She frowns. “What’s your name anyway?”
“Annie P. Logan,” I say, suddenly nervous. I don’t know why I give her my middle initial like that.
She peers at me.
“Ma’am,” I add for good measure.
She sniffs. “Gloria Crumb. So very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Her words are polite, but her tone is triple-coated in sarcasm. There’s something about her that makes me want to comb my hair and tuck in my shirt. And I never tuck in my shirt.
I try to help her up, but it isn’t easy. She twists herself sideways, moaning and grimacing more with every inch. I jostle her arm once, and she lets out a yell. The whole time, the dog makes little snuffling sounds but doesn’t bark once. It’s almost as if he can tell I’m trying to help her. I keep my eyes on her and not on his teeth.
Eventually, I help her into a sitting position. She wants me to help her stand, but I worry that I’ll drop her.
She blows out an exasperated breath but seems to settle for sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. “At least Albert won’t find me on my back like a bug that can’t flip over. He already thinks I’m too old to be living alone.”
“Do you want a pillow, Mrs. Crumb?” I ask.
“Call me Gloria or nothing at all,” she says sharply. “I won’t abide by any of that Mrs. Crumb or ma’am nonsense. Those words are the domain of mealymouthed sycophants.”
My eyebrows go up. “I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a psychopath.”
She sighs. “What do they teach children at school these days? A sycophant is someone who flatters to gain favor. A toady. A kiss-up—do you know that one?”
I bristle. “I am not a kiss-up, either.”
She nods crisply, then grimaces in pain. “So you know that one, at least. You aren’t a total lost cause.”
I frown. “Hey!”
She looks around. “Now, where is that hand phone?”
I pick it up and give it to her.
“Cell phone,” I say. I admit it, my tone is smug. But I can’t help it.
She glares at me. “That’s what I said.”
It’s not worth arguing. She swipes and presses until she manages to find his contact information. When the number dials, a picture appears of a black-haired man holding a chubby baby.
I keep an eye on the dog. He’s extremely odd. Odd Otto. I’d call him ugly, but that would be too easy. His hairiness level is extreme—it grows in tangles all over his body. His eyes point in different directions. His jaw is oversized, and his spiky teeth stick up over his top lip. And even though his mouth is closed, his tongue sticks out the side. There must be a gap in his teeth. His teeth. I shudder, taking a half step away from Otto and his mouth.
I can hear the phone ringing. Come on, Albert. Pick up.
Gloria Crumb pulls her head away. She frowns, like something occurred to her. “Annie Logan. Your dad owns the hardware store?”
I nod.
“That HomeMade in Mountain Ring has better prices,” she says.
Now, this I can’t let go. At my house, HomeMade is like a bad word. As the number of customers at Logan & Son gets smaller and smaller, the worry creases in Dad’s forehead get deeper and deeper.
I fix her with a look. “Lots of people would rather buy twelve cheap light bulbs at HomeMade than one regular-price one at a local family business.”
Then I smile sweetly, which seems to throw her off. She returns to her call for a moment, then presses the button to disconnect. Her frown adds extra wrinkles to her face.
“Well, Annie P. Logan, we have ourselves a problem. Albert isn’t answering.”
I chew my lip, thinking. “We could call the emergency number.”
She sniffs. “Not on your life. I don’t need everyone in town knowing my business.”
“We could wait and try Albert later.” But when I catch sight of her bad arm, it’s turning colors faster than a summer sunset. That can’t be good.
“Pish,” she says. “I think I need a doctor.” I can tell she hates admitting it.
We need someone to help. Someone steady. Someone reliable. Someone who always knows what to do.
I pick up the phone and make my fingers dial.
CHAPTER
9
Faster than a hot knife through butter, Dad shows up on Ms. Gloria Crumb’s front porch. Ray’s not with him, so I’m guessing that he was left in charge of the store.
Dad gives me a “we’ll talk later” nod but doesn’t press me to answer as to why I’m standing in the living room of a broken-armed old lady and her ferocious dog, who is currently stuck to Ms. Gloria’s side like glue.
