tea. Cassie and I go into the kitchen, and Joey takes a deep breath when he sees her. He looks down at the table. I know he’s trying to remember that boys aren’t supposed to cry.
He glances across at Anton, and the two of them grin at each other. Anton shrugs a little, gets up, and goes toward the back door.
I want to ask if he wants tea, but I’m so tired. “I will never forget this,” I tell him, reminding me of my old self when I thought about words and how they sounded.
He nods and reaches for the doorknob.
“Wait a minute. What’s that all over your hands?”
Anton looks down at them. “Paint, I guess.”
And then he disappears up the lane.
The three of us go into the living room and fall onto the mattresses. Joey asks, “Where were you, Cassie?”
“In the barn.”
“All that time?”
“Tell him the rest,” I say. “Tell him that you’ve lost all our money.”
Joey sits up, but Cassie is crying again.
I take pity on her. “We’ll do something,” I say, even though I can’t imagine what it will be.
“All of it?” Joey says.
“I’m sorry,” Cassie begins. And she goes through the whole story again.
I close my eyes. I have to think about that paint on Anton’s hands, what I know it means, but it’s so late and I need to sleep. Almost dreaming, I remember that old self of mine, writing letters, reading …
“She’s not gone,” I whisper, “not gone.…”
Morning comes fast. But I can’t sleep anymore; I feel as if I’m in a fog.
Cassie’s up ahead of me, sitting at the kitchen table.
“We’ll just have to get help,” she says. “We’ll take ourselves down to the grocery store and—”
“Mr. Brancato isn’t any better off than we are.” Anger bursts in my chest. “The store is closed! Pop told us to find him at his house in case of an emergency. Do you know what
emergency
means?”
“No rent?” Cassie says. “No money?” She hesitates. “No food to feed Woodrow.”
“No.” I space the next words out as if I’m talking to someone who belongs on Pluto. “We will not go to Mr. Brancato.” Pop’s words come into my head. “I have to do this myself. No, not myself. Ourselves.”
But then I stop. “Who’s Woodrow?”
“My cat. Mine and Mr. Appleby’s. Mr. Appleby gave me the food and I fed Woodrow every day.” Cassie narrows her eyes at me. “Before you lost him.” She sniffs. “Poor Woodrow. I still put food out for him, but maybe he’s gone forever.”
I can’t believe it. “I fed him, too. Charlie the Butcher always gave me—” I break off. “I call him Clarence.”
We stare at each other, and then I tell her about Miss Mitzi and her cat, Lazy, who came back. “We have to have hope.”
I go outside and sit on the back step, staring at my garden, the damp dark earth ready to plant, and thinking about Clarence. Woodrow. Two meals a day.
But never mind that now. I have to find money. And pay the rent somehow.
I go back into the house and nearly step on one of the chickens. Gladys? I can’t tell them apart anymore.
“What are we going to do, then?” Cassie says from the table. “Whatever—”
“Feed the chicks. Make yourself useful.”
“Do I have to do everything?” she asks.
My mouth opens. “You’re the one who lost all our money!”
But I’ve thought of one thing I can do first thing tomorrow morning. And just having an idea makes me feel a little better.
Look forward, Rachel
, I hear Mr. Appleby saying in my head.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It’s rent day. I pull on my wrinkled Sunday dress and glance in the mirror. I must have grown when I wasn’t looking. Either that or the dress shrank by itself. I grin a little.
My good shoes are under the bed. I pull them on; my feet have grown, too.
I run a comb through my hair, patting down the sides, until I’m sure I’m presentable.
Down in the kitchen, Cassie is sweeping the floor around the chickens. “Clean out a spot in the barn,” I tell her. “And get them
He glances across at Anton, and the two of them grin at each other. Anton shrugs a little, gets up, and goes toward the back door.
I want to ask if he wants tea, but I’m so tired. “I will never forget this,” I tell him, reminding me of my old self when I thought about words and how they sounded.
He nods and reaches for the doorknob.
“Wait a minute. What’s that all over your hands?”
Anton looks down at them. “Paint, I guess.”
And then he disappears up the lane.
The three of us go into the living room and fall onto the mattresses. Joey asks, “Where were you, Cassie?”
“In the barn.”
“All that time?”
“Tell him the rest,” I say. “Tell him that you’ve lost all our money.”
Joey sits up, but Cassie is crying again.
I take pity on her. “We’ll do something,” I say, even though I can’t imagine what it will be.
“All of it?” Joey says.
“I’m sorry,” Cassie begins. And she goes through the whole story again.
I close my eyes. I have to think about that paint on Anton’s hands, what I know it means, but it’s so late and I need to sleep. Almost dreaming, I remember that old self of mine, writing letters, reading …
“She’s not gone,” I whisper, “not gone.…”
Morning comes fast. But I can’t sleep anymore; I feel as if I’m in a fog.
Cassie’s up ahead of me, sitting at the kitchen table.
“We’ll just have to get help,” she says. “We’ll take ourselves down to the grocery store and—”
“Mr. Brancato isn’t any better off than we are.” Anger bursts in my chest. “The store is closed! Pop told us to find him at his house in case of an emergency. Do you know what
emergency
means?”
“No rent?” Cassie says. “No money?” She hesitates. “No food to feed Woodrow.”
“No.” I space the next words out as if I’m talking to someone who belongs on Pluto. “We will not go to Mr. Brancato.” Pop’s words come into my head. “I have to do this myself. No, not myself. Ourselves.”
But then I stop. “Who’s Woodrow?”
“My cat. Mine and Mr. Appleby’s. Mr. Appleby gave me the food and I fed Woodrow every day.” Cassie narrows her eyes at me. “Before you lost him.” She sniffs. “Poor Woodrow. I still put food out for him, but maybe he’s gone forever.”
I can’t believe it. “I fed him, too. Charlie the Butcher always gave me—” I break off. “I call him Clarence.”
We stare at each other, and then I tell her about Miss Mitzi and her cat, Lazy, who came back. “We have to have hope.”
I go outside and sit on the back step, staring at my garden, the damp dark earth ready to plant, and thinking about Clarence. Woodrow. Two meals a day.
But never mind that now. I have to find money. And pay the rent somehow.
I go back into the house and nearly step on one of the chickens. Gladys? I can’t tell them apart anymore.
“What are we going to do, then?” Cassie says from the table. “Whatever—”
“Feed the chicks. Make yourself useful.”
“Do I have to do everything?” she asks.
My mouth opens. “You’re the one who lost all our money!”
But I’ve thought of one thing I can do first thing tomorrow morning. And just having an idea makes me feel a little better.
Look forward, Rachel
, I hear Mr. Appleby saying in my head.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It’s rent day. I pull on my wrinkled Sunday dress and glance in the mirror. I must have grown when I wasn’t looking. Either that or the dress shrank by itself. I grin a little.
My good shoes are under the bed. I pull them on; my feet have grown, too.
I run a comb through my hair, patting down the sides, until I’m sure I’m presentable.
Down in the kitchen, Cassie is sweeping the floor around the chickens. “Clean out a spot in the barn,” I tell her. “And get them
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