hot tea. It wouldn’t be so dark. The city has lights at night, even small ones in the backs of the stores.
There’s life outside here, Pop reminded us, even if there aren’t neighbors. One night before he left, he talked about being on a farm when he was growing up. “We had a stream, too,” he said. “I’d open my window at night and listen to the frogs croaking and the insects buzzing. Soon you’ll hear that.” He sat back, remembering. “There’s so much going on under the water, fish gliding along, their mouths open, turtles taking slow steps.”
I open the window, just a little, but I don’t hear anything; it’s quiet out there. I run my hand over the cold glass, comforting myself with thoughts of daddy longlegs climbing over the rocks, and birds fluffed up, asleep. I even picture chipmunks tucked under the rocks.
“Clarence, are you out there?” I whisper.
And where is Pop now? Before he left, we walked outside together and I know he was trying to cram everything into my head before he was gone. “I’ve paid the rent forMay,” he said. “Be careful of money. You’ll need it for June.” He shook his head. “That’s a long way off.”
“Don’t worry,” I told him, my voice as strong as I could make it.
“It’s a terrible thing to leave you on your own.” I could hear the fear in his voice. “If we were in the city, there’d be people you could go to if you needed help quickly. But here, the closest neighbors are almost two miles away.”
He put his hand on my shoulder. “There aren’t any people near the farm, but Mr. Brancato at the grocery store would help.” He hesitates. “The real estate man is there, too.”
But I remembered what Pop had said to me once.
Chin out
. I said it back to him now. “We’ll do this on our own. We don’t need to ask for help.” Then I added, “The three of us, you’ll see.”
When it was time for him to leave, we watched and waved from the mailbox as long as we could. In the early-morning light, he went down the road toward town with a small bag under his arm, hurrying to catch the bus. I thought about running after him but held on to the mailbox instead.
Now I look out the window at the dark. A gust of wind rattles the pane; it sounds like teeth chattering. I’ve left the bedroom door open, but I’m not sure that was such a good idea. The stairs creak as if someone is coming up them, and something scurries inside the walls.
Scurries?
A mouse?
I tiptoe to close the door. “Only Mickey Mouse,” I whisper, shivering. “Only Minnie Mouse.”
It takes a long time for me to open the door again and poke my head out. Suppose something is in the hall.
What?
I can’t imagine.
I look up at the stained-glass window, so different without the sunlight behind it. But then a pale shaft of light flickers beyond the glass. See, the moon is shining up there after all.
I hear a sound. Crying? Someone crying? I take a step back.
It’s Cassie.
Only Cassie.
“What are you doing out in the hall?” I ask.
For a moment, I wish we were sharing a bedroom again.
“I’m hungry.” She blinks hard. She doesn’t want me to see her tears. “Starving. That was a terrible dinner.”
I’d volunteered to cook pancakes, but when I tried to take them out of the pan, they crumpled up like miniature accordions. I’m certainly not hungry now. The accordions seem to have unfolded in my stomach. But I don’t want to go back into my dark bedroom—not by myself.
I look at Cassie. She’s afraid. She has always been afraid of the dark. “Let’s go to the kitchen,” she says, and we go down the stairs together.
There’s still a glow from the fire and Cassie moves like a cheetah, climbing up on the counter, opening drawers. She finds a couple of cookies I made and tossesone to me, but I miss and it hits the table, sounding like a rock.
“Some cook you are,” she says, but she’s almost smiling.
“It was the first time I ever made anything. Miss
There’s life outside here, Pop reminded us, even if there aren’t neighbors. One night before he left, he talked about being on a farm when he was growing up. “We had a stream, too,” he said. “I’d open my window at night and listen to the frogs croaking and the insects buzzing. Soon you’ll hear that.” He sat back, remembering. “There’s so much going on under the water, fish gliding along, their mouths open, turtles taking slow steps.”
I open the window, just a little, but I don’t hear anything; it’s quiet out there. I run my hand over the cold glass, comforting myself with thoughts of daddy longlegs climbing over the rocks, and birds fluffed up, asleep. I even picture chipmunks tucked under the rocks.
“Clarence, are you out there?” I whisper.
And where is Pop now? Before he left, we walked outside together and I know he was trying to cram everything into my head before he was gone. “I’ve paid the rent forMay,” he said. “Be careful of money. You’ll need it for June.” He shook his head. “That’s a long way off.”
“Don’t worry,” I told him, my voice as strong as I could make it.
“It’s a terrible thing to leave you on your own.” I could hear the fear in his voice. “If we were in the city, there’d be people you could go to if you needed help quickly. But here, the closest neighbors are almost two miles away.”
He put his hand on my shoulder. “There aren’t any people near the farm, but Mr. Brancato at the grocery store would help.” He hesitates. “The real estate man is there, too.”
But I remembered what Pop had said to me once.
Chin out
. I said it back to him now. “We’ll do this on our own. We don’t need to ask for help.” Then I added, “The three of us, you’ll see.”
When it was time for him to leave, we watched and waved from the mailbox as long as we could. In the early-morning light, he went down the road toward town with a small bag under his arm, hurrying to catch the bus. I thought about running after him but held on to the mailbox instead.
Now I look out the window at the dark. A gust of wind rattles the pane; it sounds like teeth chattering. I’ve left the bedroom door open, but I’m not sure that was such a good idea. The stairs creak as if someone is coming up them, and something scurries inside the walls.
Scurries?
A mouse?
I tiptoe to close the door. “Only Mickey Mouse,” I whisper, shivering. “Only Minnie Mouse.”
It takes a long time for me to open the door again and poke my head out. Suppose something is in the hall.
What?
I can’t imagine.
I look up at the stained-glass window, so different without the sunlight behind it. But then a pale shaft of light flickers beyond the glass. See, the moon is shining up there after all.
I hear a sound. Crying? Someone crying? I take a step back.
It’s Cassie.
Only Cassie.
“What are you doing out in the hall?” I ask.
For a moment, I wish we were sharing a bedroom again.
“I’m hungry.” She blinks hard. She doesn’t want me to see her tears. “Starving. That was a terrible dinner.”
I’d volunteered to cook pancakes, but when I tried to take them out of the pan, they crumpled up like miniature accordions. I’m certainly not hungry now. The accordions seem to have unfolded in my stomach. But I don’t want to go back into my dark bedroom—not by myself.
I look at Cassie. She’s afraid. She has always been afraid of the dark. “Let’s go to the kitchen,” she says, and we go down the stairs together.
There’s still a glow from the fire and Cassie moves like a cheetah, climbing up on the counter, opening drawers. She finds a couple of cookies I made and tossesone to me, but I miss and it hits the table, sounding like a rock.
“Some cook you are,” she says, but she’s almost smiling.
“It was the first time I ever made anything. Miss
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