coast is clear and I take the stairs two at a time. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed and it doesn’t look like she got a beating. It looks more like she got stuck in a rainstorm. Her hair isn’t silky anymore, it’s matted in the back and the bangs in front are damp. Her face is all puffy like she’s been crying, but I listened real hard for that so I’m not sure if that’s what happened.
But her mouth is clamped up like the meat grinder that’s fixed to the edge of the counter in the kitchen, so I don’t think I’ll be finding out any time soon what Richard was so mad about.
I go over to the fan and turn it on, thinking maybe she’ll talk into it like she always does and then I can find out what went wrong, but she just sits there on the bed, so I give up and go for the stamp book, flipping past Romania and getting right to my favorite—Bermuda. I touch it and pretend I’m touching the white sand under the palm tree that leans into the sun. iF i could live anywhere in the world, it would be in Bermuda. It’s too pretty there for anything to be wrong, and I bet they even have a law that would keep people like Richard out altogether. ‘Sides, his thin brown hair wouldn’t keep the top of his head from getting burned and his arms with all the veins popping out up and down them would turn beet red.
I look back at the bed and I see that Emma’s curled up like a little baby wanting to get back into her mother’s stomach. She’s trying to be really small, hugging her legs up to her chest like she is.
I hate Richard.
When Richard first met me he patted me on the head and walked on by. I didn’t pay him any mind because I had no idea he’d be here to stay. Momma had dropped some hints—”You better be real nice
50
ME & EMMA
to my new friend,” “Why don’t y’all go on up and put on those sun-dresses I bought you last spring”—but I didn’t notice until it was too late.
Emma and I were playing jacks on the front porch when he came by carrying a tin can full of nails, which Momma made such a big deal over—like he was the one who said “This loaf of bread is great but what if we made lines across it and cut it up.” He told Momma the nails were to fix the floorboards that bent up and stubbed our toes when we walked barefoot. Big deal. I could’re done that. Besides, no one had stubbed their toes since Daddy died so I don’t understand what the fuss was all about. But Richard winked at me and said it’s so my baby sister doesn’t hurt herself. Momma gave us this look so we had to say “Thank you, sir” to him even though his wink looked as fake as the left hand on Mr. Brown, who plays the harmonica outside White’s Drugstore every day.
One day I went with Richard to White’s ‘cause Momma asked us to. It was still early on, when Richard did favors for Momma. “Caroline, why don’t you go along so Richard has some company,” Momma said. But I guess I wasn’t the kind of company Richard must’ve wanted: once we pulled away from the house and Mornma was out of sight, the smile went away from his face and he stopped talking altogether.
“Hey there, chile,” says Miss Mary from behind the counter. Then she tilts her head to the side and mumbles to herself loud enough for me to hear. “I don’ know what they be givin’ so much work to them kids at school fo’. Y’all look sotired all the time.” Then her head snaps back upright and she looks over my head altogether. “I’ll be right with you,” she says to Richard.
“I’ll be right with you…” Richard says it like she did but he drags
51
ELIZABETH FLOCK
out the end so it’s clear she left something off of the end of her sentence.
“I’ll be right with you, sir,” she says, looking down at her work. Richard likes everyone to call him sir, even people who’ve old enough to be his grandma.
Miss Mary’s nails are long and make a tapping sound when she pushes the numbers on the calculator to figure out
But her mouth is clamped up like the meat grinder that’s fixed to the edge of the counter in the kitchen, so I don’t think I’ll be finding out any time soon what Richard was so mad about.
I go over to the fan and turn it on, thinking maybe she’ll talk into it like she always does and then I can find out what went wrong, but she just sits there on the bed, so I give up and go for the stamp book, flipping past Romania and getting right to my favorite—Bermuda. I touch it and pretend I’m touching the white sand under the palm tree that leans into the sun. iF i could live anywhere in the world, it would be in Bermuda. It’s too pretty there for anything to be wrong, and I bet they even have a law that would keep people like Richard out altogether. ‘Sides, his thin brown hair wouldn’t keep the top of his head from getting burned and his arms with all the veins popping out up and down them would turn beet red.
I look back at the bed and I see that Emma’s curled up like a little baby wanting to get back into her mother’s stomach. She’s trying to be really small, hugging her legs up to her chest like she is.
I hate Richard.
When Richard first met me he patted me on the head and walked on by. I didn’t pay him any mind because I had no idea he’d be here to stay. Momma had dropped some hints—”You better be real nice
50
ME & EMMA
to my new friend,” “Why don’t y’all go on up and put on those sun-dresses I bought you last spring”—but I didn’t notice until it was too late.
Emma and I were playing jacks on the front porch when he came by carrying a tin can full of nails, which Momma made such a big deal over—like he was the one who said “This loaf of bread is great but what if we made lines across it and cut it up.” He told Momma the nails were to fix the floorboards that bent up and stubbed our toes when we walked barefoot. Big deal. I could’re done that. Besides, no one had stubbed their toes since Daddy died so I don’t understand what the fuss was all about. But Richard winked at me and said it’s so my baby sister doesn’t hurt herself. Momma gave us this look so we had to say “Thank you, sir” to him even though his wink looked as fake as the left hand on Mr. Brown, who plays the harmonica outside White’s Drugstore every day.
One day I went with Richard to White’s ‘cause Momma asked us to. It was still early on, when Richard did favors for Momma. “Caroline, why don’t you go along so Richard has some company,” Momma said. But I guess I wasn’t the kind of company Richard must’ve wanted: once we pulled away from the house and Mornma was out of sight, the smile went away from his face and he stopped talking altogether.
“Hey there, chile,” says Miss Mary from behind the counter. Then she tilts her head to the side and mumbles to herself loud enough for me to hear. “I don’ know what they be givin’ so much work to them kids at school fo’. Y’all look sotired all the time.” Then her head snaps back upright and she looks over my head altogether. “I’ll be right with you,” she says to Richard.
“I’ll be right with you…” Richard says it like she did but he drags
51
ELIZABETH FLOCK
out the end so it’s clear she left something off of the end of her sentence.
“I’ll be right with you, sir,” she says, looking down at her work. Richard likes everyone to call him sir, even people who’ve old enough to be his grandma.
Miss Mary’s nails are long and make a tapping sound when she pushes the numbers on the calculator to figure out
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