The Silver Star by Jeannette Walls Page B

before.”
    “We’ve only been here a few weeks,” I said.
    “Your family move here?” he asked.
    “We’re just kind of visiting,” Liz said.
    “Kind of visiting,” he said. “What’s that mean?”
    “We’re staying with our uncle for a while,” I said.
    “Why are you doing that?”
    “Well, we’re just spending the summer with him,” Liz said.
    “We were born here,” I said. “But we haven’t been back since we were little.”
    Liz gave me the look that said I was talking too much, but I didn’t see how we were going to get jobs if we didn’t answer the man’s questions.
    “Oh, really?” he said. “And who’s your uncle?”
    “Tinsley Holladay,” I said.
    “Oh, really?” he said again, leaning in like he was suddenly interested. He was so big that when he got close and looked down on us, it felt like he was swallowing up the sky.
“So you’re Tinsley Holladay’s nieces?” He smiled, as if the idea of that was amusing. “Well, Tinsley’s nieces, do you have names?”
    “I’m Liz, and this is my sister, Bean.”
    “Bean? What kind of name is that?”
    “A nickname,” I said. “It rhymes with my real name, Jean. Liz is always rhyming and giving things her own names.”
    “Okay, Liz and Bean-rhymes-with-Jean, I’m Jerry Maddox. And that’s my girl, Cindy.” He motioned at her with his finger. “Cindy, come over here and meet Tinsley
Holladay’s nieces.”
    The girl got out of the car. She was a few years younger than me, thin with blond hair like her dad’s that came down to her shoulders, and she walked with a slight limp. Mr. Maddox put his
arm around her. Liz and I said hi, and I smiled at Cindy. She said hi, but she didn’t smile back, just stared at us with the same blue eyes as her father’s.
    “Well, I might have some work for Tinsley Holladay’s nieces,” Mr. Maddox said. “I just might. Either of you ever been behind the wheel of a car?”
    “Mom has let me drive up and down the driveway,” Liz said.
    “Mom? That would be Tinsley Holladay’s sister.”
    “Yes,” Liz said. “That’s right.”
    “Charlotte Holladay, if I’m not mistaken.”
    “Do you know her?” I asked.
    “Never met her, but I’ve heard of her.” He smiled again, and it seemed that what Uncle Tinsley said was true—everyone in town knew Mom’s story.
    Mr. Maddox had Liz get in the driver’s seat where Cindy had been. Liz had the privilege, he told us, of sitting behind the wheel of a Pontiac Le Mans, one of the classiest cars Detroit had
ever turned out, but only the real buffs appreciated it, the suckers falling for the GTO just because it cost more. He had Liz turn the engine on and off, then operate the turn signal and tap the
brakes while he had me walk around the Le Mans, checking all the lights. Then he told Liz to gun the engine. He checked the timing, adjusted the carburetor, tested the belts, and had me hold the
funnel while he added oil. Cindy stood by silently, watching it all.
    Finally satisfied, Mr. Maddox stood up and slammed down the hood. “All tuned up and ready to go,” he said. “You girls are good at taking orders.” He pulled a wad of money
out of his pants pocket and riffled through it. “Looking for something small, but all I have is tens and twenties,” he said. “Oh, here we go.” He pulled out two fives and
passed one to each of us. “I think we can work together,” he said. “Come back Saturday after lunch.”
    “I told you we’d get jobs,” Liz said on the way home. She was practically crowing. “Didn’t I say that, Bean?”
    “Sure did. You’re always right.”
    Halfway back to the house, we passed the field with the two emus. Usually, they were out of sight or on the far side of the field, but now they were walking along the fence line right by the
road.
    “Look,” I said. “They want to meet us.”
    “Mom would call it a sign,” Liz said.
    We stopped to watch the emus. They moved slowly and deliberately, their long