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Authors: Mary Downing Hahn
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her."
"Emma!" Dulcie stared at her daughter. "Where did you pick up that kind of talk?"
I spoke before Emma had a chance to answer. "Sissy told her cussing was fine. She could say whatever she wanted."
Dulcie stood Emma on the floor and got to her feet. "I've heard enough. Sit down and eat your sandwich."
"I don't want any stinky lunch!" Emma started to run out of the kitchen, but Dulcie grabbed her arm and stopped her. "What's gotten into you?" she asked. "You've never acted like this before. Never."
"I told you," I said. "It's Sissy's fault."
Dulcie ignored me. This was between her and Emma. "Sit down," she said. "And eat your lunch."
Emma took her place between Dulcie and me. She didn't look at either of us but ate quietly, her head down, her jaws working as she chewed. She left half the sandwich on her plate, despite Dulcie's pleas to eat it all.
"Do you want me to read a Moffat story?" I asked, hoping to resume our normal relationship.
Emma scowled. "I hate the Moffats. They're dumb. Just like you!"
"Don't talk to Ali like that," Dulcie said. "We never call anyone dumb."
"Leave me alone," Emma said. "You're dumb, too."
Dulcie frowned. "If this is how you act when Sissy comes here, I don't want you to play with her anymore."
Emma responded with a major temper tantrum. She screamed and cried. She told Dulcie she hated her. She threw herself on the floor and kicked.
Finally, Dulcie hauled Emma to her room and put her to bed. Closing the door firmly, she left her to cry herself to sleep.
She dropped back into her chair, her face puzzled. "How can this child have so much influence on Emma so quickly?"
I'd been wondering about this myself. "Maybe it's because Emma's never had a friend before. She wants Sissy to like her, so she does everything Sissy tells her to do."
Dulcie went to the stove and poured herself another cup of coffee. With her back to me, she said, "I guess I really don't know much about kids. Sometimes I wonder if I was ever actually one myself."
She laughed, not as if it was funny, more as if it was sad or odd. "I have friends who remember every detail of their childhoods, their teachers' names, what they wore to someone's birthday party when they were eight years old, what they got for Christmas when they were ten. Me—I can't remember a thing before my teen years."
Dulcie carried her coffee outside. The way she let the screen door slam shut behind her hinted she wasn't expecting me to follow. She sat at the picnic table, her back to the window, her shoulders hunched. Even without seeing her face, I knew she was unhappy. Maybe her summer wasn't going any better than mine. Who could have imagined a kid like Sissy would turn up and spoil everything?
I stretched out on the sofa with
To Kill a Mockingbird.
I was on the seventh chapter with many more to go.
While I read, I heard a car approaching the cottage. I sat up and looked out the window. For some reason I expected to see Mom and Dad, but a big red Jeep emerged from the woods. Dulcie walked toward it hesitantly, apparently unsure who it was.
"Dulcie, it
is
you!" A plump woman with short silvery blond hair jumped out of the Jeep and stood there grinning as Dulcie approached. Her tailored shorts and pink polo shirt contrasted sharply with my aunt's black T-shirt and paint-spattered jeans.
She stopped just short of giving Dulcie a hug. "Look at you," she exclaimed, "you're just as skinny as ever!"
"I'm sorry," Dulcie said, smoothing her mop of uncombed curls back from her face, "but I don't remember—"
"Well, no wonder. I wasn't this fat when we were kids!" She laughed. "I'm Jeanine Reynolds—Donaldson now. We used to play together when you and Claire came to the lake."
"Jeanine," Dulcie repeated. "Jeanine.... I'm afraid I—"
"Oh, don't worry about it. Good grief, it's been what? Thirty years, I guess."
"My sister would probably remember you."
"Is Claire here, too?"
"No, but her daughter, Ali, is staying with us this
"Emma!" Dulcie stared at her daughter. "Where did you pick up that kind of talk?"
I spoke before Emma had a chance to answer. "Sissy told her cussing was fine. She could say whatever she wanted."
Dulcie stood Emma on the floor and got to her feet. "I've heard enough. Sit down and eat your sandwich."
"I don't want any stinky lunch!" Emma started to run out of the kitchen, but Dulcie grabbed her arm and stopped her. "What's gotten into you?" she asked. "You've never acted like this before. Never."
"I told you," I said. "It's Sissy's fault."
Dulcie ignored me. This was between her and Emma. "Sit down," she said. "And eat your lunch."
Emma took her place between Dulcie and me. She didn't look at either of us but ate quietly, her head down, her jaws working as she chewed. She left half the sandwich on her plate, despite Dulcie's pleas to eat it all.
"Do you want me to read a Moffat story?" I asked, hoping to resume our normal relationship.
Emma scowled. "I hate the Moffats. They're dumb. Just like you!"
"Don't talk to Ali like that," Dulcie said. "We never call anyone dumb."
"Leave me alone," Emma said. "You're dumb, too."
Dulcie frowned. "If this is how you act when Sissy comes here, I don't want you to play with her anymore."
Emma responded with a major temper tantrum. She screamed and cried. She told Dulcie she hated her. She threw herself on the floor and kicked.
Finally, Dulcie hauled Emma to her room and put her to bed. Closing the door firmly, she left her to cry herself to sleep.
She dropped back into her chair, her face puzzled. "How can this child have so much influence on Emma so quickly?"
I'd been wondering about this myself. "Maybe it's because Emma's never had a friend before. She wants Sissy to like her, so she does everything Sissy tells her to do."
Dulcie went to the stove and poured herself another cup of coffee. With her back to me, she said, "I guess I really don't know much about kids. Sometimes I wonder if I was ever actually one myself."
She laughed, not as if it was funny, more as if it was sad or odd. "I have friends who remember every detail of their childhoods, their teachers' names, what they wore to someone's birthday party when they were eight years old, what they got for Christmas when they were ten. Me—I can't remember a thing before my teen years."
Dulcie carried her coffee outside. The way she let the screen door slam shut behind her hinted she wasn't expecting me to follow. She sat at the picnic table, her back to the window, her shoulders hunched. Even without seeing her face, I knew she was unhappy. Maybe her summer wasn't going any better than mine. Who could have imagined a kid like Sissy would turn up and spoil everything?
I stretched out on the sofa with
To Kill a Mockingbird.
I was on the seventh chapter with many more to go.
While I read, I heard a car approaching the cottage. I sat up and looked out the window. For some reason I expected to see Mom and Dad, but a big red Jeep emerged from the woods. Dulcie walked toward it hesitantly, apparently unsure who it was.
"Dulcie, it
is
you!" A plump woman with short silvery blond hair jumped out of the Jeep and stood there grinning as Dulcie approached. Her tailored shorts and pink polo shirt contrasted sharply with my aunt's black T-shirt and paint-spattered jeans.
She stopped just short of giving Dulcie a hug. "Look at you," she exclaimed, "you're just as skinny as ever!"
"I'm sorry," Dulcie said, smoothing her mop of uncombed curls back from her face, "but I don't remember—"
"Well, no wonder. I wasn't this fat when we were kids!" She laughed. "I'm Jeanine Reynolds—Donaldson now. We used to play together when you and Claire came to the lake."
"Jeanine," Dulcie repeated. "Jeanine.... I'm afraid I—"
"Oh, don't worry about it. Good grief, it's been what? Thirty years, I guess."
"My sister would probably remember you."
"Is Claire here, too?"
"No, but her daughter, Ali, is staying with us this
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