Don’t wait for an invitation. Come up anytime.”
He called good night from the top of the stairs and stood there, letting his apartment light shine down on us. Next door I could see Miss Coriander in her kitchen stirring something in a blue bowl. Their kitchen is like a storage room, piled high with cardboard containers overflowing with the dried pods and buttons and pinecones and wire that she and Miss Sarah use to make the Christmas wreaths they give away. The Raggedy Anns Miss Sarah is making for their church sale sat in a row on the table. I could see the stacks of newspaper they keep for recycling. It looked nice. Safe and messy and normal.
Mom had taken her keys from her purse, and waved back to Nick as she opened our door.
I stepped in front of her and turned on the hall light. Nobody. Of course not. I had toquit this imagining. When I plugged in the tree, the red, blue, and yellow bulbs twinkled and shone, tumbling their colors across the ceiling. Cheerful, Christmasy. Nothing to worry about. I went around then, lighting up the whole house.
Mom met me in the hallway. “Hon, I’m going to go straight in for my bath and bed. Do you want to watch TV for a while? Or read?”
I nodded.
“I’ll try not to wake you in the morning when I leave. I should be home shortly after six.” She hesitated, and I thought she was going to hassle me about being rude to Nick, but instead she put her hands on my shoulders and said: “I love you very much, Marcus. Nothing can change that. Nobody can change that.” She was looking so deeply into my eyes that I thought she might be able to see through them, into my brain, see the thoughts scuttling nervously around. “I truly don’t know if Nick and I care for each other in any serious way,” she said, “but I promise you something. I will tell you if it gets to be like that. You will be the first to know. OK?”
I tried to smile. “OK.”
“Good night, Marky.”
“Sleep tight, Mom.”
I went back in the living room and slumped on the couch. She didn’t know if she and Nick cared for each other seriously. It could all fall through. I would start thinking negatively that it would. I imagined Nick giving up the apartment, disappearing. A nice young couple with two kids would rent the place and they’d have me baby-sit and the kids would call me Unky Marky. Two kids might be too much. OK, one kid. I wondered if Anjelica Trotter had babysitting jobs. A lot of the girls did.
Mom was still in the bathroom, so I went through the kitchen to use the little half bath off the laundry room. On the floor, right in front of the toilet, were two dumps of bright, fresh green. My heart began pumping up a storm as I leaned over and touched one with the tip of my finger. It fell apart into a scatter of grass. What the …? The other clump was still intact.
I sat back on my heels, looking at it. Nick had cut our front lawn yesterday. Somebody had walked across it since then and the grass had stuck on the soles of his shoes. Thesomeone had come in here and used the toilet and the grass had fallen off. Who? Not Robbie or I today. Not Mom. She always drives straight into the garage. And tonight we hadn’t gone near the lawn. Nick again? When? I’d watched him yesterday as he put everything away. He hadn’t come in the house. Today then. But why would he come down here when he had his own bathroom upstairs? It didn’t make sense. And Miss Sarah hadn’t seen him. Hard for him to slip past her.
Carefully I picked up the wad of grass and cradled it in my hand. No clues here. No wonderful, distinctive rubber sole marks. Nothing. It cracked in two as I examined it and I dropped half into the toilet and flushed it away. The other piece was thicker, rubbery. I set it, whole, on the windowsill.
“Marcus?” That was Mom calling.
“Coming.”
Mom was standing in the living room. She wore her dark-blue robe and her hair hung in little wet strands on her shoulders. “Have you seen my
He called good night from the top of the stairs and stood there, letting his apartment light shine down on us. Next door I could see Miss Coriander in her kitchen stirring something in a blue bowl. Their kitchen is like a storage room, piled high with cardboard containers overflowing with the dried pods and buttons and pinecones and wire that she and Miss Sarah use to make the Christmas wreaths they give away. The Raggedy Anns Miss Sarah is making for their church sale sat in a row on the table. I could see the stacks of newspaper they keep for recycling. It looked nice. Safe and messy and normal.
Mom had taken her keys from her purse, and waved back to Nick as she opened our door.
I stepped in front of her and turned on the hall light. Nobody. Of course not. I had toquit this imagining. When I plugged in the tree, the red, blue, and yellow bulbs twinkled and shone, tumbling their colors across the ceiling. Cheerful, Christmasy. Nothing to worry about. I went around then, lighting up the whole house.
Mom met me in the hallway. “Hon, I’m going to go straight in for my bath and bed. Do you want to watch TV for a while? Or read?”
I nodded.
“I’ll try not to wake you in the morning when I leave. I should be home shortly after six.” She hesitated, and I thought she was going to hassle me about being rude to Nick, but instead she put her hands on my shoulders and said: “I love you very much, Marcus. Nothing can change that. Nobody can change that.” She was looking so deeply into my eyes that I thought she might be able to see through them, into my brain, see the thoughts scuttling nervously around. “I truly don’t know if Nick and I care for each other in any serious way,” she said, “but I promise you something. I will tell you if it gets to be like that. You will be the first to know. OK?”
I tried to smile. “OK.”
“Good night, Marky.”
“Sleep tight, Mom.”
I went back in the living room and slumped on the couch. She didn’t know if she and Nick cared for each other seriously. It could all fall through. I would start thinking negatively that it would. I imagined Nick giving up the apartment, disappearing. A nice young couple with two kids would rent the place and they’d have me baby-sit and the kids would call me Unky Marky. Two kids might be too much. OK, one kid. I wondered if Anjelica Trotter had babysitting jobs. A lot of the girls did.
Mom was still in the bathroom, so I went through the kitchen to use the little half bath off the laundry room. On the floor, right in front of the toilet, were two dumps of bright, fresh green. My heart began pumping up a storm as I leaned over and touched one with the tip of my finger. It fell apart into a scatter of grass. What the …? The other clump was still intact.
I sat back on my heels, looking at it. Nick had cut our front lawn yesterday. Somebody had walked across it since then and the grass had stuck on the soles of his shoes. Thesomeone had come in here and used the toilet and the grass had fallen off. Who? Not Robbie or I today. Not Mom. She always drives straight into the garage. And tonight we hadn’t gone near the lawn. Nick again? When? I’d watched him yesterday as he put everything away. He hadn’t come in the house. Today then. But why would he come down here when he had his own bathroom upstairs? It didn’t make sense. And Miss Sarah hadn’t seen him. Hard for him to slip past her.
Carefully I picked up the wad of grass and cradled it in my hand. No clues here. No wonderful, distinctive rubber sole marks. Nothing. It cracked in two as I examined it and I dropped half into the toilet and flushed it away. The other piece was thicker, rubbery. I set it, whole, on the windowsill.
“Marcus?” That was Mom calling.
“Coming.”
Mom was standing in the living room. She wore her dark-blue robe and her hair hung in little wet strands on her shoulders. “Have you seen my
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