Read Online Not-Just-Anybody Family by Betsy Byars - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Betsy Byars
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down to X-ray, and there’s no harmonica inside you, I’m going to be—” She shook the top sheet so hard, it billowed and snapped. “—furious.”
“If you swallow a harmonica, do they have to cut you open to get it out?” Junior asked.
“Nobody’s cutting me open!” The words burst from Ralphie. His hands folded into fists. “I’m not going to let anybody cut me open. The doctor promised me this was the last time I would have to—”
“There,” the nurse said, “is your harmonica.”
“Where?”
The nurse bent and picked something off the floor. She extended her hand. “There.”
Ralphie looked at it suspiciously. “It doesn’t look like my harmonica. How do you know it’s mine?”
“Because nobody else on this floor has an inch-long harmonica. Now, I’m putting this in my pocket, Ralphie, and you can have it when you leave the hospital.”
“I don’t want it anymore.”
“I do,” said Junior quickly.
“Take it,” said Ralphie, turning away from them.
“All right, you can have it when you leave the hospital,” the nurse said. “And do you want this pill or not?”
“I don’t need it anymore,” Junior said truthfully. The thought of owning his own harmonica was painkiller enough.
Before he went to sleep, Ralphie said, “I knew it was on the floor all the time. I just wanted to scare her.”
“And you did,” Junior answered.
CHAPTER 19
Breaking In
Pap was not asleep and he heard the noise of the board thumping into place against the vent over his head. He dared not hope it was the children, and yet he could feel his heart begin to race in his chest.
He stood up. Pap had to stand up in stages. He stood up first in a stoop, and when his legs got used to that, he straightened the rest of the way up.
Now he stood tall beside his bunk, his head straining painfully toward the window, his old neck twisted like a rooster’s. He heard nothing. With his head back, his Adam’s apple stuck out as far as his sagging chin.
He said softly, “Kids?”
No answer.
“Kids?”
He wanted to whistle, but the man in the next cell had threatened to kill him if he whistled like—the man did not know birdcalls—like a nuthatch one more time. Pap wasn’t afraid of the man, but he didn’t want a disturbance of any kind just now.
He heard a new noise. He couldn’t place it. A soft silk-smooth sound overhead. He held his breath. He waited. He knew in his bones that the sound had something to do with him.
Everybody else in the jail was asleep, snoring, snorting, groaning in their dreams. And they had gone to sleep instantly, because none of them were expecting anyone to drop in. Pap was, and so he alone waited alert in his lighted cell.
Even though he still couldn’t place the thump, followed by the soft sliding sound, he knew it was his. His daddy used to have a saying long ago: “That piece of pie’s got my name on it,” and that was exactly the way Pap felt about the soft sliding noise overhead.
He waited with his hands twitching at his sides, his fingers making little beckoning movements.
The door opened, and a policeman came in for his hourly check. It was twelve o’clock.
The policeman walked slowly down the room, looking in each cell. He paused at Pap’s cell. He looked Pap over from his shoes to his uncombed head. Pap’s heart stopped beating.
“You better lie down, sir, get some sleep,” the policeman said.
“I will. I will.”
“You got a big day tomorrow.”
“What?”
“Isn’t your hearing tomorrow?”
“My what?”
“Your hearing.”
“Oh, my hearing.”
Pap nodded. He slumped to his bunk to get rid of the policeman. He lay down. He pretended to close his eyes. Through a slit in his left eye he could see the policeman was still there.
He couldn’t hear the soft sliding noises because the blood was pounding so hard in his head, it blocked out everything else.
“You a baseball fan?”
“What?” Pap’s eyes snapped open. He was so filled
“If you swallow a harmonica, do they have to cut you open to get it out?” Junior asked.
“Nobody’s cutting me open!” The words burst from Ralphie. His hands folded into fists. “I’m not going to let anybody cut me open. The doctor promised me this was the last time I would have to—”
“There,” the nurse said, “is your harmonica.”
“Where?”
The nurse bent and picked something off the floor. She extended her hand. “There.”
Ralphie looked at it suspiciously. “It doesn’t look like my harmonica. How do you know it’s mine?”
“Because nobody else on this floor has an inch-long harmonica. Now, I’m putting this in my pocket, Ralphie, and you can have it when you leave the hospital.”
“I don’t want it anymore.”
“I do,” said Junior quickly.
“Take it,” said Ralphie, turning away from them.
“All right, you can have it when you leave the hospital,” the nurse said. “And do you want this pill or not?”
“I don’t need it anymore,” Junior said truthfully. The thought of owning his own harmonica was painkiller enough.
Before he went to sleep, Ralphie said, “I knew it was on the floor all the time. I just wanted to scare her.”
“And you did,” Junior answered.
CHAPTER 19
Breaking In
Pap was not asleep and he heard the noise of the board thumping into place against the vent over his head. He dared not hope it was the children, and yet he could feel his heart begin to race in his chest.
He stood up. Pap had to stand up in stages. He stood up first in a stoop, and when his legs got used to that, he straightened the rest of the way up.
Now he stood tall beside his bunk, his head straining painfully toward the window, his old neck twisted like a rooster’s. He heard nothing. With his head back, his Adam’s apple stuck out as far as his sagging chin.
He said softly, “Kids?”
No answer.
“Kids?”
He wanted to whistle, but the man in the next cell had threatened to kill him if he whistled like—the man did not know birdcalls—like a nuthatch one more time. Pap wasn’t afraid of the man, but he didn’t want a disturbance of any kind just now.
He heard a new noise. He couldn’t place it. A soft silk-smooth sound overhead. He held his breath. He waited. He knew in his bones that the sound had something to do with him.
Everybody else in the jail was asleep, snoring, snorting, groaning in their dreams. And they had gone to sleep instantly, because none of them were expecting anyone to drop in. Pap was, and so he alone waited alert in his lighted cell.
Even though he still couldn’t place the thump, followed by the soft sliding sound, he knew it was his. His daddy used to have a saying long ago: “That piece of pie’s got my name on it,” and that was exactly the way Pap felt about the soft sliding noise overhead.
He waited with his hands twitching at his sides, his fingers making little beckoning movements.
The door opened, and a policeman came in for his hourly check. It was twelve o’clock.
The policeman walked slowly down the room, looking in each cell. He paused at Pap’s cell. He looked Pap over from his shoes to his uncombed head. Pap’s heart stopped beating.
“You better lie down, sir, get some sleep,” the policeman said.
“I will. I will.”
“You got a big day tomorrow.”
“What?”
“Isn’t your hearing tomorrow?”
“My what?”
“Your hearing.”
“Oh, my hearing.”
Pap nodded. He slumped to his bunk to get rid of the policeman. He lay down. He pretended to close his eyes. Through a slit in his left eye he could see the policeman was still there.
He couldn’t hear the soft sliding noises because the blood was pounding so hard in his head, it blocked out everything else.
“You a baseball fan?”
“What?” Pap’s eyes snapped open. He was so filled
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