A Life of Bright Ideas Page 38

  “It’s her Book of Bright Ideas,” said a voice behind us in the same tone that the snotty big kids who picked on us little kids at recess used. I turned and saw the pretty lady standing there, her hands on her hips, her legs parted. She was looking up and down the street.

  It was like Aunt Verdella didn’t know what to say again, so she said nothing except that if Winnalee was a good little girl and went potty, she’d give her a Popsicle or an ice cream bar.

  The lady grabbed a big black purse off of the seat of the truck and we all headed toward the store, Winnalee’s loopy hair dancing, her mesh slip flapping in the breeze like fins.

  Fanny Tilman backed out of the doorway and slipped behind a grocery shelf, where I knew she was gonna stay hid, like a mouse waiting for somebody to drop some crumbs.

  “Where you people from?” Aunt Verdella asked as she scooted behind the counter. The pretty lady took a bottle of RC Cola and one of root beer from the cooler, then set them down on the counter alongside her purse. Winnalee was behind her.

  “Gary,” she says. “Gary, Indiana. We drove straight through.”

  “Yeah,” Winnalee said. “We had to leave in the middle of the night. All because Freeda went dancing with some guy from the meat factory, when she was supposed to be Harley Hoffesteader’s girl. Harley got so pissed he was coming after her with a shotgun. Probably would have killed both of us dead if we hadn’t gotten out of there fast. It don’t matter, though. Freeda would’ve moved us anyways. She always does.” The lady cuffed her on the top of her head and Winnalee cried out, “Ouch!” Aunt Verdella flinched and told Winnalee that maybe she should go potty now, and would she like me or her to go with her. Winnalee’s nose crinkled. “I’m not a baby,” she said, then she grabbed the key from the counter and marched out the door.

  “Oh my. Gary. That’s quite a drive. That must be, what, a good three fifty, four hundred miles from here?”

  “I don’t know.” Freeda shook her head so that wispy strands wobbled against her long neck. “Hell, I don’t even know where we are.”

  “You’re in Dauber, Wisconsin, dear. Population 3,263,” Aunt Verdella said proudly. “You thinking of settling here, or are you just passing through?”

  Freeda shrugged. “I guess one place is as good as another. There any places to rent around here?”

  I swear I heard Fanny Tilman (who was peeking up over the bread rack) gasp.

  Aunt Verdella squeaked her tongue against her teeth as she thought. Then her puffy lips made a circle like a doughnut. “Ohhhh, well, actually, there just might be! Well, if you don’t mind living in a place that’s being fixed up, that is. You see, my husband, Rudy, and his brother, Reece, their ma passed away a couple a years ago, and we’ve been talking about renting her place out once Reece gets it fixed up. I keep saying that a house that sits empty falls to ruin fast, but you know how men are. Reece—that’s Button here’s daddy—he ain’t gotten around to the repairs yet, but if you don’t mind him coming and going, I don’t see why we can’t rent it to you now.”

  Winnalee came back in and held the key out to me, but looked at Freeda. “Hey, you said we were going to Detroit! She lies,” she said to me, her thumb jabbing toward Freeda. Then she leaned over and peered at the mesh slip she was wearing. “Can you see my undies through this thing?” I looked, saw a bit of white, and told her I could. She rolled her big, lake-on-a-sunny-day-colored eyes and sighed. “I tried to tell Freeda that I was in my underwear, but she went and packed up my clothes anyway.”

  Freeda grunted. “Like it matters. You’re in dress-up clothes half the time, anyway, Winnalee.”

  Aunt Verdella talked about Grandma Mae’s place, bragging about the nice closed-in porch with good screens (all but for the one a barn cat shredded) and about the flower garden that was already shooting up daffodils and hyacinths, while she went to the freezer so Winnalee could pick out a treat. She called me over to have something too.

  “Oh dear, where are my manners,” she said all of a sudden. “I didn’t even introduce myself yet. I’m Verdella Peters, and this here is my niece, Evelyn Mae, but we all call her Button. She’s nine years old. How old are you, Winnalee?”

  “I’m gonna be ten on September first,” she said.

  Freeda smiled for the first time, and her smile was as pretty as her hair. “I’m Freeda Malone, and you already know the sassy one. She’s my kid sister.”

  Things happened fast then. While Freeda Malone was paying for her gas and the pop, Aunt Verdella told her they could get something to eat at the Spot Café. “You girls come back after you’re done eating,” Aunt Verdella said. “I’m closin’ up in an hour, and you can follow me then.” While Aunt Verdella chattered, I watched Winnalee eat her grape Popsicle. She didn’t seem to have one bit of worry about the purple dripping down her hand and streaking her arm. I had my wrapper cupped around my stick, like you’re supposed to, so I didn’t have to worry about getting all sticky and stained.

