By Ann Kennedy
Illustrated by Neal Stepp
"Oh, for pity sakes, Hallie Smith, eat that Baby Ruth or the Milky Way. You're so skinny you'll blow away in a strong wind. I ate two Butterfingers and I'm not near as tall as you. I'm not fat, am I?" Betty Lou was my best friend. With hands on hips, she patted her foot impatiently and dared me to eat the candy. I wanted to, but Mother was worried about paying the dentist now. If I ended up with another cavity, she'd start watchin' me like a hawk.
"I named you after your Grandpa Hal. I didn't know you'd end up with his sweet tooth, too," she'd say. I'd heard that often enough.
It was hot and humid. We were almost home with our paper sacks of groceries from the little store on Lindsey Street. Approaching the old gray house, we moved closer together.
"There he is, as usual," I whispered.
"He can't hear us, Hallie. We aren't that close."
"Too close for comfort. Is he really crazy?"
"My daddy says he is. From the war."
It was 1944. Mother said my father disappeared in the war. He was gone most of the time before that. I'm eleven. The last time he was home, I was a little girl.
Betty Lou and I pretended not to see Sgt. Hilliard as we passed his house. He was on the porch swing where he always sat, watching us. Tall, thin, dark hair and eyes, he never talked. He stared at us.
"Honestly, Hallie, your eyes are as big as saucers. He's not going to do anything. He's mostly okay now."
"Did your daddy tell you that?" I asked. I wanted to know more about why he was crazy. War is awful.
"Yes. But he told me to leave him alone."
We did. We ignored him and walked a little faster the rest of the way home.
"Are you baby-sitting for the Wilsons tonight, Hallie?"
"Yes. They play bridge once a month. Billy's grandma is in her wheelchair most of the time and she goes to bed early. I'll wash their supper dishes and play with Billy. He's allowed to stay up 'til nine on Friday night."
"You're lucky your mother lets you baby-sit at night. More spending money for you. I only stay with the neighbor kids in the daytime," she said.
"I get to because Billy's grandma is there. She's not strong but she is a smart lady. Mother trusts her."
"How much do you charge Mr. Wilson?"
"Twenty-five cents an hour."
"That's what all the neighbors around here pay, I guess."
"Wilson's house is spooky at night. They have a basement and I hear noises down there when Billy and his grandma are asleep."
"Turn on the radio," Betty Lou suggested.
"I do sometimes. They have a record player, too. I listen to the Glen Miller band."
"Do they let you go to sleep?"
"It's okay, they said. Mrs. Wilson said I could play dress-up if I wanted to. She lets me try on her pretty clothes if I put them back on the hangers. I have to be careful with them."
"Oh, my gosh, that sounds like fun. My mama won't let me try her dresses on. Does yours?"
"No. She doesn't have but two or three," I said. Mother was a housewife like most of the ladies on our street. She took care of me and kept house for Grandpa Hal, who was a traveling salesman. We lived with him because my father was gone.
I liked Betty Lou Flanagan. We grinned at each other as I crossed the yard to the white house. She ran up the steps of the red brick house across the street.
"I'm back. What are you making, Mother?" The old treadle sewing machine whirred as she stitched a long seam.
"A curtain like the one your dog, Bingo, tore. I found the fabric to match the others in your room."
"Finally. I was worried it might be gone. Do you want the pound of round steak in the meat tray?"
"Yes. Leave it wrapped in the butcher paper. Dad should be here soon and I'll cook it for an early supper. What time do you go to the Wilson's?"
"Six thirty." They lived two doors away. "Are you fixing Grandpa's favorite?"
"Not biscuits," she answered. "Smothered steak, mashed potatoes and brown gravy. We'll have biscuits tomorrow."
"I love mashed potatoes and gravy."
"You didn't spoil your supper by filling up on candy at the store, did you?"
"Not this time, Mother."
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