talk about?
Shopping? Bridge? Recipes? She spends all her time doing things that don’t interest me.
But I never knew she minded.
Barbara Feigenbaum let out a sigh. “It’s the age. So much going on in those little heads.”
“If you like, I’ll ask Harriet point-blank. She doesn’t seem to be spending as much time with Annie as usual. Maybe they’re spatting.” Spatting ? thought Harriet. What trunk did she drag that one out of?
Barbara sighed again. “I’m at my wit’s end, I’m telling you. My heart breaks for that child, what she’s been through with all this upheaval. It’s dragged on for months. My poor sister’s a wreck. I can’t wait till this nightmare is over.” Harriet’s ears perked up. Now they were getting somewhere. What nightmare? she thought. I want details. Maybe I’ll even find out about P.
“I’m sure,” Mrs. Welsch sounded sympathetic. “It’s been so hard on all of you.”
“Hardest on Annie,” said Barbara Feigenbaum. She loves her niece, Harriet realized. The Feigenbaums seemed so entirely clueless, off in their own child-free world, that it had never occurred to her that they really cared about Annie.
Harriet heard Barbara Feigenbaum’s chair scrape the floor as she pushed it back, rising to go. Rats, she thought, scampering toward the staircase as quietly as she could manage. They were so close .
Harriet tried to sink back into her everyday spy routine, but it wasn’t the same without Douglas and Balsam Fir. Or without Annie. I don’t want to spend this much time by myself, she realized.
She called up Sport, who was happy to hear from her. “Been a long time,” he said.
“How was your New Year? Did you stay up till midnight and watch the ball drop?”
“Yeah. It was boring.”
“It always is. I don’t get New Year’s Eve. It just seems like an excuse to get drunk and act stupid in public, for people who don’t really need an excuse.” Harriet laughed. I’ve missed him, she thought. We agree about so many things.
“You know what I did on New Year’s Eve?” she said. “I read through a whole year’s worth of spy notebooks.”
“Really?” Sport sounded impressed. “How long did that take?”
“I don’t really know. I fell asleep in my bed with the light on.” This time it was Sport’s turn to laugh. “My dad does that every night. I used to go into his bedroom as soon as I woke up and turn it off for him. Sometimes I’d find him asleep in his chair with his face on the desk.”
“Does Kate do that for him now?” Harriet lounged on her bed with the long cord stretched over her body, twisting it with her toe.
“I guess so.” Sport sounded a little bit wistful. “The door’s always closed. All I really know is what time he stops typing.”
Harriet thought of the dinners she’d had at Sport’s, how much she admired the quick bursts of rhythm when Matthew Rocque got up a real head of steam. She preferred peacock blue ink, but there was something very impressive about the mechanical tap dance of fingers that yielded a manuscript. “What are you doing tonight?” she asked Sport. “Would you want to come over or something?”
“Too much homework,” he said. “And I’m baking a sourdough. I still have to knead it and punch it down after it rises. How about tomorrow, right after school? We could go to the park if it’s nice out.”
“I’d love it,” said Harriet. “Have a good sourdough.” The next day was cold but not windy, so Sport and Harriet headed for Carl Schurz Park. A tugboat plowed through the East River, dragging a giant barge. The path along the embankment was still sunny next to the rail, though the pensioners sitting on benches looked frozen in place. Harriet felt strangely awkward with Sport as they strolled along the river. She wondered why, when she’d felt so completely at home with him on the phone. I’m not used to him being this tall , she decided. Sport had no right to grow so much faster than
Shopping? Bridge? Recipes? She spends all her time doing things that don’t interest me.
But I never knew she minded.
Barbara Feigenbaum let out a sigh. “It’s the age. So much going on in those little heads.”
“If you like, I’ll ask Harriet point-blank. She doesn’t seem to be spending as much time with Annie as usual. Maybe they’re spatting.” Spatting ? thought Harriet. What trunk did she drag that one out of?
Barbara sighed again. “I’m at my wit’s end, I’m telling you. My heart breaks for that child, what she’s been through with all this upheaval. It’s dragged on for months. My poor sister’s a wreck. I can’t wait till this nightmare is over.” Harriet’s ears perked up. Now they were getting somewhere. What nightmare? she thought. I want details. Maybe I’ll even find out about P.
“I’m sure,” Mrs. Welsch sounded sympathetic. “It’s been so hard on all of you.”
“Hardest on Annie,” said Barbara Feigenbaum. She loves her niece, Harriet realized. The Feigenbaums seemed so entirely clueless, off in their own child-free world, that it had never occurred to her that they really cared about Annie.
Harriet heard Barbara Feigenbaum’s chair scrape the floor as she pushed it back, rising to go. Rats, she thought, scampering toward the staircase as quietly as she could manage. They were so close .
Harriet tried to sink back into her everyday spy routine, but it wasn’t the same without Douglas and Balsam Fir. Or without Annie. I don’t want to spend this much time by myself, she realized.
She called up Sport, who was happy to hear from her. “Been a long time,” he said.
“How was your New Year? Did you stay up till midnight and watch the ball drop?”
“Yeah. It was boring.”
“It always is. I don’t get New Year’s Eve. It just seems like an excuse to get drunk and act stupid in public, for people who don’t really need an excuse.” Harriet laughed. I’ve missed him, she thought. We agree about so many things.
“You know what I did on New Year’s Eve?” she said. “I read through a whole year’s worth of spy notebooks.”
“Really?” Sport sounded impressed. “How long did that take?”
“I don’t really know. I fell asleep in my bed with the light on.” This time it was Sport’s turn to laugh. “My dad does that every night. I used to go into his bedroom as soon as I woke up and turn it off for him. Sometimes I’d find him asleep in his chair with his face on the desk.”
“Does Kate do that for him now?” Harriet lounged on her bed with the long cord stretched over her body, twisting it with her toe.
“I guess so.” Sport sounded a little bit wistful. “The door’s always closed. All I really know is what time he stops typing.”
Harriet thought of the dinners she’d had at Sport’s, how much she admired the quick bursts of rhythm when Matthew Rocque got up a real head of steam. She preferred peacock blue ink, but there was something very impressive about the mechanical tap dance of fingers that yielded a manuscript. “What are you doing tonight?” she asked Sport. “Would you want to come over or something?”
“Too much homework,” he said. “And I’m baking a sourdough. I still have to knead it and punch it down after it rises. How about tomorrow, right after school? We could go to the park if it’s nice out.”
“I’d love it,” said Harriet. “Have a good sourdough.” The next day was cold but not windy, so Sport and Harriet headed for Carl Schurz Park. A tugboat plowed through the East River, dragging a giant barge. The path along the embankment was still sunny next to the rail, though the pensioners sitting on benches looked frozen in place. Harriet felt strangely awkward with Sport as they strolled along the river. She wondered why, when she’d felt so completely at home with him on the phone. I’m not used to him being this tall , she decided. Sport had no right to grow so much faster than
Similar Books
