MRS. HAYWORTH
April
By spring Brownie was no longer shy. Shadows crept across the yard as Trevor set down the bowl. He eased himself into the plastic chair and waited. The faint sound of squeaking clarinets and bass drums mixed with shouts and blowing whistles as the high school band practiced up the street.
A cool breeze carried a hint of the winter past. It ruffled Brownie’s fur as he buried his nose in the dish. Trevor ran a finger down the soft fur on his back and was rewarded with a soft, rumbling purr.
A clicking noise made him look up and sent a chill unrelated to the weather down his back. Mrs. Hayworth marched up the sidewalk. Her hand gripped a red leash. Trevor’s eyes followed it down to the rhinestone harness circling the fat Pekinese. The little dog’s smug face was framed by a blue bandana.
Brownie crawled into the bush. Trevor stood up, and his shoe bumped against the bowl. He pushed it under the chair with his foot and winced as it scraped over the cement. Mrs. Hayworth stopped at the bottom of the steps.
“I’ve come to speak to your mother.” The breeze stirred her straw hat. It shifted like a hot air balloon tugging at its ropes. She slapped it firmly back down on her head, but several wispy gray hairs had escaped. Now they poked out the back and lay on her neck in defiant strings.
“Well, don’t just stand there staring. Is your mother home?”
She and the dog had the same scowl. Her dress hung limply from her shoulders like a sack. A wide black belt squeezed her middle. The dog sat down next to her clunky shoes and growled.
She leaned forward. “I know what you’ve been up to.”
Trevor took a step backward and collided with the chair. It rattled, and he caught the arm as it tipped. It had been over six months since he had cut through her yard. Why had she waited so long?
The door opened and his mother stepped out. “Hello Mrs. Hayworth. How nice of you to visit.”
“Not all that nice, Lil. I’m here to talk about a petition I’m getting together for the City Council.”
“Oh? What this time?”
“It’s the ongoing problem of juveniles. I can’t tell you how many kids have been rampaging through my garden. It - must - stop.” Her eyes narrowed and she held out a paper. “I’m proposing a curfew from dusk to dawn.”
“I see,” his mom said as she took the paper. “Everyone home by twilight.”
“Exactly. Just sign and mail it in.”
Trevor sat down, and his foot landed in the bowl. With a clatter, the cat food scattered across the porch.
Mrs. Hayworth stared at the food. “Your activities haven’t gone unnoticed. The neighborhood is aware you are raising cats on your porch.”
She was talking about the cats, Trevor realized, not his trip through her garden. He felt relief until he looked up at his mother. Red was creeping up her neck and flushing her cheeks. Her lips pressed together in a fine line. He knew that look.
“There is catnip in my garden,” Mrs. Hayworth said. “I grow it for Max. I hope your cats will be wise enough not to invade. Max and Rexie are very territorial. They won’t tolerate feral intruders.” Rex barred his teeth showing sharp white fangs.
“They aren’t feral,” his mother said. “They are quite domestic, and we have been looking for homes for them.”
“Excellent,” Mrs. Hayworth said with a cold smile. “Just sign the petition and send it in, won’t you? I’m sure it will help make the neighborhood a nicer place for all.” She patted Rex on the head and her voice softened to a cooing. “Come on Rexie. We have others to visit.”
She turned and headed up the street. Rex gave one last growl before prancing after her, his manicured nails clicking on the sidewalk.
His mother mumbled, “Crazy as ever.” She smiled at Trevor. “Don’t worry about her. I’ve known her since I was your age and she’s always on a mission of one sort or another. Let’s get some fresh food for Brownie and Bob.”
They went into the kitchen and she handed him a can of cat food. “They’ve had a bad fright,” she said. “Something special to calm their nerves.”
He grabbed a bowl and headed for the porch. At the door he glanced back. His mother was reading the petition.
“Any sensible parent knows their kids should be home by twilight,” she said softly. She dropped the paper into the wastebasket.
A Sprinkling of Thought Dust Page 13