Read Online Every Time We Say Goodbye by Jamie Zeppa - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jamie Zeppa
Ads: Link
pay someone to look after him,” Grace said, wiping the soapy tines of a fork. “I could find someone nice.”
“You wouldn’t make enough,” Vera said. She wiped her hands and got out a paper and pencil. “Come here. I’ll show you.” Grace sat beside her and watched her write
$80
at the top of the paper. “Let’s say you make this much a month. This is how much you’d pay for rent. Then you’d have to pay for your bus fare. And groceries. And clothes for yourself.”
“I don’t need clothes.”
“You’d need clothes if you were working. You can’t go to work in your old housedress. And Danny needs clothes. Shoes. Winter boots. They outgrow things so fast. Plus other things—if he got sick, you’d have to pay the doctor. You’d have to buy medicine.”
Grace looked at the paper. Vera hadn’t finished. “Now you have to pay someone to care for Danny. Do you see?” There was less than no money left.
Grace saw. She was also suspicious. If there was no money left, how was Mrs. May’s daughter buying new hats and going to Niagara Falls? She said, “I can’t leave Danny.”
“Why don’t you just go down for a few months after Christmas and try it out?”
Grace said, “We’ll see,” which is what Vera said when she meant no but didn’t want to discuss it.
Vera seemed to think it meant something else, though, because as Grace was going upstairs, she said, “And don’t worry about your brother. I’ll talk to him.”
Up in her attic room, Grace sat with her head in her hands, trying to think of a way out, but all her ideas ended in rags and rooms with dirt floors and the Children’s Aid Society at the door. If she stayed, at least she and Danny would have a roof over their heads. She would just have to avoid fighting with Vera. If she didn’t fight with Vera, Vera wouldn’t fight with Frank, and Frank wouldn’t look pained and pinched when he told Grace to stop fighting with Vera. If she didn’t fight with Vera, she could be with Danny, which was all that mattered.
But not fighting with Vera was hard. Not fighting with Vera meant she couldn’t be with Danny anyway, because she was in the basement running clothes through the wringer or outside knocking icicles from the eaves while Vera took Danny to town and had his picture taken at Venini’s Studio. Not fighting with Vera meant Vera decided what Danny could eat and when he should sleep, where he could play and whether he was too old for Grace to be singing nonsense songs to him.
Danny’s legs were lengthening like crazy weeds; he climbed out of his pillow fortress on the floor and crawled everywhere, frowning at every object that came his way. When he recognized it, his face broke suddenly into radiance; then he put it into his mouth. “Danny!” Grace laughed helplessly, extracting the chewed-up leg of the woolly lamb. “You can’t eat that.” He babbled sweetly, just syllables, but sometimes, they matched what he saw. “Ba ba,” he said to the ball. “Ma ma ma,” he said to Grace.
At dinner, Vera told Frank, “Oh, and Danny called me mama today.”
Grace pushed her chair back, her face suddenly hot and her hands trembling. “He did not,” she said.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Vera said. “He doesn’t know the difference.”
“He knows who his mother is,” Grace said, her voice rising wildly. Vera told her to lower her voice, she would wake the baby. Grace wanted to weep and throw up all the words she had swallowed ever since Frank had said, “From now on, what Vera says goes.” She wanted to stamp her feet and pull out her hair and hit Vera over the head with the casserole dish of scalloped potatoes, crack her skull like an egg. “He’s my baby,” she yelled, and she flung her plate over the table onto the floor. Frank shouted, “Grace! That is enough! Go upstairs and don’t come down for the rest of the night.” In the living room, Danny wailed, and Vera rushed from the table. Frank pointed to the
“You wouldn’t make enough,” Vera said. She wiped her hands and got out a paper and pencil. “Come here. I’ll show you.” Grace sat beside her and watched her write
$80
at the top of the paper. “Let’s say you make this much a month. This is how much you’d pay for rent. Then you’d have to pay for your bus fare. And groceries. And clothes for yourself.”
“I don’t need clothes.”
“You’d need clothes if you were working. You can’t go to work in your old housedress. And Danny needs clothes. Shoes. Winter boots. They outgrow things so fast. Plus other things—if he got sick, you’d have to pay the doctor. You’d have to buy medicine.”
Grace looked at the paper. Vera hadn’t finished. “Now you have to pay someone to care for Danny. Do you see?” There was less than no money left.
Grace saw. She was also suspicious. If there was no money left, how was Mrs. May’s daughter buying new hats and going to Niagara Falls? She said, “I can’t leave Danny.”
“Why don’t you just go down for a few months after Christmas and try it out?”
Grace said, “We’ll see,” which is what Vera said when she meant no but didn’t want to discuss it.
Vera seemed to think it meant something else, though, because as Grace was going upstairs, she said, “And don’t worry about your brother. I’ll talk to him.”
Up in her attic room, Grace sat with her head in her hands, trying to think of a way out, but all her ideas ended in rags and rooms with dirt floors and the Children’s Aid Society at the door. If she stayed, at least she and Danny would have a roof over their heads. She would just have to avoid fighting with Vera. If she didn’t fight with Vera, Vera wouldn’t fight with Frank, and Frank wouldn’t look pained and pinched when he told Grace to stop fighting with Vera. If she didn’t fight with Vera, she could be with Danny, which was all that mattered.
But not fighting with Vera was hard. Not fighting with Vera meant she couldn’t be with Danny anyway, because she was in the basement running clothes through the wringer or outside knocking icicles from the eaves while Vera took Danny to town and had his picture taken at Venini’s Studio. Not fighting with Vera meant Vera decided what Danny could eat and when he should sleep, where he could play and whether he was too old for Grace to be singing nonsense songs to him.
Danny’s legs were lengthening like crazy weeds; he climbed out of his pillow fortress on the floor and crawled everywhere, frowning at every object that came his way. When he recognized it, his face broke suddenly into radiance; then he put it into his mouth. “Danny!” Grace laughed helplessly, extracting the chewed-up leg of the woolly lamb. “You can’t eat that.” He babbled sweetly, just syllables, but sometimes, they matched what he saw. “Ba ba,” he said to the ball. “Ma ma ma,” he said to Grace.
At dinner, Vera told Frank, “Oh, and Danny called me mama today.”
Grace pushed her chair back, her face suddenly hot and her hands trembling. “He did not,” she said.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Vera said. “He doesn’t know the difference.”
“He knows who his mother is,” Grace said, her voice rising wildly. Vera told her to lower her voice, she would wake the baby. Grace wanted to weep and throw up all the words she had swallowed ever since Frank had said, “From now on, what Vera says goes.” She wanted to stamp her feet and pull out her hair and hit Vera over the head with the casserole dish of scalloped potatoes, crack her skull like an egg. “He’s my baby,” she yelled, and she flung her plate over the table onto the floor. Frank shouted, “Grace! That is enough! Go upstairs and don’t come down for the rest of the night.” In the living room, Danny wailed, and Vera rushed from the table. Frank pointed to the
Similar Books
