it, and then I’d knock it off because I didn’t like mysteries I believed I’d never have the solution to. I might have come right out and asked Evie a time we’d been alone together if she knew why Patsy Duff would rent a box there, but I didn’t want to get Mrs. Kidder in trouble.
“I like Angel,” said Evie. “She’s got Anna Banana beat by miles.”
“It’s easy to beat Anna Banana,” I said.
“You know what I mean, Parr. Angel’s great!”
“I just wish I could drive,” I said. “I hate having to hitch a ride there and back. It cramps my style.”
“It doesn’t seem to,” Evie said.
Dad still wasn’t joining the conversation.
He was sitting next to me, staring out the window, twiddling his thumbs. His hands were so rough we could hear the thumbs going.
We finally pulled into our drive and started down the road just as it was getting dark.
Long lanes of smoky gray clouds were traveling past the top of the sinking sun. Pete and Gracie were running to meet the truck, barking greetings. The snowdrifts were piled up on both sides of us.
Dad pushed the ashtray back and looked inside, as though he expected to see some old butts in there, even though Evie always emptied it before we took off to go anywhere. Maybe he wanted to believe she’d been kidding. I didn’t know what he was doing that for.
We were walking up toward the house when Dad suddenly reached over and gave a little tug on the red scarf Evie had around her neck.
“That new?” he asked. Then, before she answered, he added, “You didn’t get that around here.”
“No, it was given to me,” said Evie.
“I never saw you wear it.”
“She’s been wearing it every day,” I said.
“Since when?” he said.
Evie said, “Since Christmas.”
“Oh,” he said. “Uh-huh.”
That was all.
Then we went inside.
17
W E ALWAYS MADE A big fuss on Valentine’s Day, maybe because winter was so boring.
Dad always bought one of those big, red, heart-shaped chocolate boxes from the drugstore at King’s Corners, along with a huge, mushy “To My Wife” card.
Mom and Evie and I made our valentines, and Mom decorated the table, put on the pink cloth, blew up some balloons, made heart-shaped cupcakes with red-and-white frosting, and put out red candles.
We invited Angel to dinner. Evie offered to drive her over to our place and back, but Mr. Kidder said he’d come get her after—Evie shouldn’t have to do all the driving.
Evie kept insisting she wanted to do the driving, but Mr. Kidder wouldn’t hear of it.
The trouble started about an hour before it was time for Evie to leave for the drive to Floodtown.
I’d shown everyone the valentine I’d made for Angel, with the promise they wouldn’t read what I’d printed inside.
“Is it a love poem?” Dad asked.
“It’s not a poem. Never mind.”
“I wrote your mother poems,” he said.
“Those days are gone forever,” Mom said. “Now Hallmark writes them for you.”
Mom had finished setting the table, and called up to Evie that she was coming up to shower before dinner.
Evie yelled back, “Me first. I’ll be fast.”
We all had our valentines out on the table except for Evie, who hadn’t brought hers downstairs yet.
I’d gotten one from Toni Atlee in Florida saying she didn’t miss anything about Duffton, including me, signed “Love and kisses, T.”
Cord was off in Kansas City going to some lecture sponsored by Reed Joseph International, bird and predator control experts. We were trying to get rid of the pigeons and starlings on our land, because they caused hog disease.
Mom told Dad the timer was set for the casserole in the oven, and to pull it out when it dinged.
We went upstairs together. I wanted to show her the locket I’d picked out for Angel before I wrapped it. I hoped she’d offer to wrap it and she did, but we couldn’t find any scissors.
She went to Evie’s room to look for them and I heard her say, “What’s this?”
Then I heard
“I like Angel,” said Evie. “She’s got Anna Banana beat by miles.”
“It’s easy to beat Anna Banana,” I said.
“You know what I mean, Parr. Angel’s great!”
“I just wish I could drive,” I said. “I hate having to hitch a ride there and back. It cramps my style.”
“It doesn’t seem to,” Evie said.
Dad still wasn’t joining the conversation.
He was sitting next to me, staring out the window, twiddling his thumbs. His hands were so rough we could hear the thumbs going.
We finally pulled into our drive and started down the road just as it was getting dark.
Long lanes of smoky gray clouds were traveling past the top of the sinking sun. Pete and Gracie were running to meet the truck, barking greetings. The snowdrifts were piled up on both sides of us.
Dad pushed the ashtray back and looked inside, as though he expected to see some old butts in there, even though Evie always emptied it before we took off to go anywhere. Maybe he wanted to believe she’d been kidding. I didn’t know what he was doing that for.
We were walking up toward the house when Dad suddenly reached over and gave a little tug on the red scarf Evie had around her neck.
“That new?” he asked. Then, before she answered, he added, “You didn’t get that around here.”
“No, it was given to me,” said Evie.
“I never saw you wear it.”
“She’s been wearing it every day,” I said.
“Since when?” he said.
Evie said, “Since Christmas.”
“Oh,” he said. “Uh-huh.”
That was all.
Then we went inside.
17
W E ALWAYS MADE A big fuss on Valentine’s Day, maybe because winter was so boring.
Dad always bought one of those big, red, heart-shaped chocolate boxes from the drugstore at King’s Corners, along with a huge, mushy “To My Wife” card.
Mom and Evie and I made our valentines, and Mom decorated the table, put on the pink cloth, blew up some balloons, made heart-shaped cupcakes with red-and-white frosting, and put out red candles.
We invited Angel to dinner. Evie offered to drive her over to our place and back, but Mr. Kidder said he’d come get her after—Evie shouldn’t have to do all the driving.
Evie kept insisting she wanted to do the driving, but Mr. Kidder wouldn’t hear of it.
The trouble started about an hour before it was time for Evie to leave for the drive to Floodtown.
I’d shown everyone the valentine I’d made for Angel, with the promise they wouldn’t read what I’d printed inside.
“Is it a love poem?” Dad asked.
“It’s not a poem. Never mind.”
“I wrote your mother poems,” he said.
“Those days are gone forever,” Mom said. “Now Hallmark writes them for you.”
Mom had finished setting the table, and called up to Evie that she was coming up to shower before dinner.
Evie yelled back, “Me first. I’ll be fast.”
We all had our valentines out on the table except for Evie, who hadn’t brought hers downstairs yet.
I’d gotten one from Toni Atlee in Florida saying she didn’t miss anything about Duffton, including me, signed “Love and kisses, T.”
Cord was off in Kansas City going to some lecture sponsored by Reed Joseph International, bird and predator control experts. We were trying to get rid of the pigeons and starlings on our land, because they caused hog disease.
Mom told Dad the timer was set for the casserole in the oven, and to pull it out when it dinged.
We went upstairs together. I wanted to show her the locket I’d picked out for Angel before I wrapped it. I hoped she’d offer to wrap it and she did, but we couldn’t find any scissors.
She went to Evie’s room to look for them and I heard her say, “What’s this?”
Then I heard
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