The Pigman's Legacy (The Sequel to The Pigman) by Paul Zindel

them had died of angina. Then we heard some sounds and Dolly came down alone. She pulled us into the kitchen and spoke very dramatically.
    “Oh, he's a wonderful man,” Dolly said.
    “He is , isn't he?” I said.
    “I know just how he feels,” Dolly sympathized. “He's been pushed around like so many of us. And he doesn't want to take it sitting down.”
    “I don't blame him,” John said.
    “Neither do I,” Dolly agreed, “but he's too weak to fight back alone. He needs us. He needs you and me,” Dolly emphasized. The force of her conviction caused her earrings to bounce against her cheeks. “But if you'll excuse me now, darlings, I've got to make the old boy some poached eggs.”
    John and I were so relieved that Dolly was taking over. It was a joy to watch her jangling around in the kitchen like a living laser beam. Her green dress flashed, and she bounced in and out under the lights as if she'd been sprayed with fluorescent paint. As she cracked those eggs and plopped them into boiling water, each one came out a perfect circle. For the first time in several days it seemed like everything was going to be all right. It was only when I got a closer look at Dolly, I noticed a distinct sense of panic in her eyes. I may not be a psychologist yet, but I'll tell you one thing—I can tell if a person is making believe that everything is all right when it isn't.
    “Something's wrong, isn't it, Dolly?” I said.
    “Lorraine, whatever are you talking about?” Dolly plopped the eggs onto a piece of toast. “Everything's just fine.”
    “Why did the Colonel cry out in pain the other night? Why did we have to take him to the hospital? Why didn't he stay?” I asked.
    Dolly began to hum and spoke between musical passages. “The Colonel has diverticulosis ” she explained.
    “Oh, my God,” I said. I didn't know what diverticulosis was, but it sounded fatal.
    “It's just a little intestinal condition, and all that fudge he ate caused an attack, that's all.” Dolly was very reassuring. “But don't you worry, my little honeys, I'll work out the right diet for him. I know what's best for him.” Suddenly there was a sound in the kitchen doorway, and we turned to see the Colonel.
    “Who are you really?” the Colonel snapped at Dolly.
    “We told you,” John said. “This is Dolly. She was just talking to you for an hour in your bedroom.”
    “Well, she's forgettable,” the Colonel stated.
    “Why are you being so rude?” I asked.
    “Shush!” Dolly said. “I can take care of myself, Lorraine.” Then she carried the plate of poached eggs right past the old man and set it down on a small table in the dining room. “Don't you jump down my throat, you old buzzard. I came here to help.”
    “Yeah?” the old guy wheezed. “Well, I was upstairs thinking about it, and I decided that you really came here just to make fun of me.”
    “Excuse me, Colonel,” I said, “but now you are acting a little paranoid.”
    “I am not. If she's here to start cooking poached eggs and playing canasta with me, I'm not interested.”
    Dolly chuckled. “I didn't come here to play canasta, or even strip poker if that's your game. Besides, if you think you're going to scare me off, I want you to know the old goats at Hill View used to bellyache just like you. I find it charming. Now sit down and eat your dinner.”
    The Colonel gave her a good feisty look, then focused in on the eggs. In a flash he sat down and started tearing into them like he had into the fudge. Dolly gave us a great big wink. “That's a good boy,” she said to the Colonel. “That's a very good boy.”
    “You're not my doctor, you know” came the reply.
    “I know it,” Dolly seconded as she gave the old man a paper towel for a napkin.
    “You probably think I'm crazy, don't you?” the Colonel wanted to know.
    “If you can count five stones and know your name, then I don't think you're crazy. That's always been my rule for nuts.” Then she reached into