  The minute the Malones left, Aunt Verdella got as light and floaty as bubbles. Fanny Tilman came out of her hiding place then, looking like a gray mouse in her wool coat, even though it was too warm for even a little jacket.

  “Verdella! Jewel is gonna be fit to be tied, you offering Mae’s house like that! And to some gypsy drifters, to boot!”

  Aunt Verdella waved Fanny Tilman’s comment away. “It’s gonna be real nice having people in that house, Fanny. I get so lonely when I look across the road and see that big, empty place. Mae didn’t take to me much, but still, it was just nice knowing someone was there.” She looked down at me and grinned. “And Button here sure could use a little friend, couldn’t you, Button?”

  Mrs. Tilman’s mouth pinched. “Good heavens, Verdella. It’s not like bringing home a litter of abandoned kittens, you know. These are strangers, and most likely trouble, by the looks of them.”

  When the Malones came back, Winnalee had ketchup splotched on her blouse, right over one of those points sticking out front like two witch’s hats. Her eyes were a little red, and her cheeks had white streaks on them where a few tears had washed them. She didn’t look unhappy at the moment, though, as she squatted to examine the tops of some canned goods where rainbowy shadows made by something shiny hanging in the window were flickering.

  Aunt Verdella took her pay out of the till like she was told to—one dollar for every hour she worked this week—while I packed up my doll. She folded the envelope in threes and tucked it into her bra to take home and put in her jewelry box, where she kept all the money that was going toward the RCA color television set she wanted. A magazine ad of it was tacked to her fridge door, where it had hung since I was in the first grade. When she first came over with that ad, saying she was gonna save up and buy it even if it took her a lifetime, Ma had taken the TV Guide and showed Aunt Verdella how, at best, she’d only get three hours of color TV time a day. Mom repeated this story whenever she wanted to make Aunt Verdella look foolish. “I told her, look here, on Mondays, you’ll only get forty-five minutes! But Verdella just laughed and said, ‘Long as two of those hours are used up by As the World Turns and Arthur Godfrey, I’ll be happy. Besides, by the time I save up $495, who knows, they might all be in living color!’ ” Aunt Verdella had no idea how much that TV set was gonna cost her once she finally saved up enough, but she still faithfully put away every spare dime she had to buy it.

  Aunt Verdella locked up The Corner Store and we climbed into her turquoise and white Bel Air, which was cluttered with junk. A Raggedy Ann and Andy—bought from the community sale last summer, just because they were cute—were propped on the bag of romance magazines that somebody gave her weeks ago, and wadded-up candy and chip wrappers littered the floor. Aunt Verdella checked my door three times to make sure it was locked, so I wouldn’t lean on it and fall out, then made me set down my Barbie case and climb over the seat to watch out the back window as she backed out, so she didn’t run anybody over.

  “It’s okay,” I said.

 
; Once we got going, I climbed back into the front seat. I sat close to Aunt Verdella, her arm warm against my cheek. Aunt Verdella kept looking in the rearview mirror, making sure that the Malones were still following us.

  The shortest way home was down Highway 8, but Aunt Verdella wouldn’t drive on the highway, so we kicked up dust down one town road after another, driving for what seemed forever. By the time we got out of the city limits the insides of my arms were splotched with the red, pimply rash that sprouted up on them whenever I got rattled. I knew Ma wasn’t gonna be happy. Not about my dirty knees, and not about the Malones. I slid my jaw over a bit so my teeth could grab at the bumpy clump of skin inside my cheek, even though Dr. Wagner told me that if I kept up the nasty habit, I was gonna bite a hole clear through my face. Aunt Verdella wasn’t worried like me though. She sang lines from one of those country songs she always played on her record player and grinned like she was bringing home Christmas. The rash itchin’ my arms, though, told me that maybe this was a package we weren’t supposed to open.

  Also by Sandra Kring

  Carry Me Home

  The Book of Bright Ideas

  Thank You for All Things

  How High the Moon

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  SANDRA KRING lives in Wisconsin. Her debut novel, Carry Me Home, was a Book Sense Notable Pick and a 2005 Midwest Booksellers’ Choice Award Nominee. The Book of Bright Ideas was named to the New York Public Library’s Books for the Teen Age list in 2007. Visit her on the Web at www.sandrakring.com.