They wake Irwin for grilled cheese but he doesn’t eat much. Lynne and Gennedy exchange worried looks. Lynne cuts off the bread crusts and holds a piece of sandwich in front of Irwin’s mouth.
“He’s not hungry,” Harriet says.
Lynne doesn’t lower her hand. “He has to put weight back on.”
“Then let him eat what he wants. What do you want to eat, buddy?”
Irwin, uneasy at the centre of conflict, tries to sit straighter and chew the sandwich. “I like this.”
“No you don’t,” Harriet says. “Too hard to swallow, right? How about some chocolate pudding? Do you want me to get some from Mr. Hung’s? With marshmallows?”
Irwin looks apprehensively at Lynne to determine if this is allowed.
“There is no nutrition in instant pudding,” Lynne says. “Please try to eat a little more, peanut, just another bite for Mummy.”
“He doesn’t want it,” Harriet says. “You’re making him sick.”
“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Gennedy booms.
“He is my business. He’s my brother.”
“Oh, so suddenly you care. Get out the Hallmark cards.”
Lynne slams her hand on the table. “Can you two stop bickering for one second?”
“You two were bickering all morning,” Harriet says. “Are only adults allowed to bicker?”
“Where did you learn this disrespect?” Gennedy demands.
“You get what you give.” Harriet stands up. “I’m not hungry either.”
“Haarreee, pleeeze don’t go!”
“I have to. Mr. Shotlander needs my help with his computer.” She has no intention of helping the old snake.
“Will you come right back?” Irwin clings to her wrist.
Gennedy glowers at Lynne. “So that’s it? You’re just going to let her go?”
“It’s easier when she’s gone. Let her go if she wants.”
Being talked about as though she is not in the room, and being referred to as she who is better gone, squeezes Harriet’s heart but she pulls her hand free from her brother and keeps pushing one foot in front of the other.
“Haarreee!”
“I’ll be back soon.”
Hands on hips, Gennedy says, “Be back here for dinner, young lady.”
Mrs. Butts is waiting for her. Harriet believes the old biddy hears everything through the wall dividing their units and times her cane-tapping forays into the corridor accordingly.
“Harriet, you won’t believe what happened. I was so upset. I was having my glass of scotch the way I do every now and then. And I’d just poured it out, and must have looked away for a second, and when I looked back, Lukey’d knocked the glass over. I was so upset. That scotch costs eighty-nine dollars a bottle. It’s my treat. Every now and then I buy myself a bottle of scotch and that cat, that devil, knocked it over and I can’t bend down to clean it up because of my back. Heaven knows what it’s doing to the carpet. I’ll never get the smell out. This is not good for my ulcer. Can you get some soap and water and scrub it?”
“For five bucks.”
“Five dollars?”
“Take it or leave it.” Harriet heads for the elevator.
“You are incorrigible. I don’t know what’s gotten into you. All this talk about money.”
“Money talks.”
“All right then, all right.”
Harriet follows her into the apartment crowded with knickknacks and Christmas ornaments Mrs. Butts never takes down because it hurts her back. Usually the apartment smells of cat piss but now it stinks of scotch. Lukey winds himself around Mrs. Butts’ legs. “Bad cat. Yes you are. You’re a bad cat. Badsy, badsy. Now shoo.” She leads Harriet to the spilled scotch. “He just wants to make trouble. It’s all a game to him.” Lukey meows at her, opening his mouth wide. “I don’t want to talk to you. You’re a bad cat. Shoo. I should give you away is what I should do. But who would have you?”
Harriet finds a dishrag, a bucket and a bottle of Mr. Clean under the sink. She fills the bucket.
“What happened to your shoe, Harriet?”
“I cut a hole to make room for my toe. It’s swollen.” Her toe is turning purple and leaking more pus. Kneeling on the carpet to scrub the scotch puts pressure on it but Harriet endures the pain for the five bucks. That’s almost half the price of the mongoose bristle paintbrush she needs for blending.
“Oh, I had a swollen toe once.” Mrs. Butts sits in her wingchair covered in cat hair. “I went to see so many doctors and not one of them could tell me what was wrong with me. Some of them even had the nerve to tell me my toe wasn’t swollen, that it looked normal. Can you believe it? There I was with a swollen toe, and I couldn’t get one doctor to help. I am the patient, I told them, I know what my toe should look like and it shouldn’t look like this.” Lukey winds around her legs again. “Shoo, bad cat, I don’t want to talk to you, go away, you’re a devil. I don’t know why I put up with you.” Lukey sharpens his claws on the wingchair. “Stop that! You’re a terror. Bad cat. Well, I certainly wasn’t leaving the hospital until I had an X-ray, I requested an X-ray to see if anything was broken. Can you believe the doctor never even called me with the results? I went all the way down to the hospital and waited in line for an X-ray, and the doctor didn’t have the decency to call me and tell me the results. I was so upset I called his office and demanded answers. Well, you know what his secretary said? She said if there’d been a problem they would have called me. Can you believe it? They think they can treat me poorly because I’m a senior. I wrote a letter to the head of the hospital.”
