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“Not really.”
She pushed the window up a few extra inches. “I thought I might try to get a little breeze flowing through the house. The air gets so stale in this heat.” She stood above me, looking forlorn. “Some kind of blight has hit the garden,” she blurted suddenly. “A whole batch of baby carrots is dead.”
“Oh, no.” I sat as still as I could.
“I hope it doesn’t spread. Some of the tomatoes haven’t come in yet.”
“I’m sure it won’t.”
“You didn’t notice anything yesterday when you were weeding, did you?”
“Not a thing.”
“I’m quite worried. These blights are so mysterious, so hard to explain.” She walked out, shaking her head.
&n
bsp; By dinner, I hadn’t heard from Bunny. Mrs. Vernon had a church meeting to attend, and Mr. Vernon was going to the VFW, so we ate in the kitchen: fish sticks, mashed potatoes, and peas from the garden. As soon as Mrs. Vernon set the plate in front of her husband, he got up and went to the refrigerator. He took out a jar of pickles and a jar of mayonnaise and chopped several pickles up in a bowl. Then he scooped two tablespoons of mayonnaise on top and mixed it all up. Mrs. Vernon watched him silently. When he sat down again, he arranged his fish sticks like logs on a bonfire and gobbed his pickle-and-mayonnaise mixture on top. He never looked up at his wife.
“I’m sorry, dear,” said Mrs. Vernon. “I guess I was so upset about the garden that I forgot all about your relish.”
He grunted.
“Walter loves fish sticks,” Mrs. Vernon said to me. “They’re practically his favorite meal.”
“I like them, too,” I said. “They’re much crisper than real fish.”
Mr. Vernon stopped eating for a moment and tilted his head to look at me. “They are real fish,” he said.
Mrs. Vernon smiled and shifted in her chair. “What Martha means, dear, is that they’re crisper than fresh fish.”
“I heard what she said. She don’t need you ’terpreting for her.”
“I was only—”
Bam! He slammed his hand on the Formica table top. “You ain’t no ’terpreter,” he said harshly. “Let the girl speak for herself.”
A smile flitted across Mrs. Vernon’s lips, then disappeared. As she turned away, her eyes caught mine for just a second. “There!” they seemed to say. “See?”
The Vernons had both left by the time I heard Bunny’s Pontiac rattle up outside. I ran down to the curb and hugged her and laughed, but her body felt weary.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” I gasped.
“I knew it would work out,” she said. She looked at me affectionately and stroked my hair. She was wearing a cotton housedress with a busy pink print, something she’d never normally wear out of the house.
“How did you do it?” I asked. “What did you have to promise Mrs. O’Brien?”
“Oh, she just wanted to hear me say some things. It’s always the same.” She dropped her hand.
“And Eddie?”
“Don’t worry about Eddie. He’ll be all right.”
We were standing on the sidewalk. It was only about eight, but Oak Street was empty. A few of the houses had turned on their front lights. “It’s creepy around here,” said Bunny. “Why don’t we go for a drive, or something. Let’s get out of here.”
“Do you think we should?”
“Why not? Mrs. Vernon told me we should relax tonight.”