For Gloria Crumb, he grins deep enough to show the dimple in his right cheek. “I’m Keith Logan, Annie’s dad.”
“Delighted to meet you,” Gloria mutters in a way that means exactly the opposite. “Enchanted,” she adds for good measure.
If I talked with that sour attitude, Dad would give me the sternest of looks. But with Gloria, he’s sweet as a jelly doughnut.
“That looks like it hurts.”
She scowls. “Pish.”
He offers her a hand. “Let’s get you on your feet.”
“I can do it myself,” she crabs at him.
The corners of my mouth turn up like they have a mind of their own. I have to admire the way she sticks to her grumpiness. JoJo would call it “gumption.”
“Of course you can do it yourself,” Dad says. He draws out all his vowels, really leaning in to his mountain accent. “But my mama would roll right over in her grave if I let you try.”
She frowns and shakes her head, ready to argue. But as she reaches out to steady herself, her arm bumps the wall. She grimaces, clutching at it.
“All right,” she says, like she’s admitting defeat.
Dad scoops her up in one smooth motion. She looks like a doll in his arms. I was thinking he would set her on her feet—after all, her legs aren’t broken—but instead he carries her out the door. Otto tries to follow, but the screen door snaps shut. He begins to bark and whine.
“Grab my purse,” Gloria calls. “I know exactly how much money is in there, so don’t get any grand ideas.”
Yikes. The truth is, her gumption is a lot less enjoyable when she’s aiming it at me.
“And lock the door,” she shouts over Dad’s shoulder. “Secure the perimeter. I don’t need any vandals coming in!”
I do as I’m told. When I close the door on Otto, he starts to panic. I can hear him clawing at the wood.
Dad’s settling Ms. Gloria in the front seat of his pickup, so I go around to get in behind Dad. She’s telling him how she fell when she suddenly trails off.
“Wait,” she says, brows furrowed. “Why were you at my door?”
I pause. If I say I was there to ring her doorbell and run away, I’m going to get in huge trouble with Dad. But as much as I am not a psychopath or a sycophant, I’m also no liar. I open my mouth, but somehow the words refuse to come out.
Dad glances at me and then back at Ms. Gloria. “Annie and her brother play at the park every day after school. Annie must have heard you calling for help.”
I snap my mouth shut. Technically, it’s true, even if it’s not the whole story. I did hear her calling for help. It just so happens that the reason I heard her is because I was standing on the front porch at the time. Because I was the one who made Otto bark like a monster. Because I was the one who caused her to fall.
I wish I hadn’t listened to Tyler. I wish I’d never even heard of Ding-Dong Ditch.
“My backpack,” I say suddenly. “I left it at the park.”
“We’ll get it later,” Dad says.
From inside the house, Otto chooses this moment to let out a deep howl. It’s so loud, it makes my ears buzz.
Dad puts the truck in reverse and backs out of the driveway. “That’s some kind of dog you have. What breed is he?”
This, it turns out, is exactly the right topic to take Gloria’s mind off
her situation. Gloria has long and mysterious, complex theories as to Otto’s origin. In her mind, not only is he brave, brilliant, and loyal, he’s also the most handsome dog ever.
My eyebrows practically pop off my forehead when I hear that. That dog is no kind of handsome I’ve ever known. I’m opening my mouth to say so when Dad catches my eye in the rearview mirror and winks. It’s a good feeling, like we’re on the same side. I wish I could enjoy it, but my insides are busy flip-flopping, imagining what he’ll think when he finds out that it’s my fault she’s hurt.
We drive through the twisting mountain roads until we reach the hospital; then Dad helps Gloria get checked in. She’s taken back quickly because of her advanced age. And possibly on account of her crankiness, although I keep that thought to myself.
Dad and I stay in the waiting room. After a while, a dark-haired man bursts through the door. He doesn’t have a baby with him, but I recognize him from the picture on Gloria’s phone.
I tug on Dad’s sleeve. “That’s Albert. He’s here for Gloria.”
Dad crosses the room. I watch as he explains. The man listens, then rushes over to me. He reaches out for my hand and starts shaking it briskly.