“Done,” Harriet says.
“Already? Did you sniff it?”
“Doesn’t smell anymore. Five dollars please.”
“Goodness gracious. You don’t waste any time, do you?”
“Nope.”
“Well now, just a minute.” Mrs. Butts peers intently at the wet spot on the carpet, poking it with her cane and sniffing. “Are you sure it doesn’t smell?”
“Positive. I have to go.”
“Why are you always in such a rush?”
“My brother’s sick. I have to get him pudding.”
Holding Coco on a leash, Clayton Rumph scratches his balls by the elevator. He flips Harriet both fingers. “I’m da shit between da bun, yo. I’m da hot sauce. You’re nothing, yo. Yo da grease on da grill, bitch.”
“Back up, mothafucka,” Harriet says. “Or I’m gonna rock yo shit.”
He jangles what Harriet surmises are Mrs. Schidt’s loonies and toonies in his pocket then points to his crotch. “She’s into me, bitch.”
Harriet takes the fire stairs. Mindy’s smoking in the stairwell, drinking a Brown Cow. “Hi, hon.” She is the only person who calls Harriet hon. It makes her feel special.
“You really shouldn’t be smoking in the building.”
“I can’t leave the kids long, and Bhanmattie goes bat shit if I do it on the balcony.” She pats the stair beside her. “Take a pew. You don’t look too good.” Mindy puts her arm around her, and Harriet relaxes into her warmth, even though she stinks of cigarettes and Kahlúa. “Hon, sometimes you remind me of the little match girl. Do you know that story? She’s always looking in people’s windows. You remind me of her.”
“She freezes to death.”
“I don’t mean you are her, hon. It’s just you’re so skinny and on the run all the time. What’s with your toe?”
“I have an ingrown toenail.”
“It looks bad. Are you putting disinfectant on it?”
“It’s no big deal. I get them all the time.”
“Then how come you look so sad, hon. Here.” She takes a pink scarf from her neck and drapes it around Harriet’s. “You look pretty in pink. Why won’t you let me do you a makeover?” Harriet has refused Mindy’s makeovers in the past because nothing bores her more than putting on makeup. But today she would like someone to take care of her.
“Okay,” she says.
Mindy’s apartment is furnished primarily with large stuffed animals Boyd, her crackhead husband, won at the Ex. The whole family goes every year, and Boyd is an expert at hitting targets. He grew up in Detroit and shot squirrels. He thinks Canada is full of candy asses who can’t shoot for shit. In the photos of Boyd and Mindy at the Ex, Mindy looks adoringly at Boyd while he stares grimly into the camera as though he’d rather be shooting squirrels.
“Just a sec, hon. I have to make sure Brianna’s asleep.”
Mindy’s sons, Conner and Taylor, sprawl in front of the TV playing Xbox. Harriet’s never seen them not riveted to a TV or computer screen. Conner’s a year older than Irwin, and Taylor a year younger. Irwin told Harriet they hold juice boxes against their crotches in the kindergarten yard and ask the girls if they want to suck their straws.
“Okay, beauty.” Mindy rubs her hands together. “Let’s do it.” She leads Harriet into the kitchen and starts pulling tubes and tiny jars from her makeup bag. “What kind of colours do you like?”
“Dark.”
“But you’re fair. We can’t go too dark. When did you last wash your face?”
“Can’t remember.”
“It shows. Let’s start with a cleanser then use a clarifying lotion.” Mindy worked at the cosmetic counter at Shoppers Drug Mart. When her boss got tired of her getting beat up, he cut her hours. She’s never been officially laid off; he just doesn’t put her on the schedule.
Mindy drags a stool to the kitchen sink. “Sit,” she says and starts lathering Harriet’s face. “You’ve got good skin so far. Wait till serious puberty starts.” Harriet closes her eyes, enjoying Mindy’s gentle circular motions. “Okay, rinse it off.” Harriet bends over the sink, throwing water on her face. Mindy hands her a towel. “Pat dry, never rub.”
