicycle on the sidewalk. A fat old man waddled along beside his fat old dog.
Stan the Man Next Door was giving his lawn a final mowing before winter set in. He waved. Josie and Amelia waved back.
Now he was a good neighbor, Josie thought. Too badMrs. Mueller, who lived on the other side, couldn’t be as nice as Stan.
The curtains twitched at Mrs. M’s house, but Josie ignored them.
Amelia grabbed her backpack and raced up the sidewalk, crying, “Grandma!”
Jane was waiting at Josie’s front door, arms folded stiffly over her chest. Oh, oh. A
“I have to get Emma’s present from Dry Ice,” Amelia said. She sounded desperate. “It’s important, Mom.”
Josie knew it was. As a child, she’d shown up at too many birthday parties with off-brand Barbie dolls that Jane bought on sale. Josie’s mother had forgotten what it was like to be a kid. “Those dolls look just like the real thing,” Jane would say. “Children can’t tell the difference.”
But they could. Josie could remember the birthday girl’s curled lip when she unwrapped Josie’s gift. There was dead silence, until the girl’s mother prompted, “What do you say, Tara?”
Tara’s grudging “Thank you” was worse than an outright insult. Josie still felt the sting of shame twenty-two years later. Her daughter was never going to feel that way. Josie wasn’t a supermom, but she understood that much.
“What do you want to get Emma?” Josie said.
“Dry Ice has this laptop cosmetic kit. It’s sweet, Mom. Looks just like a laptop computer, except instead of keys it has sixty-six colors of lip gloss and eye shadow. The applicators are in the mouse pad. Emma will love it.”
“I’m sure,” Josie said. “But her mother won’t. You girls are not allowed to wear makeup.”
Amelia stuck out her lower lip. “Zoe does.”
Josie mashed her molars together again. Zoe’s mother had had her brains sucked out during her last liposuction. Zoe’s mother thought it was okay for her nine-year-old daughter to wear eyeliner and belly shirts. She let Zoe play laser tag, which Josie thought was way too dangerous for kids that age.
“Zoe gets to do everything. I don’t get to do anything,” Amelia said. The whine was back, worse than ever.
“If Zoe got to jump off the Poplar Street bridge, would you follow her?” Josie said. Omigod, I sound like my mother, she thought.
“Oh, Mooom,” Amelia said. “That’s not fun.”
Her whine would make any mom hit the margaritas. Give me strength, oh, Lord, Josie prayed. She’s not even a teenager yet.
“We’ll go to Dry Ice, but you’re not getting Emma a makeup kit,” Josie said. “How about a gift card? Then Emma can buy what she wants.”
The sunshine fairy must have waved her wand over Amelia. Josie’s daughter suddenly became all smiles. Her jutting chin was tucked back. Her lower lip retracted into a tender curve. The cinnamon sprinkle of freckles reappeared on her nose.
“Sweet,” Amelia said. “Cards are good. Thirty-five dollars?”
“Thirty, and that’s my final offer.”
“Sold,” Amelia said.
Josie realized she’d been suckered into paying for Emma’s gift. The fat wad of cash in Amelia’s sock drawer would remain untouched. Oh, well. Josie had her Soft Shoe bonus. She could afford the gift card. She’d planned to take Josh to dinner with that cash, but now it didn’t seem right to eat, drink, and be merry with money earned by getting a future murdered man fired.
As Josie’s car turned into their Maplewood street, the late-afternoon sun was smiling, too. It warmed the old brick houses to a mellow red and turned the broad lawns seed-catalog green. Jane’s flower garden glowed with the deep, rich colors of fall: dark reds, golds and oranges.
Two boys in baggy shorts skateboarded in the street, leaping a homemade wooden ramp. A small girl rode her pink bicycle on the sidewalk. A fat old man waddled along beside his fat old dog.
Stan the Man Next Door was giving his lawn a final mowing before winter set in. He waved. Josie and Amelia waved back.
Now he was a good neighbor, Josie thought. Too badMrs. Mueller, who lived on the other side, couldn’t be as nice as Stan.
The curtains twitched at Mrs. M’s house, but Josie ignored them.
Amelia grabbed her backpack and raced up the sidewalk, crying, “Grandma!”
Jane was waiting at Josie’s front door, arms folded stiffly over her chest. Oh, oh. A
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