Nora by Constance C. Greene

is grownup stuff we’re talking here. I don’t want any more nonsense from you! This is serious. If you can’t act responsible and get your head together, forget it. I’ll deal with it myself!”
    Patsy’s open mouth snapped shut. She shuddered and said meekly, “You’re right, Nora. I’m sorry. I’ll be good,” as if she was a small child again.
    I had not expected Patsy to behave in this fashion. I was in shock. I was also, I realized with a pang, in control.

Nineteen
    One thing about Baba, she’s a good listener. She never interrupted once. Patsy did, a few times. Finally, after the third time, I just stopped talking and she got the idea and shut up. I told them everything, about me sitting in the dark, hearing the couch cushions sigh and having my hand taken and feeling a terrible cold creep up my arm. Even as I said these things, I thought, This is truly bizarre. They won’t believe me.
    â€œShe was there,” I said. “I know she was.”
    â€œHow long ago, Nora?” Patsy wanted to know.
    â€œThe night I woke you up and asked you what the other reason was that Daddy wanted to marry The Tooth,” I said.
    â€œYou dog,” Patsy said. “I wish you’d told me right then. You should’ve told me. If it’d been me, I would’ve told you.”
    Baba only nodded now and then and made little clicking sounds a few times, but she didn’t say a word.
    She never once said, “Oh, you must have imagined it, Nora.” Never once. She only said when I’d finished, “Oh, how I wish I’d been there. How wonderful for you, Nora. Poor old Sam. I wish he’d been able to recognize that your mother had come back. It might make him feel better. He’s on the horns of a dilemma. He knows you dislike Mrs. Ames and he wouldn’t make you unhappy for anything in the world, but it is his life. Why not let him marry and be happy? Happi er , I should say. She’s not a monster, is she? Your mother would want him to be happy. We know that much. So why not let him get on with his life? You two are getting older by the minute. Before you know it, you’ll be off and running in the world. I’m not crazy about her either, but I say let Sam marry her and we’ll make the best of it.”
    â€œThat’s easy for you to say,” Patsy told Baba indignantly. “You don’t live in this house and we do. I don’t care if Daddy gets married, I only want him to marry someone nice, someone we like. Someone who likes us.”
    â€œLook at it this way,” Baba said. “Imagine one of you bringing home a young man and telling your father this is the person you wanted to marry. And your father saying, ‘I don’t care if you fall in love, I only want you to fall in love with someone I approve of and like, and I don’t fancy this person of yours.’”
    Patsy looked shocked. “Oh, Daddy would never do that,” she said.
    â€œWhat makes you so sure?” Baba said. “What would be so different from him saying that and what you two are saying right now?”
    Baba had a point. I was willing to recognize that, even though I didn’t much like it.
    â€œBut we are only children,” Patsy said. “We don’t know stuff about getting married to the right person and so on.” I knew that when Patsy fell into her “we are only children” routine, it meant she felt cornered and wanted to change the subject. If anyone else called us children, Patsy would most likely blow them away.
    â€œSince when are people of twelve and thirteen children?” Baba said crossly. “Thirteen is halfway to twenty-six. You consider yourselves grown-up—until you’re expected to act like grown-ups, and then you turn and run.” Baba shook her head. “It won’t wash, kidlets,” she said.
    â€œI don’t know about you guys,” I said, “but