The Pinballs by Betsy Byars Page B

had always suspected. He had even searched the trash cans for scraps.
    â€œShe never wrote you.”
    â€œI don’t believe that.” Harvey was holding his fork in both hands as if he was going to snap it in two. “She wrote and you tore up the letters. You probably flushed them down the toilet.” He looked across the restaurant at a fat woman begging her thin son to eat just one more French fried potato.
    â€œLook at me, son.” Harvey’s father’s voice sounded so low and strange that he had to look. “She never wrote you,” he said, “not one time.” He pronounced every word carefully.
    â€œShe would write if she knew I had two broken legs.”
    â€œShe didn’t write when she knew you had the appendectomy.”
    â€œShe didn’t know about that.”
    â€œI wrote her.”
    â€œHow about the measles?”
    â€œI wrote her then too.”
    â€œAnd she didn’t answer?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI don’t believe you.”
    â€œ No! ”
    As soon as his father said “No” in that way, Harvey knew it was true. He suddenly felt old and tired. He looked down at the fork in his hands. A moment before he had felt as if he could snap it in two. Now he could no longer even hold it. He let it drop to his plate.
    He looked up at his father, taking in all his features. Maybe, he thought, it was because he looked so much like his father. Could his mother, hating his father, hate him too just because of his looks? She was always saying “You’re your father’s son,” and he had known it was not a compliment—but could she hate him because of his looks?
    â€œEat your supper, Son.”
    â€œAll right.”
    â€œIs your steak too tough?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWell, eat.”
    Harvey picked up his fork. He barely had the strength to move his baked potato. Finally he managed to cut his potato so it looked eaten, and to hide some of his steak, but he couldn’t eat a bite.
    Carlie was still standing in the doorway. “Where’d you eat?” she asked.
    â€œBonanza.”
    â€œLucky! We had tuna casserole. One night I’m going to make tacos for everybody. Are they good!”
    Carlie stood in the doorway, watching Harvey’s back. Harvey was trying to get the strength to lift himself onto his bed. He wished for one of those special hospital lifting bars.
    Carlie said, “Oh, by the way, one of the Benson twins died today—you know the old ladies Thomas J used to live with?” She came into the room. “Or did you hear about it?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œHeart failure.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œIt was Jefferson that died. Hey, and guess what the other twin’s name was?”
    â€œI can’t.”
    â€œThomas! Get it? Thomas and Jefferson! Thomas Jefferson! ” She hooted with delight. “Whoo, how’s that for names? You know, one time somebody told me they knew twins named Pen and Pencil, but I didn’t believe it till now.”
    Harvey sat silent in his wheelchair, hunched forward like an old benched player.
    â€œThomas J is leaving in the morning to see the remaining twin and go to the funeral and all.” She sighed.
    â€œEverybody here is having some excitement in their lives but me. You go off to Bonanza and Thomas J to a funeral.”
    She paused. Harvey was still staring at his bed. “I don’t think I can make it,” he said.
    â€œWhat? Oh, you want to lie down? Here, I’ll help you.” She started forward.
    â€œNo, I don’t think I can make it—period.”
    Carlie stopped in the middle of the room when she realized Harvey was talking about more than getting in bed. “Harvey, you have to make it.”
    â€œI really don’t think I can.”
    â€œBecause, Harvey, listen, you’re one of us—you and me and Thomas J are a set. And I’ve got used to you, Harvey. When I get used to