Read Online Summer of the Gypsy Moths by Sara Pennypacker - Free Book Online Page A

coupons in the morning, then headed out before the specials ran out. That means we should have three more days of food.”
    â€œMore,” Angel figured. “Since she’s not going to be eating her share.”
    â€œIt’s still not much. There’s not much here. Oh, wait. Her hurricane cupboard.”
    Angel gave me a blank look.
    â€œShe used to say that anyone who lived on Cape Cod and didn’t stock up in case of a hurricane was a fool. Sometimes she went down there when she needed a can of something. It’s in the cellar, that’s all I know.”
    I found it: Next to the laundry, a cupboard with two shelves full of stuff: a tiny canned ham, a giant jar of peanut butter, crackers, maybe half a dozen cans each of tuna fish, beans, and tomatoes, and a five-pound tub of Crisco. There were candles and matches and batteries, too.
    I ran back up, bringing the peanut butter. You can eat peanut butter for three meals a day. “We’re not going to starve for a while,” I said. “Plus, there’s her garden.”
    Angel made a gagging face—she never ate anything green.
    â€œScurvy is a real thing, you know. It’s not just sailors who get it.”
    Angel rolled her shoulders. She pulled one of her never-ending supply of Dum Dums from her shorts pocket and stuck it in her mouth. She opened the freezer and poked at a red-and-white box.
    â€œNot the coffee cake,” I said. “She keeps it there in case.”
    â€œIn case what? In case she dies and we’re hungry?”
    â€œNo, in case someone stops by unexpectedly. Didn’t you ever listen to her?”
    â€œI tried not to,” Angel said. “Blah, blah, blah.” She pulled the coffee cake out.
    â€œNo,” I said, surprised at how strongly I felt. “We are not touching that. It was important to her. She liked to feel prepared.”
    â€œShe’s dead,” Angel said, and ripped open the end of the box. “She probably wasn’t too prepared about that.”
    I reached for the box, but Angel yanked it back.
    â€œDon’t do it, Angel. I mean it.”
    Angel eyed me then, trying to decide how far to fight. I set my jaw and folded my arms to let her know.
    Angel looked down at the box. “The expiration date is January, anyway,” she said. “ Four years ago January. She didn’t get many unexpected visitors, I guess.” She tossed the box into the trash.
    I picked it out and put it back into the freezer, my lipspressed tight. Then I went back to studying the refrigerator. “There’s a pound of hamburger in here. She always made chili on Sunday afternoons. I guess we should make chili.”
    Angel snorted a laugh around the Dum Dum.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?”
    â€œYou’re going to just make chili ,” Angel said. “The kind you could actually eat.”
    â€œOf course,” I said. “And you’re going to help.”
    I was wrong about that part. I handed Angel a couple of onions and told her to cut them up, and when she handed the cutting board back, the onions were in halves. With the skins on.
    â€œYou’ve never cooked before, Angel?”
    Angel’s chin shot up and her eyes narrowed.
    â€œNever mind. You can watch.”
    Angel picked a Soap Opera Digest out of the mail basket, hopped onto the counter, and began to read. But I noticed she kept stealing suspicious glances at my hands, as if I were dealing cards and she wanted to catch me cheating. I chopped onions and peppers and slid them into a big cast-iron frying pan with some oil. As I worked, I gave out helpful cooking tips I’d learned from my grandmother, but I made it sound as if I was just talking to myself. “If you keep onions in the refrigerator, they won’t make you cry.”Angel kept her head buried in the magazine, but I thought she nodded a little at that.
    â€œNot too much garlic,” I went on, mincing a couple of