three-cent stamp, the two bent pipe cleaners, the half pack of stomach mints.
“Yes, wait till you lose your father. Then you’ll appreciate him.”
“I’ve already lost him.”
“Don’t you talk like that. Your father’s had to raise two families and all by himself. When Poppa died, Sammy had to go to work and support all of us before he was even out of high school, and now he’s got this family to support too. It’s not easy, I’m telling you that. You raise two families and then I’ll listen to what you’ve got to say against your father.”
Sara let herself drop to the ground and said, “I better go. Mary and I are going to look for Charlie.”
“Where?”
“Up the hill.”
“Well, don’t you get lost,” Aunt Willie called after her.
From the Hutchinsons’ yard some children called, “Have you found Charlie yet, Sara?” They were making a garden in the dust, carefully planting flowers without roots in neat rows. Already the first flowers were beginning to wilt in the hot sun.
“I’m going to look for him now.”
“Sawa?” It was the youngest Hutchinson boy, who was three and sometimes came over to play with Charlie.
“What?”
“Sawa?”
“What?”
“Sawa?”
“What?”
“Sawa, I got gwass.” He held up two fists of grass he had just pulled from one of the few remaining clumps in the yard.
“Yes, that’s fine. I’ll tell Charlie when I see him.”
Chapter Fourteen
S ara and Mary had decided that they would go to the lake and walk up behind the houses toward the woods. Sara was now on her way to Mary’s, passing the vacant lot where a baseball game was in progress. She glanced up and watched as she walked down the sidewalk.
The baseball game had been going on for an hour with the score still zero to zero and the players, dusty and tired, were playing silently, without hope.
She was almost past the field when she heard someone call, “Hey, have you found your brother yet, Sara?”
She recognized the voice of Joe Melby and said, “No,” without looking at him.
“What?”
She turned, looked directly at him, and said, “You will be pleased and delighted to learn that we have not.” She continued walking down the street. The blood began to pound in her head. Joe Melby was the one person she did not want to see on this particular day. There was something disturbing about him. She did not know him, really, had hardly even spoken to him, and yet she hated him so much the sight of him made her sick.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No.”
“If he’s up in the woods, I could help look. I know about as much about those hills as anybody.” He left the game and started walking behind her with his hands in his pockets.
“No, thank you.”
“I want to help.”
She swirled around and faced him, her eyes blazing. “I do not want your help.” They looked at each other. Something twisted inside her and she felt suddenly ill. She thought she would never drink cherry Kool-Aid again as long as she lived.
Joe Melby did not say anything but moved one foot back and forth on the sidewalk, shuffling at some sand. “Do you—”
“Anybody who would steal a little boy’s watch,” she said, cutting off his words, and it was a relief to make this accusation to his face at last, “is somebody whose help I can very well do without.” Her head was pounding so loudly she could hardly hear her own words. For months, ever since the incident of the stolen watch, she had waited for this moment, had planned exactly what she would say. Now that it was said, she did not feel the triumph she had imagined at all.
“Is that what’s wrong with you?” He looked at her. “You think I stole your brother’s watch?”
“I know you did.”
“How?”
“Because I asked Charlie who stole his watch and I kept asking him and one day on the school bus when I asked him he pointed right straight at you.
“He was confused—”
“He wasn’t that confused. You probably thought
“Yes, wait till you lose your father. Then you’ll appreciate him.”
“I’ve already lost him.”
“Don’t you talk like that. Your father’s had to raise two families and all by himself. When Poppa died, Sammy had to go to work and support all of us before he was even out of high school, and now he’s got this family to support too. It’s not easy, I’m telling you that. You raise two families and then I’ll listen to what you’ve got to say against your father.”
Sara let herself drop to the ground and said, “I better go. Mary and I are going to look for Charlie.”
“Where?”
“Up the hill.”
“Well, don’t you get lost,” Aunt Willie called after her.
From the Hutchinsons’ yard some children called, “Have you found Charlie yet, Sara?” They were making a garden in the dust, carefully planting flowers without roots in neat rows. Already the first flowers were beginning to wilt in the hot sun.
“I’m going to look for him now.”
“Sawa?” It was the youngest Hutchinson boy, who was three and sometimes came over to play with Charlie.
“What?”
“Sawa?”
“What?”
“Sawa?”
“What?”
“Sawa, I got gwass.” He held up two fists of grass he had just pulled from one of the few remaining clumps in the yard.
“Yes, that’s fine. I’ll tell Charlie when I see him.”
Chapter Fourteen
S ara and Mary had decided that they would go to the lake and walk up behind the houses toward the woods. Sara was now on her way to Mary’s, passing the vacant lot where a baseball game was in progress. She glanced up and watched as she walked down the sidewalk.
The baseball game had been going on for an hour with the score still zero to zero and the players, dusty and tired, were playing silently, without hope.
She was almost past the field when she heard someone call, “Hey, have you found your brother yet, Sara?”
She recognized the voice of Joe Melby and said, “No,” without looking at him.
“What?”
She turned, looked directly at him, and said, “You will be pleased and delighted to learn that we have not.” She continued walking down the street. The blood began to pound in her head. Joe Melby was the one person she did not want to see on this particular day. There was something disturbing about him. She did not know him, really, had hardly even spoken to him, and yet she hated him so much the sight of him made her sick.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No.”
“If he’s up in the woods, I could help look. I know about as much about those hills as anybody.” He left the game and started walking behind her with his hands in his pockets.
“No, thank you.”
“I want to help.”
She swirled around and faced him, her eyes blazing. “I do not want your help.” They looked at each other. Something twisted inside her and she felt suddenly ill. She thought she would never drink cherry Kool-Aid again as long as she lived.
Joe Melby did not say anything but moved one foot back and forth on the sidewalk, shuffling at some sand. “Do you—”
“Anybody who would steal a little boy’s watch,” she said, cutting off his words, and it was a relief to make this accusation to his face at last, “is somebody whose help I can very well do without.” Her head was pounding so loudly she could hardly hear her own words. For months, ever since the incident of the stolen watch, she had waited for this moment, had planned exactly what she would say. Now that it was said, she did not feel the triumph she had imagined at all.
“Is that what’s wrong with you?” He looked at her. “You think I stole your brother’s watch?”
“I know you did.”
“How?”
“Because I asked Charlie who stole his watch and I kept asking him and one day on the school bus when I asked him he pointed right straight at you.
“He was confused—”
“He wasn’t that confused. You probably thought
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