the laundry!” the cook exclaimed, laughing a little.
“Yes I do. It’s my chore.”
Sheila tucked a strand of blonde hair back under her head scarf. “No, you don’t! You’re a guest. Ask your great-aunt about it, okay?”
Briarly’s face lightened at this notion, and she began to eat. The cook went back to the stove. Then Arthur remembered the CD case in the attic and whispered, “Hey, are you sure you didn’t take that CD case?”
“No,” she hissed back.
“Okay,” said Arthur impatiently. “Did you hear anyone walking on your floor besides me?”
Briarly gave him a sidelong look. Encouraged, Arthur pressed further. “Did you see who it was?”
“I didn’t say I saw anybody,” she retorted.
An outcry from the dining room interrupted them. It was Richie’s voice. Briarly sighed heavily. So did Arthur. “That’s Pugsley,” said Arthur. “It must be tough to live with him.”
Briarly screwed up her face, but didn’t reply.
“Pugsley Poophead,” the boy corrected, deciding he liked this better. “I was looking for bats in the attic the other day,” he added, “but couldn’t find any.”
“Look at my sister,” Richie said, entering the kitchen. He sat down at the table and Sheila put a plate down for him. Arthur felt bleak. Richie would start something, he just knew it. His cousin’s nails were clean, so Richie must have found his mother’s polish remover. Arthur had been picking at his own polish and it was flaking off.
Richie looked pleased with himself. When Sheila turned away, he quietly lit a cigarette under the table and began to sneak puffs. The cook was too busy to notice.
“You can smoke?” whispered Arthur, astounded. “Where’d you get the cigarette?”
“From my shithead father, of course. Stupid fuck doesn’t know I steal them.”
Arthur considered tattling, but decided against it. His cousin would be vengeful, and Arthur didn’t know when his parents were going to leave.
“You can’t guess what I’ve done,” Richie said.
Briarly stopped chewing and looked sideways at her brother. She rolled her eyes warningly towards Sheila. Richie blasted smoke into Arthur’s face, and Arthur, irritated, blew it back. Richie menaced him with the burning tip.
Arthur shrank away. You couldn’t win with a boy who could always out-creep you, he thought bleakly.
The cigarette was coming closer, and Arthur knew he was going to have to yell for help or fry, when the door leading to the side yard opened. Richie whipped the cigarette underneath the tabletop.
It was Willowby. “Do you have my sandwich, Sheila?” he asked the cook. “What are you kids doing?” he added sharply. The chauffeur had noticed Richie’s violent twitch.
“Nothing,” said Richie, threatening Arthur with a look.
“I smell cigarette smoke. Has Colette been in here?” the chauffeur asked eagerly.
“She was earlier,” said Sheila. “Here’s your sandwich.”
“Thanks.”
Willowby began to eat while leaning against the door just behind Richie. “So, what have you kids been up too?” he asked conversationally.
A marveling look crawled across Richie’s face. The cigarette was still burning somewhere, and none of the children dared look for it. Arthur thought the smell of smoke was getting stronger.
“What do you have in your lap!?” exclaimed Willowby.
Arthur wasn’t sure who the chauffeur was talking to, until he realized curls of smoke were rising in front of his face. He flung his napkin aside and fell backwards, his chair crashing to the floor. Richie howled with delight.
“What happened, Arthur?” asked the cook, “did you fall?”
Willowby scooped up the burning napkin and cigarette and quickly doused them in the kitchen sink. Then he picked out the cigarette and his eyes narrowed. Before Sheila could turn, he threw both the napkin and cigarette in the trash.
“The kids
“Yes I do. It’s my chore.”
Sheila tucked a strand of blonde hair back under her head scarf. “No, you don’t! You’re a guest. Ask your great-aunt about it, okay?”
Briarly’s face lightened at this notion, and she began to eat. The cook went back to the stove. Then Arthur remembered the CD case in the attic and whispered, “Hey, are you sure you didn’t take that CD case?”
“No,” she hissed back.
“Okay,” said Arthur impatiently. “Did you hear anyone walking on your floor besides me?”
Briarly gave him a sidelong look. Encouraged, Arthur pressed further. “Did you see who it was?”
“I didn’t say I saw anybody,” she retorted.
An outcry from the dining room interrupted them. It was Richie’s voice. Briarly sighed heavily. So did Arthur. “That’s Pugsley,” said Arthur. “It must be tough to live with him.”
Briarly screwed up her face, but didn’t reply.
“Pugsley Poophead,” the boy corrected, deciding he liked this better. “I was looking for bats in the attic the other day,” he added, “but couldn’t find any.”
“Look at my sister,” Richie said, entering the kitchen. He sat down at the table and Sheila put a plate down for him. Arthur felt bleak. Richie would start something, he just knew it. His cousin’s nails were clean, so Richie must have found his mother’s polish remover. Arthur had been picking at his own polish and it was flaking off.
Richie looked pleased with himself. When Sheila turned away, he quietly lit a cigarette under the table and began to sneak puffs. The cook was too busy to notice.
“You can smoke?” whispered Arthur, astounded. “Where’d you get the cigarette?”
“From my shithead father, of course. Stupid fuck doesn’t know I steal them.”
Arthur considered tattling, but decided against it. His cousin would be vengeful, and Arthur didn’t know when his parents were going to leave.
“You can’t guess what I’ve done,” Richie said.
Briarly stopped chewing and looked sideways at her brother. She rolled her eyes warningly towards Sheila. Richie blasted smoke into Arthur’s face, and Arthur, irritated, blew it back. Richie menaced him with the burning tip.
Arthur shrank away. You couldn’t win with a boy who could always out-creep you, he thought bleakly.
The cigarette was coming closer, and Arthur knew he was going to have to yell for help or fry, when the door leading to the side yard opened. Richie whipped the cigarette underneath the tabletop.
It was Willowby. “Do you have my sandwich, Sheila?” he asked the cook. “What are you kids doing?” he added sharply. The chauffeur had noticed Richie’s violent twitch.
“Nothing,” said Richie, threatening Arthur with a look.
“I smell cigarette smoke. Has Colette been in here?” the chauffeur asked eagerly.
“She was earlier,” said Sheila. “Here’s your sandwich.”
“Thanks.”
Willowby began to eat while leaning against the door just behind Richie. “So, what have you kids been up too?” he asked conversationally.
A marveling look crawled across Richie’s face. The cigarette was still burning somewhere, and none of the children dared look for it. Arthur thought the smell of smoke was getting stronger.
“What do you have in your lap!?” exclaimed Willowby.
Arthur wasn’t sure who the chauffeur was talking to, until he realized curls of smoke were rising in front of his face. He flung his napkin aside and fell backwards, his chair crashing to the floor. Richie howled with delight.
“What happened, Arthur?” asked the cook, “did you fall?”
Willowby scooped up the burning napkin and cigarette and quickly doused them in the kitchen sink. Then he picked out the cigarette and his eyes narrowed. Before Sheila could turn, he threw both the napkin and cigarette in the trash.
“The kids
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