Taking Care of Moses by Barbara O'Connor Read Free Book Online

Mr. Avery,” Randall said. “I came to get the laundry.”
    â€œAw, now, I don’t want your mama doing my laundry,” he said.
    â€œShe wants to.”
    â€œWell, I admit it sure is a help.” Mr. Avery motioned for Randall to come in. Queenie didn’t look up from the television. She leaned way out of her chair, pushing
her face up close to the screen. Randall could see her pink scalp through her thin gray hair.
    â€œHa!” she yelled at the handsome soap opera man in the black tuxedo. “Serves you right!”
    Mr. Avery sank into his beat-up easy chair with a sigh. He ran his hands through his greasy hair. “It’s been a long day, Randall.”
    â€œI brought this,” Randall said, handing Mr. Avery his sketchbook.
    Mr. Avery’s face brightened. He took the book from Randall and began turning the pages.
    â€œWell, look at this,” he said. “A hermit thrush.”
    â€œActually, that’s a wood thrush,” Randall said. “You can tell ’cause it has more red on its head and the spots are rounder.”
    â€œThat’s real nice, Randall,” Mr. Avery said. “Shoot, I think you know more about birds than me now.”
    Randall shook his head. “Naw,” he said, “I just get all that from my bird book.”
    Mr. Avery turned another page. “This is the finest bird nest I ever saw. Look at this, Queenie.”
    Queenie glanced at the sketchbook, then flapped her hand and said, “Be quiet, mister.”
    â€œIt’s an oriole’s nest,” Randall said.
    â€œNow, what’s this?” Mr. Avery asked, turning to another page.

    Randall leaned forward to look at the page. His stomach balled up into a knot when he saw the drawing of the floppy straw hat.
    â€œOh, that’s just an ole junky picture I drew one time,” Randall said. “I thought I tore that out of there.”
    â€œLook at this, Queenie.” Mr. Avery pushed the sketchbook in front of Queenie. She flapped her hand again, but her eyes darted to the drawing.
    Her mouth opened into an “O.” She narrowed her eyes and leaned down so close to the drawing that her nose nearly touched the paper. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and jabbed a finger at the drawing.
    â€œNot her again!” she said. “What’s she doing here?”
    Mr. Avery chuckled. “What you talkin’ about, Queenie?”
    Queenie traced the drawing with her finger and nodded. “I know her,” she said.
    Randall’s stomach flopped. He reached for the sketchbook, but Queenie clutched it against her.
    â€œI want this,” she said.
    â€œI’ll draw a better one,” Randall said. “That one’s no good.”
    â€œI like this hat.” Queenie smiled at Randall. “I remember this hat.”
    Randall tugged at the sketchbook, but Queenie slapped his hand and said, “Stop it, Monroe!”

    Mr. Avery put his hand on Queenie’s knee. “That ain’t nice, Queenie,” he said. “You give Randall his book.”
    Queenie tossed the book at Randall and stomped into the bedroom. Mr. Avery turned his sad eyes toward Randall. “Sorry about that, son,” he said.
    â€œThat’s okay.”
    â€œIt’s a nice hat,” Mr. Avery said.
    Randall tore the page out of the sketchbook. He folded it and tucked it into his pocket.
    â€œMr. Avery,” Randall said, “what would you do if some bad stuff started happening and you could make it stop if you told a secret? Only, if you told the secret, then something else bad might happen?”
    Now, why had he gone and said that, Randall wondered. He sure never meant to. He watched Mr. Avery’s bushy gray eyebrows arch up and a look of pure puzzlement come on his face.
    Randall looked down at the faded green carpet. On the television, some woman was singing about how clean her clothes were.
    Mr. Avery scratched his whiskery