Nora by Constance C. Greene Page A

like the trees best. Sometimes I put in raisins for eyes.”
    He nodded, not finding that odd. “They’re very good,” he said, taking a bite. “Like Mother used to make.”
    â€œThis is my mother’s recipe,” I said. “Only hers were better.”
    Bright patches of color stained Chuck’s cheeks and he said, “I’m sorry.”
    He had on a blue-and-red plaid shirt, and his cheeks matched the red in his shirt. He grabbed hold of the kitchen doorknob, and I figured he wanted out. I could see he felt terrible about what he’d said. Maybe he felt worse than I did.
    â€œMy mother died three years ago,” I said, and I heard my voice tremble. No matter how many times I say it, my voice always trembles when I say “My mother died.”
    â€œI know and I forgot,” he said. “I’m very sorry.”
    â€œMy father might get married again.” I don’t know why I said that. I hadn’t planned to. “Patsy and I don’t want him to. We don’t like her. We don’t want her for a stepmother. We’re going out for dinner with her on Saturday.” I almost said “I dread it,” but I didn’t.
    Chuck cleared his throat. “Stepmothers aren’t so bad,” he said. “I have one. She’s pretty nice. I always forget she’s not my real mother. I never knew my real mother. She died when I was a baby.”
    That made me feel really rotten. Now it was my turn to say “I’m sorry.”
    â€œI have a whole brother and a half brother,” Chuck went on. “She loves us all the same. There’s no difference. She has plenty to go around. Can I have another cookie?”
    â€œSure. Take all you want. What do you do for fun and games out in Iowa?” I asked him. What Chuck had said seemed to me extraordinary, that his stepmother loved them all the same.
    â€œWell, we have 4H Club meetings,” he said. “4H Club is a big deal where I come from.”
    â€œWhat’s 4H Club?” I said.
    The timer beeped again. I took out the second batch of cookies and they looked better than the first. I set them on a rack to cool and put the last batch in.
    â€œ4H Club is about livestock—cows, calves, pigs, lambs,” Chuck said. “I got the prize last year for the best pig. She was a beauty. Her tail was perfect. No offense, but her name was Nora.”
    I looked at him. He wasn’t smiling or anything.
    â€œYou had a pig named Nora,” I said. “How come?”
    â€œI just liked the name,” he said. “She took a blue ribbon at the state fair.”
    I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Oh, your pig named Nora with the perfect tail took a blue ribbon at the state fair. Cool.
    â€œI never knew a person named Nora before I met you,” he said. “It must be fate.”
    We smiled at each other. I didn’t know what to say, and I don’t think Chuck did either.
    The doorbell rang. Yeah!
    â€œMy hands are all gooky,” I said. “Go see who it is, will you? And if it’s the Avon lady, tell her we don’t need any.”
    Chuck went to the door. I heard him talking to someone. He came back and said, “It’s a girl named Roberta. She says she has to talk to you about something very important.”
    â€œWhat does she need, an appointment? Roberta! Get out here, you gross-out! We’re having a feast!” I shouted.
    Roberta was duded up in her new riding skirt her mother ordered from a very exclusive catalog devoted to nothing but expensive riding outfits. Roberta has an anxiety attack if she even gets near a horse, but her mother thought the skirt would elongate Roberta, make her look slim. Slimmer.
    â€œI didn’t know you had company,” said Roberta, lying through her teeth. I figure she saw Chuck at the door as she and her mother drove by, and her mother let her out of the car at the corner and Roberta