Turtle in Paradise by Jennifer L. Holm Read Free Book Online Page B

sinking ship.”
    “Wrecker? You mean he’s the one that broke that piano?” I ask.
    “You don’t know anything, do you?” Pork Chop says.
    “That’s Nana Philly’s daddy,” Kermit says, and points to an oil painting of a cranky-looking old man. Most old people are cranky. Not that I blame them. How can you be happy when you know you’re gonna be dead soon?
    Kermit explains, “When ships would wreck around Key West, he would salvage the cargo before it sank and then sell it off. Furniture, liquor, silk, jewelry, you name it. He was one of the richest men in Key West.”
    “What’s Buddy so scared of?” I ask as we file down a narrow hallway.
    “Her,” Pork Chop whispers, looking in the door of a small bedroom.
    A tiny, frail-looking old lady is sitting on a rocking chair reading a fashion magazine. She could probably use some fashion advice, considering what she’s wearing: a long white cotton nightgown with a dressing gown over it, black stockings, and a red cloche hat that makes her eyes poke out like a mole peeking up at the world.
    “Hi, Nana Philly,” Beans says. “Miss Bea gone out?”
    The old lady blinks her blue eyes fast when she sees me. She opens her mouth with obvious effort.
    “Thadie,” she says. It comes out in a frustrated moan.
    A cheery woman with silver hair and a large straw hat bustles in and says, “Why, hello, children! I was out back hanging laundry. I didn’t hear you come in.”
    “Hi, Miss Bea,” Kermit says.
    Pork Chop holds out the bowl. “Mami’s flan.”
    “How sweet of her! Miss Philomena does love her flan,” she says.
    Miss Bea doesn’t look much younger than the old woman in the chair.
    “You must be Sadiebelle’s girl! You look just like your mother.” She turns to Nana Philly. “Doesn’t she look just like her mother, Miss Philomena?”
    Nana Philly’s mouth curls up on one side, but the other side stays tugged down. It looks like she’s smiling and frowning at the same time. Something about her seems familiar.
    “I’m Turtle,” I say.
    Miss Bea smiles warmly. “We’re just so pleased to meet you! Maybe you can visit sometime?”
    “We gotta go, Miss Bea,” Pork Chop says with a touch of impatience. “We got babies.”
    “Of course you do,” she says. “Be sure to thank your mother for the flan, Pork Chop.”
    Back outside, under the glare of the hot sun, I turn to the boys.
    “I don’t understand,” I say. “What’s so scary about that old woman? She can barely talk.”
    Pork Chop guffaws.
    “I guess you could say she was a little different before she had her accident,” Kermit says.
    “Nana Philly had a fit last summer and fell, and now she can’t walk or talk that good,” Buddy says.
    “Best thing that ever happened, if you ask me,” Beans says.
    “You said it, pal,” Pork Chop says.
    “Miss Bea lives with Nana Philly now. Takes care of her,” Kermit says. “Ma helps out, too, of course. Brings in lunch most days, so Miss Bea can get out for a break.”
    “Miss Bea’s a saint,” Beans says.
    “You’d have to be to live with Nana Philly,” Pork Chop says.
    “How can you say that about a poor old lady?” I ask.
    “Because she’s meaner than a scorpion!” Buddy says.
    “It’s true,” Kermit agrees.
    “She said Ma would be better off dead than married to Poppy,” Beans says.
    “And she stood up in church and told the minister his sermon was so boring he ought to be crucified!” Pork Chop adds.
    “God himself could come down from heaven, and Nana Philly would tell him he did a lousy job,” Kermit says, and they all laugh.
    “She hates kids most of all,” Buddy exclaims. “She washed my mouth out with soap!”
    “Mine too,” Kermit admits.
    “And mine,” Pork Chop adds.
    Beans nods.
    “That’s a lot of soap,” I say.
    “Old Nana Philly,” Kermit says almost wistfully. “Francis Street sure is a lot quieter these days.”
    “How can you talk about someone’s grandmother like this?” I