“I’m Albert,” he says. “I can’t thank you enough for saving Gloria. She’s very lucky you were there.”
I gulp, not saying a word.
Albert shakes Dad’s hand as well. He’s still saying thank you even as he turns to follow a nurse through the swinging double doors, on his way to Gloria.
When I look at Dad, he’s beaming at me. For once, it’s not Ray who is an excellent citizen. It’s me.
I should be happy, but instead my heart sinks so low that it lodges somewhere around my ankles. Dad thinks I did the right thing with Gloria. He doesn’t know that it’s all the fault of me and my rotten luck.
CHAPTER
10
I barely sleep at night.
The covers twist around me like a tornado. Everything is too hot and too cold, too snug and too loose, too loud and too hushed. But even as I toss and turn, I know the truth.
Nothing is wrong with my room or my pajamas or the chirping crickets outside my window. It’s me. I’m what’s wrong. Each time I close my eyes, I replay the memory of what I did because Tyler dared me. How I walked up the driveway and reached the front steps. Otto’s terrible bark. And the sickening thud of Gloria falling to the ground.
Way past midnight, I finally fall asleep. When I wake up, I go downstairs to the kitchen. Ray and Dad aren’t there, but there’s a note by the toaster.
Hey, Annie,
Ray and I went for a run. Come by the store later today so we can talk about the festival. Oatmeal’s on the stove.
Dad
It figures that they went for a run—that’s one more way that Dad and Ray are alike. They’re exercise fanatics. Dad goes bonkers if he doesn’t make his body work hard for at least an hour a day. Last year, he broke his leg and for six weeks was in a wheelchair the exact color of a battleship. JoJo dropped off food for us every day, but Dad was too miserable to enjoy it.
I ignore the oatmeal and rummage in the pantry until I find my red box of Rainbow Puffs cereal. Dad calls it my junk food. He says it’s okay to eat as a snack sometimes, but I should never have it for breakfast because it is not the basis of a healthy meal. I bet Ma would have let me have a bowl every day without any trouble at all.
Before heading to the roof, I pour myself an extra-big serving of Rainbow Puffs. I wait for my mountains to make me feel better. When I try to draw them all my lines look wrong. Even the Rainbow Puffs taste like sugared cardboard.
I get dressed and put my bowl in the sink. The store should be open now, so I decide to head downtown. But I turn before I get to Dad’s store, instead crossing over the lake bridge to the park. I check the picnic table, but my backpack isn’t where I left it. It probably got stolen. That would be just my luck.
I look at the woods across the street, knowing that Gloria’s house is behind them. It has been less than a day since I was here, but it feels like a week has passed.
Something makes me go across the street to see the house. Before I make it to the front steps, I already hear Otto barking. There’s a red SUV parked in the driveway. I try to think of what I would say if Gloria saw me. None of the words seems right.
As I’m standing there, trying to decide, the front door opens.
I hear a voice. “Easy, easy!”
The man from the waiting room backs onto the porch. He’s pushing Otto inside, trying to close the door. It’s Albert, with a sturdy, dark-haired baby strapped to his chest.
Finally, he manages to shut the door. He sighs.
“Hi,” I say. “It’s me, Annie. From the hospital.”
Albert turns to look at me. His baby looks a lot like him, with thick, dark hair and pale skin. Albert uses hair product, but the baby’s hair sticks out like dandelion fluff.
Albert blinks a few times like he’s trying to place me. Then he nods. “You’re the one who helped her.”
Instead of answering, I wave at the baby. He doesn’t wave back, but I don’t take it personally. Not all babies are wavers.
“This is Fabian,” Albert says, patting the baby’s head. Fabian scowls at me from under his thick eyebrows.
I chew my lip. “Is she going to be okay?”
Albert sighs again. “They think so. They wanted to observe her overnight.”
Relief floods my stomach. She’s okay. For the first time since yesterday, I feel like I can breathe in all the way.
Albert steps off the porch. He cups his chin with his hand and surveys Gloria’s house and yard. His eyes linger on the loose shutter, the overgrown weeds, the tilting wooden fence.
