Read Online The Paper Cowboy by Kristin Levine - Free Book Online Page A

I’m holding secret communist meetings in my stockroom at night?”
    â€œIt’s a possibility,” Mr. Sullivan said. “All I know is what I read in the papers. And if Senator McCarthy is finding them in the State Department, we can’t be sure they aren’t here too.”
    â€œMr. Sullivan,” Mr. McKenzie growled. “I am not a communist, but I’ve known some. They were locked up with me in a German work camp.”
    â€œThe commies aren’t our allies anymore,” Eddie’s dad retorted.
    â€œNo,” Mr. McKenzie said. “Not anymore.” He pulled out a new sheet of newspaper, glanced at the front page (it was the
Chicago Tribune
) and wrapped up the lightbulbs. “Got an article about your friend McCarthy right here!” He jabbed a finger at the paper. “Now take your lightbulbs and get out of my store.”
    Mr. Sullivan held the package with one hand and slammed the door with the other as he stormed out. The little bell above the threshold rang wildly.
    Everyone in the store was staring at Mr. McKenzie. Including me. They’d all heard Mr. Sullivan accuse him of being a communist. Mr. McKenzie took one deep breath, then another. “Store’s closing for lunch,” he said finally. “You’ll have to finish your purchases this afternoon.”
    Without a word, the other customers left one by one. I started to join them.
    â€œTommy,” Mr. McKenzie called after me.
    I froze, but turned to face him anyway.
    He knew. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew, 100 percent for sure, that I’d put that paper there. But could he prove it? Had Little Skinny seen me with the paper at school? I didn’t think so, but I wasn’t sure.
    â€œI’ll see you next week,” Mr. McKenzie said finally.
    I nodded and hurried off. Suddenly, planting the paper in the store didn’t seem like it had been such a good idea.

11

    GUILTY OF TREASON
    The knot in my stomach only tightened as I walked home. Mr. McKenzie was probably calling Mom right now. I could barely breathe as I opened the front door and stepped in.
    Dad was sitting at the kitchen table and Mom was at the stove cooking lunch. Her long black hair was braided and pinned up on her head, as if she were going to a party. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement. “Oh, Tommy,” she cried when she saw me. “The doctor called. Mary Lou woke up!”
    A wide grin crept across my face. “She’s going to be okay?”
    â€œYes,” said Mom, tossing the spaghetti into a colander with such enthusiasm that a few strands of pasta wriggled over the edge and fell to the floor. Mom giggled.
    â€œThey
think
she’s going to be okay,” my dad added in a serious tone.
    I turned to look at him. He was unshaven and had a bunch of papers spread out before him. “The burns on her legs were severe. She’s going to need extensive skin grafts.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” I asked.
    â€œWhen they take skin from her stomach or her back and put it on her legs.”
    It sounded like something from a monster movie at the Tivoli.
    â€œThere’s a risk of infection,” Dad went on. “And, of course, even when the grafts are healed, she’ll have to learn to walk again.”
    â€œLearn to walk again?” Thinking about skin grafts and infection made me feel kind of sick, like the time I ate a hot dog and a bag of popcorn before getting on a roller coaster. Suddenly, I could smell the wet grass of that morning, see Mary Lou’s penny loafers as she skipped across the lawn. Maybe she would never walk like that again. Maybe it was all my fault.
    â€œOh, you two worry too much!” exclaimed Mom. She went to the record player and put on Dick Contino playing the accordion. She turned the volume up loud and danced around the kitchen.
    I walked over to the table and picked up one of the papers, just to clear a spot to eat.