Read Online The Unmaking of Rabbit by Constance C. Greene - Free Book Online

day-old doughnut Gran bought at the bakery for half price, Paul settled himself down with a copy of National Geographic . The telephone rang, and when he answered, Bess Tuttle’s voice cried, “You’ll never guess who’s here!”
    â€œWho?” Paul said, and she answered, after a dramatic pause, “Gordon.” She handed him the name as if it were a bunch of roses. “He got here a day early, and I’m on my way over right now so you two can get to know each other.”
    â€œI’m alone,” Paul said stupidly. “Gran isn’t here. I don’t know where she is.”
    â€œShe’s gone to the foot doctor,” Mrs. Tuttle said briskly. “She usually walks home down Chatsworth Avenue. I’ll hop in the car and pick her up.”
    Gran walked everywhere, from one side of town to the other, in fair weather or foul, just like a mailman. She had never learned to drive and saw no reason to. “I’m in better shape than most women half my age,” she was quick to say. “All that walking and my cigarette holder are responsible, that I know.”
    Paul hung up and sat doing nothing. If he took a shower he wouldn’t be able to hear when they arrived. He didn’t usually take a shower in the middle of the afternoon, but there could always be a first time.
    But Gran came in the back door. “There you are,” she said, taking off her hat. “Truesdale just cut a corn off my foot, and I walked all the way home. That man is a miracle worker, let me tell you.”
    â€œGordon’s here and Mrs. Tuttle’s in the car looking for you on Chatsworth to bring you home,” Paul said. “He got here a day early and she just called up.” He turned despairing eyes to his grandmother.
    â€œWell,” she said, refusing to meet his gaze, “I’ll just whip up some lemonade.”
    A car pulled up in front of the house. “She must’ve been doing seventy-five all the way,” Paul said.
    â€œEither that or she called from the pay phone on the corner,” Gran said smiling.
    â€œWe’re in the kitchen, Bess,” Gran called as she heard them at the front door. “Come on in.”
    â€œWell,” said Mrs. Tuttle, “here we are.”
    Gran said, “I thought Paul said Gordon was with you.”
    â€œHe is.” Mrs. Tuttle moved aside and revealed a boy with red hair, eyes like twin raisins, and more freckles than he had room for.
    He looked as if he’d been hiding behind her. Paul was pleased to see Gordon wasn’t much taller than he was. Mrs. Tuttle started to put her arm around Gordon. He dodged and said, “Hey,” without looking at either Gran or Paul. Mrs. Tuttle mouthed “shy” at them and looked embarrassed.
    â€œNice to meet you, Gordon,” Gran said. “Your grandmother has told us about you.”
    â€œYeah,” Gordon said, raising his eyes briefly, “I know.”
    There was a silence into which Gran tossed the promise of lemonade. Then, arming each with a full glass, she suggested, “Why don’t you turn on the TV?” Paul’s mouth dropped open in surprise. TV in broad daylight? Gran must be flipping. Only once when he’d had a bad case of bronchitis and had stayed out of school a whole week had she let him watch TV in the daytime.
    â€œLet’s go outside,” Gordon said. “O.K.,” Paul agreed, and under the heavy weight of Mrs. Tuttle’s smile, the two boys took their glasses out to the front steps, where they sat and stared at the ground.
    â€œI thought you were coming tomorrow,” Paul said finally.
    â€œI was, but my mother and father decided to leave today, and they dropped me on their way. Three days with my grandmother. I don’t know if I can hack it,” Gordon said.
    â€œWhy, don’t you like her?” Paul asked. He almost added “either” but he was too tactful. It was