The Man with the Red Bag by Eve Bunting Read Free Book Online Page A

chance to give him the letter, but I hadn’t planned on having Grandma there when I did.
    â€œWe’d lose our nice view,” I said.
    â€œThat’s not so important,” Grandma said. “I think maybe he feels awkward. You know, it’s a bad time to look the way he looks, even if he’s Greek and not a Saudi or an Iraqi. I don’t see any of us making an effort to be friendly.” She glanced at me. “I suppose you’re too young to remember a song called ‘Suspicious Minds’? Elvis Presley sang it.”
    â€œNever heard of it.” I paused. “The thing is,” Isaid, “Stavros doesn’t make much effort, either.” I leaned over and took the bookstore bag from under my chair. “But I’ve written him a letter. In Greek.”
    â€œKevin!” Grandma beamed at me. “So that’s what you’ve been carrying! That is so nice of you, Kev. What did you say? How did you do it in Greek ?” We were already walking toward his table, so I didn’t have to answer, thank goodness. I felt so guilty I could hardly stand it.
    Stavros stood, still holding his red carry-on, as we came over.
    â€œMay we join you?” Grandma asked.
    â€œCertainly.” He waved his bandaged hand toward the empty seats, then came behind Grandma and pulled out her chair for her.
    I felt jittery.
    Millie, who was two tables away, was staring at me as if Grandma and I were terrorists ourselves just because we were sitting with him.
    Geneva and her dad, sharing a table with the Doves, were already eating their salads. I lifted the bookstore bag so that Geneva could see it. She slumped in her chair, as if the whole thing was toomuch for her, and then went on eating. Forget her! She’d be sorry she wasn’t interested when I told her about the mysterious circle on Stavros’s map.
    While I studied the menu I watched Charles Stavros over its edge. When should I give him the letter? Now? Or after?
    I decided on now and slid the letter from the bag.
    My ears had started to tingle, telling me I was heading into danger.
    â€œFor me?” Stavros asked, taking the letter.
    I nodded.
    â€œKevin wrote it in Greek for you,” Grandma said, in the softest voice.
    â€œIn Greek?” He had to take his hand from the bag on his lap to open the page. I think he must have stared at it for a full minute.
    I couldn’t breathe. My hand shook as I lifted my glass of ice water and took a sip.
    Stavros was looking at me intently across the table. “I’m afraid you’ll have to translate for me. I don’t speak or read Greek.”
    â€œYou don’t?” The words came out of me in a whoosh, and thoughts tumbled frantically in my head.He wasn’t Greek. I knew it! He wasn’t who he was supposed to be. I was sitting next to a terrorist!
    â€œYou must have spent a lot of time writing this to me,” Stavros said seriously. “May I keep it?”
    â€œSure,” I muttered.
    He folded the paper in four.
    â€œIt’s too bad that you can’t read it,” Grandma said. She looked from his face to mine. “I guess Kevin thought he was giving you a treat.”
    â€œYes. I’m sorry. Did you use a dictionary, Kevin?”
    â€œYes. I…I bought one.”
    Was there something in the way he was looking at me, something suspicious, as if he knew I had another motive and was trying to decide what it was? Tingle, tingle, tingle. I secretly massaged my left ear.
    â€œDo you want to just tell me what it says?” he asked, then paused. “That wouldn’t be much fun, though, would it? Why don’t you lend me the dictionary and I’ll try to work it out. It will be a sort of puzzle.”
    Grandma smiled. “That’s a great idea. If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Stavros.”
    â€œNot a bit. It will be entertaining for me.”
    I took another sip of water. “Cool,” I muttered. So the