Read Online Ask Anybody by Constance C. Greene - Free Book Online Page B

must’ve leaned into the frozen food compartment and thought, Those little monsters will never know the difference. She was wrong. I knew.
    â€œThank you,” I said.
    â€œWhat kind is it?” Tad asked.
    â€œWhy, Tad,” Pamela cooed, “can’t you read that? A big boy like you. See, that’s a C, then that’s an H,” and so on, giving Tad a spelling lesson that humiliated him and made him clamp his mouth shut as tight as any clam.
    I kept waiting for Pamela to say, “What can I do to help?” in that special voice of hers. She didn’t say it. She sat on one of the kitchen stools watching my father cook supper.
    â€œHow long till we eat, Dad?” I said.
    â€œNot long. Ten, fifteen minutes.”
    I looked over at her. She was drinking sherry out of one of my mother’s good glasses, swinging her foot, admiring her knees. I could tell setting the table was far from her thoughts.
    What would my mother do? I wondered. Would she outwait Pamela, then, when the food was ready, spring into action, pretending she’d forgotten to set the table? Or would she simply say, “Here are the knives and forks. Go to it.”
    I decided my mother would take the direct approach. She usually does. “Here, Pam,” I said, handing over the utensils. She’d told me to call her by her first name. I guess she thought that would make us friends. Also closer in age.
    â€œGo to it,” I said, smiling at her. “Pam.”
    Slowly, very slowly, she put down her glass and said “Why, of course, dear. I’d be glad to help. All you had to do was ask me.” She uncrossed her legs, slid her bottom off the stool, and stood there, waiting, no doubt, for my father to say, “You do it, Sky. Pam’s a guest,” as he had on several occasions. This time he was silent The boys watched as she laid out the knives and forks and spoons, lining them up as carefully as if she’d been a waitress at a classy restaurant.
    I went into the bathroom, locked the door, and sat on the hard edge of the tub, smiling to myself. Then I turned on the cold water and washed my face hard, to bring myself into line. I laughed until I cried.

13
    A light, cold rain was falling Monday morning when Nell and I met at the bus stop.
    â€œWhere’s everybody?” I said. We were the only ones there. Tad had a cold and Sidney too. “Where’s your brothers?” I asked Nell.
    â€œDown with nothing,” she said. “Watching TV all day long. She said they could stay home. She lets them get away with murder. Because they’re boys.” She shot a glance at me. “Mothers favor boys. I bet your mother does the same.”
    â€œNo,” I said truthfully. “She doesn’t.”
    â€œBaloney. That’s your story. If it was me, I’d have to be dying before she’d let me stay home from school. She’s soft in the head when it comes to the boys. You can’t tell me your mother’s not the same.”
    I could tell by Nell’s voice that this was one of her ornery days. Likely she’d contradict everything I said. She got like that.
    I decided to change the subject. “Seems like spring will never come,” I said brightly. “Blink your eyes and you miss it entirely.”
    â€œI’m hot.” Nell flapped her coat in the stiff breeze blowing from the harbor. “I’m boiling.” The gray sky hung down so low I was sure I could touch it, puncture it, bring down torrents on my head. The rain would turn to snow before long; the damp seeped into every opening it could find.
    â€œI seen worse weather’n this plenty of times,” she said. “Why, where we lived before, we had blizzards that could make you cry out with the cold. Temperature was down around thirty below, stayed there all winter. This is nothing.”
    â€œWinds get so strong around these parts,” I countered, “they make your