“Through the front door?” A. pressed.
“Didn’t I just say that?” Margo asked.
“Quite a rude little child, isn’t she?” A. whispered to Q.
Unfortunately for her, Margo had excellent hearing.
“One shouldn’t throw stones in glass houses,” Margo said. And for good measure, she added, “And I’m allergic to chocolate.”
—fromAlvin Hatter and the Everlife Society
15
The morning light either reassures you or is much, much too bright. That morning it was the latter, and I stumbled downstairs with eyes red and puffy and blurred. My mother was just getting home from work; her own eyes were so tired that she couldn’t see how I was swimming through the air, drowning in it. She kissed my temple and went upstairs to bed. I made a pot of coffee and took a mug outside. I sat on the deck stairs; it was already hot and humid, but the grass was sparkling with dew.
“Make up your mind,” I whispered to the backyard.
“That’s my girl, talking to herself as usual,” Dad said. I hadn’t noticed him sitting in one of the deck chairs, on top of a towel so he didn’t get wet.
“I was talking to the grass,” I corrected him.
“Even better!”
“Why are you up so early on a Saturday?”
“I might ask you the same question.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Same.”
“Who won the Monopoly match last night?”
“Are you really asking a question to which you must surely know the answer?” Dad asked, getting up from his chair to join me on the steps. He put his arm around me and stole a sip of my coffee.
“The reigning champion,” I said.
“You’re looking at him.”
“How did you get so good at Monopoly?”
“Helen. She taught me everything she knew. She had a cutthroat business sense. You need one, if you get as successful as she did.”
His voice caught only the tiniest bit on her name. The tiniest hiccup in the back of his throat. It made my chest hurt.
“Mom told me about the missing week.”
“Yeah,” he said, withdrawing his arm, nodding. “She could be a real mystery, your aunt.”
“Where do you think she went?”
“I have my theories. None of them are true, I’m sure.”
“Maybe she wrote it down. She left me her journals, you know.”
“Have you read them?”
“I’m waiting for her to tell me to.”