“I don’t know how she thinks she can manage this place on her own,” Albert says, almost to himself. “I’ve tried to tell her that she’d be better off in a place with people to help when she needs it. A place where she could have a little apartment and structured activities.”
I don’t know Gloria very well, but I know her well enough to understand that she’d only enjoy structured activities if she were the one doing the structuring. Maybe not even then. Besides, a little apartment would never fit all those cardboard boxes.
“That sounds like something she would hate,” I say.
I make my tone as delicate as possible, but even so, Albert’s eyes go round in surprise. He scratches his chin. “It’s not ideal, but I don’t know what else to do. At least she should consider getting rid of that horrid dog. There’s no way she can manage him with a broken arm.”
I shake my head. “That’s a terrible idea. She may not be the nicest person in Oak Branch, but she doesn’t deserve to have her dog taken away.”
This time, my tone is less polite. Albert and I regard each other for a moment. Meanwhile, Fabian lets out a squawk, like I maybe surprised him, too. Albert drops a tiny kiss on the top of his little baby head.
As I watch, something inside me balls up tight. Balloons of questions float through my mind. Did Ma kiss my head to make me settle? Did I lean against her like that, sure she’d always be there?
It’s easy to see what Gloria needs. If Albert weren’t so busy with his baby, maybe he would notice.
“She needs someone to help her,” I explain. “Someone who can check on her every day and feed Otto and let him go out to use the bathroom.”
Albert brightens. “That’s a wonderful idea.”
I grin, pleased that he appreciates my explanation. “Thank you.”
He scratches his chin again. “Do you think you could help?”
I gulp. “Oh. Hmmm.”
But then I think of Gloria lying on the floor. How it’s all my fault.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll help.”
There’s a scrabbling from inside the house. We turn to look, and Otto is pressing his paws against the window. It’s like he knows he’s being discussed and doesn’t like it one bit.
Fabian’s eyes are wid
e open. He pushes out his tiny lower lip as far as it will go. Albert gently bounces him up and down, but Fabian is not the type to be distracted by bouncing. He tilts his head back and wails.
My mouth drops open. I didn’t know a little baby could make that kind of noise.
And then I hear, from inside, Otto letting loose with a howl of his own.
Albert removes Fabian from the carrier, saying, “It’s okay, buddy. We’ll go see Papa soon.”
Fabian is not convinced. He weeps the entire time Albert is buckling him in the car seat. But when Albert hands him a toy giraffe, Fabian quiets just as suddenly as he began. Fabian looks at me with round, solemn eyes and jams the toy in his mouth.
Albert climbs in the front seat and rolls down the window. “I’ll call your dad to work out the details. I’m thinking during the day would be best—I can check on her in the evening after work. Is that too much for you?”
“Yes!” I want to shout. “I take it all back.”
But then I think: I can handle a grumpy lady and a ferocious dog for a single day.
“That’s fine,” I say. I paste a smile on my face. If Gloria could see me, she’d call me a “mealymouthed sycophant.” She’d be right.
Through the open window, I can hear Fabian’s giraffe squeaking as if it is dying a slow and painful death. Albert backs out of the driveway. When they’re gone, I turn back to Gloria’s house. Otto is standing there, staring at me. At least he’s stopped howling. But when I think of his jagged teeth, I shudder. I don’t know how I got myself into this mess. Tomorrow I’ll be seeing those teeth up close again.
CHAPTER
11
Saturdays are the busiest days at the hardware store, but “busy” is a relative term. Over in Mountain Ring, HomeMade sees more customers in an hour than we do all day long.
Logan & Son is a good place, though. It smells of wood dust and fresh popcorn from the machine in the corner, free for anyone who wants a scoop. Grandpa Floyd built the gleaming wood shelves by hand, and not much has changed since he opened his doors for business.
When I go inside, the bells ring their greeting. Dad’s in the corner fixing the key machine, which has been acting fussy. Ray’s ringing up Mrs. Yang, who is buying clothespins, a ball of twine, and a small package of nails.
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