see whether Mom or Tillie was in the kitchen.
It was Mom, her apron tied around her waist over her long flannel nightgown. Valerie was in her high chair drinking orange juice. I stood in the hall for a moment studying Mom, looking for telltale signs of love and possible impending matrimony, but she looked the same as always – a little tired, pretty in spite of her rumpled hair, intent on the task at hand.
“Mom?”
Startled, she turned abruptly. “Oh, Roz! Good morning, honey. How’s my sweetheart?”
How was I? Taking stock, I realized I was gritting my teeth against a sore throat and trying not to swallow. I didn’t want to be sick. “I’m good,” I said. “How was your . . . um, how was the movie?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It was kind of ho-hum, really. Nothing you would have enjoyed.”
“So you didn’t have a good time?” I asked hopefully.
“Oh no. I didn’t say that. It was all very nice, really.”
That being the case, I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to know anything about this Tom Barrows fellow. Maybe if we didn’t say his name, he’d go away.
“Are you working today?”
“Not today. It’s my Saturday off.”
“Where’s Tillie?”
“She was in the shower when I came down. Listen, honey, while I’m making the scrambled eggs, would you mind pouring Valerie a bowl of Cheerios?”
I pulled Valerie’s plastic bowl from the cupboard, poured cereal and milk into it, then set it on the tray in front of her. I picked up her little spoon from the tray and put it in her pudgy fist. “There you go, scooter pie,” I said.
Mom stopped beating the eggs and looked at me over her shoulder.
I bit my lower lip sheepishly. “Sorry, Mom,” I said. “It just came out.” Scooter pie was what Daddy had always called Valerie. Now that nickname brought Daddy into the house in a rush of bad memories.
Mom sighed heavily and shut her eyes a moment, as though waiting for the images to pass. When she drew in her next breath, she opened her eyes and tried to smile at me. Then she went back to beating the eggs – this time with a little more force, so that some of the goop splashed over the sides of the bowl and made yellow puddles on the counter.
I turned to Valerie and made a funny face. “Rozzy funny,” she said with a laugh. I kissed her forehead and poured myself a cup of milk to drink. The cold felt good against my throat.
“Mom, can I go down to the drugstore today to get an ice cream cone?” I asked. “I’ll use my own allowance money.”
“I suppose that’ll be all right. But I’d like to see you get some of your homework done first.”
The morning dragged by as I worked and reworked long division problems. At my desk in my room, I could hear Mom and Wally downstairs arguing about Mom’s date the night before.
“I’m just saying you could have asked me first,” Wally said.
“What did you expect me to do, Wally? Tell him I have to ask my son’s permission to have dinner with him?”
“When we left Minnesota, you said it was just going to be the four of us from now on – ”
“Well, I didn’t mean I’d never – ”
“And now, to start off, we’ve got some crazy old lady living with us – ”
Tillie called from somewhere else in the house, “That’s a fine way to talk about the person who’s opened her home to you, young man.”
“ We own the house, Tillie, not you – ”
“That’s paperwork, Wally. All paperwork.”
“Yeah, and money. Plenty of that.”
“What’s money compared to – ”
“Yeah, I know, I know. Sweat equity. Stuff it, Tillie, I’m tired of hearing – ”
Mom interrupted. “Wally, I won’t have you talking to Tillie like that. You know we’d be in deep trouble without her.”
“Well, if she came here to die, why doesn’t she just go ahead and do it. What’s she waiting for?”
“Wally!”
Tillie again. “I can’t go until the Lord calls my name, and so far I don’t hear Him calling.”
“Wally,
It was Mom, her apron tied around her waist over her long flannel nightgown. Valerie was in her high chair drinking orange juice. I stood in the hall for a moment studying Mom, looking for telltale signs of love and possible impending matrimony, but she looked the same as always – a little tired, pretty in spite of her rumpled hair, intent on the task at hand.
“Mom?”
Startled, she turned abruptly. “Oh, Roz! Good morning, honey. How’s my sweetheart?”
How was I? Taking stock, I realized I was gritting my teeth against a sore throat and trying not to swallow. I didn’t want to be sick. “I’m good,” I said. “How was your . . . um, how was the movie?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It was kind of ho-hum, really. Nothing you would have enjoyed.”
“So you didn’t have a good time?” I asked hopefully.
“Oh no. I didn’t say that. It was all very nice, really.”
That being the case, I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to know anything about this Tom Barrows fellow. Maybe if we didn’t say his name, he’d go away.
“Are you working today?”
“Not today. It’s my Saturday off.”
“Where’s Tillie?”
“She was in the shower when I came down. Listen, honey, while I’m making the scrambled eggs, would you mind pouring Valerie a bowl of Cheerios?”
I pulled Valerie’s plastic bowl from the cupboard, poured cereal and milk into it, then set it on the tray in front of her. I picked up her little spoon from the tray and put it in her pudgy fist. “There you go, scooter pie,” I said.
Mom stopped beating the eggs and looked at me over her shoulder.
I bit my lower lip sheepishly. “Sorry, Mom,” I said. “It just came out.” Scooter pie was what Daddy had always called Valerie. Now that nickname brought Daddy into the house in a rush of bad memories.
Mom sighed heavily and shut her eyes a moment, as though waiting for the images to pass. When she drew in her next breath, she opened her eyes and tried to smile at me. Then she went back to beating the eggs – this time with a little more force, so that some of the goop splashed over the sides of the bowl and made yellow puddles on the counter.
I turned to Valerie and made a funny face. “Rozzy funny,” she said with a laugh. I kissed her forehead and poured myself a cup of milk to drink. The cold felt good against my throat.
“Mom, can I go down to the drugstore today to get an ice cream cone?” I asked. “I’ll use my own allowance money.”
“I suppose that’ll be all right. But I’d like to see you get some of your homework done first.”
The morning dragged by as I worked and reworked long division problems. At my desk in my room, I could hear Mom and Wally downstairs arguing about Mom’s date the night before.
“I’m just saying you could have asked me first,” Wally said.
“What did you expect me to do, Wally? Tell him I have to ask my son’s permission to have dinner with him?”
“When we left Minnesota, you said it was just going to be the four of us from now on – ”
“Well, I didn’t mean I’d never – ”
“And now, to start off, we’ve got some crazy old lady living with us – ”
Tillie called from somewhere else in the house, “That’s a fine way to talk about the person who’s opened her home to you, young man.”
“ We own the house, Tillie, not you – ”
“That’s paperwork, Wally. All paperwork.”
“Yeah, and money. Plenty of that.”
“What’s money compared to – ”
“Yeah, I know, I know. Sweat equity. Stuff it, Tillie, I’m tired of hearing – ”
Mom interrupted. “Wally, I won’t have you talking to Tillie like that. You know we’d be in deep trouble without her.”
“Well, if she came here to die, why doesn’t she just go ahead and do it. What’s she waiting for?”
“Wally!”
Tillie again. “I can’t go until the Lord calls my name, and so far I don’t hear Him calling.”
“Wally,
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