Chapter 5

Wilma was making a mask out of a grocery bag. She’d cut out the eyes and nose holes, and now she was drawing a face on it. “Do you like it, Emily?” She put the bag over her head. “It’s for art class tomorrow.”

I glanced up from the hamburger patties I was making. “It looks good.”

“No, it doesn’t. I don’t even have eyebrows yet.” She took it off. “Don’t just say everything is okay when it isn’t.”

I slapped a hamburger between my palms. “Ask Chris next time.”

“He never has good opinions.”

“I do, too.” Chris was reading on the floor, lying on his back, with his paperweight on his stomach.

“I love doing this,” Wilma said, drawing in thick red eyebrows. “I hope nobody knows who I am. I could be a spy with this on, spy on everybody. I love spying on people. It’s so exciting. I spied on you once.”

“Wilma!”

“I did.”

“She did,” Chris said from the floor.

“I don’t like that.” I started frying the hamburgers.

“I didn’t see anything. Just you crying.”

“It’s none of your business if I cry or not.”

“Okay, okay.” Wilma held up her hands. “We won’t talk about it anymore. If you don’t want me to be a spy, maybe I’ll be a detective. You don’t have to go to college for either one. College is a lot of money.”

“I’ll help you out with money,” Chris said. “I’ll get a job and give you the money and you can go to college.”

“What are you doing when I’m in college?” Wilma asked.

“He’s working,” I said. “To put you through.”

“What kind of job?” Wilma said.

“I don’t know,” Chris said. “Something good. I want to be rich and buy Mommy a house again.”

“Work in a bank,” Wilma said. “Mr. Linaberry said that’s where all the money is.”

I flipped over the hamburgers. “Why did Mr. Linaberry say that?”

Wilma tried on the paper bag again. Now she had red eyebrows and a bushy red mustache under her nose. “I don’t know. We were talking about things.”

“What things? You talk to him much?”

“Uh-huh. How is my mask now, Em? Tell the truth.”

“It’s great.”

Wilma looked at herself in the little mirror on the back door. “Yeah, it is great. I could definitely be a spy in this.” She tipped her head one way, then another. Suddenly she screamed.

I dropped the spatula and rushed over to her. “Wilma, what’s the matter? Did you hurt yourself?”

She screamed again, louder.

“Honey, what is it? Tell me where it hurts.” She still had the paper bag over her head. “Take that thing off! Tell Em where it hurts, sweetie!”

She took the bag mask off her head. She was smiling. “I was just thinking, maybe I could be a famous screamer, and I was practicing. People scream on the radio and TV all the time. I bet they have special people to do that, like stunt men. I was reading about them in our school paper.”

“Famous screamers?” Chris said with interest.

“No. Stunt men. Famous screamers is my own idea. I was practicing to see if I was any good.”

“You’re not good,” I said, “you’re great.”

She threw her arms around my waist. “You mean it, Em? I could be a great famous screamer?”

“Guaranteed. Good thing Mom wasn’t here.”

“I would never scream in front of Mom,” Wilma said. “She’s too nervous.”

“Wilma, set the table. Everything’s ready. Chris, get the hamburger rolls and the ketchup.”

“Let me finish this page, then I will,” he said.

“Remember what Mom said? Remember who’s in charge?”

“Emily, please, just one more page.”

“Chris, with you it’s always one more page. Up, boy!”

“Don’t talk to him like he’s a dog,” Wilma said.

Just then, there was a knock at the back door. Chris jumped right up to open the door. He loves company.

“Hello, you kids.” It was Mr. Linaberry.

My heart started racing. Why was he here? Had we done something wrong? Maybe he’d smelled the smoke from the hamburgers all the way downstairs. Then I remembered Wilma’s scream. I was sure he was going to tell us we were too noisy and had to move out.

“Where is it?” he said. His bald head shone in the light from the ceiling. He looked over my shoulder.

I wet my lips. “Where is what?” I’d just thought of something else. Had Mom had enough money to pay the rent? A couple of times she’d been short at the end of the month and had to borrow from the bank. I knew this month she’d had a huge bill for the car from Don’s Service Station.

“The leaky faucet. Your mama told me, a leaky faucet in the house.”

“Oh.” I could feel air rushing back into my lungs. Now I saw the toolbox in his hand.

“It’s in the bathroom,” Wilma said. “Want me to show you?”

“I know where the bathroom is.” He waved his hand at her and stumped off through the kitchen and down the hall.

I cut up tomatoes and served the hamburgers. “Sit down,” I said. My heart was still sort of thumping around. All the time we were eating, I was aware of Mr. Linaberry in the bathroom. I just hoped he didn’t look in the tub! The kids were supposed to wash it after they took their baths, but they always left a greasy ring.

Just when I was clearing away the plates, he started yelling. “Hello. Hey in there! You got a plastic bucket?”

“Tell him just a minute, Wilma.” I got the one under the sink and sent Chris with it. I looked at my watch. I was glad it was almost time for my mother to come home.

I was dishing out the Jell-O when Mr. Linaberry came back to the kitchen. “All done,” he said. “It’s fixed.”

“Oh. Good. Thank you.”

He stared at me, frowning. Was I supposed to pay him? I didn’t think so. It was his house. But I wasn’t certain.

“When’s your mama coming home?” He blinked and twisted his head around like he had a stiff neck. His eyes were little and bright blue under pale lashes.

“Pretty soon,” I said. I sat down and motioned the kids to wait until he left to start eating their dessert.

“What time?” He kept glancing into the corners of the kitchen, like he was checking to see if we were keeping it clean enough.

“In about twenty minutes.”

“Uh-huh. Okay.” He put down his toolbox with a thump. “She said she had some other things. A torn screen.”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” I said quickly. It was in my room. I didn’t want him there. I didn’t want him looking at my things. “It doesn’t matter, Mr. Linaberry.”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter? Never say that. She says it doesn’t matter,” he grumbled to a wall. “It always matters. Little thing like a torn screen, you get in bugs, dirt, and then you complain.”

“I wouldn’t complain.”

“Where’s the screen?”

“In Emily’s room,” Wilma said. “Want me to show you?”

“Wilma! You stay here. I’ll do it.” I stood up and my chair crashed to the floor. It sounded like a bomb going off. At least Mr. Linaberry was up here, not downstairs.

At my room, I opened the door and pointed to the window.

“I need the light, little girl,” he said.

Little girl! I flipped on the switch and snatched up some underwear I’d forgotten to throw into the laundry.

“Go back to supper,” he said. It was an order. It really made me mad, but I left.

He was only in my room a few minutes, then he came into the kitchen again. “Okay for now,” he said. “In the spring, I’ll replace it. So where’s the mama? She’s late tonight?”

“No.” He didn’t leave. He just stood there. Finally I thought I got it. “Would you like something to eat?”

“A glass of water.”

I brought him a glass of ice water. He drank it slowly, staring at the clock over the refrigerator and then every once in a while glancing at the kids.

“Would you like to sit down?” I said.

“Okay.” He sat down. Chris watched him. I could see the wheels turning in Chris’s head. I was afraid he was going to come out with something. But suddenly Mr. Linaberry put his hands behind his ears and wriggled them, as if Chris were a baby he was amusing. Chris smiled politely.

“So what grade in school?” Mr. Linaberry said to Wilma’s shoulder. He just couldn’t seem to look at anyone straight on.

“Me? Fourth grade,” Wilma said. They’d skipped her last year.

Mr. Linaberry tapped his fingers on the table. Wasn’t he ever going to leave? Now he was really making me nervous. I went to my room to check that everything was okay.

Wilma followed me a moment later. “I think Mr. Linaberry wants another glass of water.”

“Then give it to him! Did he ask for it?”

“No. But he’s looking at his empty glass.”

“Wilma, we can afford a glass of water.”

“I know that! Aren’t you coming into the kitchen?”

“I’ll be right there.” I sat down on my bed. I just didn’t like having him in the house. I put on my glasses. I don’t know why. Maybe I thought they made me look older and firmer.

Wilma went away, and then Chris appeared. “Emily,” he whispered, “you have to come back. Mr. Linaberry is company. You’re not supposed to leave company alone.”

“You can keep him company, Chris.”

“He’s too shy to talk to me, Emily. You have to come.”

I went back with Chris. Mr. Linaberry was slowly sipping his second glass of water. I tried to think of something to say. I pushed my glasses up on my nose. Now I was sorry I was wearing them. I could see practically every pore in his skin. “Did you get the yard all raked up?” I asked finally.

“Not yet.”

“Oh. I bet there are a lot of leaves.”

“Still falling,” he said.

At last I heard Mom coming up the stairs. Mr. Linaberry heard her, too. He put down the glass and brushed his hand over his bald head. He sat up straight. His face brightened. It almost started glowing.

I stared at him. Oh, no, I thought. Mr. Linaberry has a crush on my mother!

But there was worse to come.

When Mom walked in and saw Mr. Linaberry in our kitchen, her face lit up, too. Lit up like a neon sign. I couldn’t believe it. Later, I asked myself if I had imagined it. I thought I must have. Maybe Mom’s face got that bright color because she was embarrassed to have the landlord in our messy house. But, then, what about that big smile she’d given him? A really big smile! Mom could be sort of absentminded sometimes, but she wasn’t a hypocrite. She’d acted glad to see Mr. Linaberry. Very glad.