Conner and Taylor start fighting. Mindy runs into the living room. “Shut it!” she screams, which wakes Brianna, who bawls. Mindy carries her into the kitchen and pushes her into the high chair. “Want some Goldfish, Bree?” She shakes some of the tiny fish-shaped crackers into a plastic bowl. “Yum, yum, Goldfish, sweetie.” She sets the bowl in front of Brianna, who grabs it and empties it on the floor. “Very funny,” Mindy says, draining her Brown Cow. “I swear to god, if I’d known what I was in for, no way would I have had kids.” Mr. Shotlander says she’s always got a bun in the oven because she’s after baby bonus cheques from the government. As Conner and Taylor continue to squabble, Mindy ups the volume on her iPod speakers, and Brianna tosses the plastic bowl across the room. “Bad girl,” Mindy says, slapping the baby’s hand, causing her to howl. “Throwing bad, Bree. Eat your fish.” She pops a fish into Brianna’s gaping mouth, looks at her phone and texts.
“I should go,” Harriet says.
“Not on your life. This is girl time. Conner, Taylor, come and get your sister. Sherry’s taking you to the park with Fraser. She’s waiting downstairs.”
“Oh Mom,” they both whine.
“Now. Take Bree out or no gaming tonight.”
Conner reluctantly lifts the baby out of the chair and carries her on his hip. She quiets, sucking on her pacifier as she watches Taylor push the stroller into the corridor.
“I want you guys out of the house for an hour.” Mindy hands Taylor a baby bottle. “I mean it, stay outside with Sherry. You’re starting to look like vampires.” She closes the door after them and leans against it as though worried they might try to get back in. “I need a smoke.” She hurries to the kitchen and turns the speakers down. “Put your ear against the wall. Can you hear Bhanmattie’s radio?”
Harriet presses her ear against the wall then shakes her head. Mindy turns the volume back up: Taylor Swift sings about how some guy did her wrong.
“Okay, I’m going for it.” Mindy grabs her cigarettes and heads for the balcony. “Be with you in a flash and we’ll make you gorgeous.” Harriet doesn’t want to be here anymore but doesn’t know where else to go. She eats several Goldfish, listening to Taylor Swift drone. Mindy’s playlist includes women moaning about searching for the right man, or losing him. Harriet can’t understand why she listens to this when she’s been stuck with the wrong man for years. Just like Lynne can’t lose Gennedy, Mindy can’t lose Boyd. She comes back in, rubbing her hands together again. “Okay, beauty, you ready? Time for some foundation. We’re talking peaches ’n’ cream for you, missy.” Mindy’s makeup sponge feels soft against Harriet’s skin. “You’ve got circles under your eyes, hon. Aren’t you sleeping?”
“Not last night.”
“You need sleep, otherwise the hormones go crazy. Take Gravol or Benadryl—it’ll knock you out. Okay, show me those peepers.” Harriet looks at her. “We’ll do soft accents, peachy and taupy.” Already Harriet feels painted and wants to rub it off.
“Seriously, hon, you’ve got great bones. And you’re model skinny. You should check out those modeling ads. They start them so young now. They’re, like, past it by the time they’re twenty. You’re in your bloom now, beauty.”
Harriet wants to change the subject. “Has Boyd been around?” She knows he has because she saw the cops pushing him into the cruiser.
“Yeah, he came by to see the kids, but then he wanted to get it on, like, right when I’m in the middle of cooking dinner and getting Bree ready for bed. He’s, like, all over me in front of the boys. I told him to fuck off, then the boys started going at him. It was nuts. Bhanmattie called the cops again. He just doesn’t get it. None of those old buzzards do because their gonads dried up a long time ago. Boyd loves me. He keeps coming back because he can’t get over me. That’s called love. If he quit using, we’d still be together. He’s a good man.”
Just like Gennedy. More excuses for no-goodniks.
“One of these days you’ll fall in love, hon, and you won’t know what hit you. Okay, what’s next? Mascara. Look up.” Mindy combs mascara onto Harriet’s lower lashes. “Okay, look down.” She combs it onto Harriet’s upper lashes. “Now a touch of blush, nothing too coral.” She picks a colour and brushes it onto Harriet’s cheeks.
They hear banging on the balcony. “It’s Bhanmattie,” Mindy whispers. “Pretend we’re not here.”
“I know you’re in there,” Mr. Bhanmattie shouts. “No smoking on the balcony. I have asthma.”
Mindy’s cell rings Taylor Swift singing “Love Story.” She looks at it and puts the phone down. “It’s Boyd. I don’t want to talk to him. I told him I’m changing the locks. Okay. Lips. Just a hint of pink.” She brushes lip gloss onto Harriet’s lips. “Gorgeous. Go look at yourself in the bathroom.” Her cell rings again. “Oh for fuck’s sake. If I don’t take it, he’ll just keep calling.”
Harriet almost doesn’t recognize herself in the bathroom mirror. This could be her disguise, she realizes. She’s concerned that the Greyhound bus drivers might think she’s too young to travel alone. If she wears the leopard bra with pink lace and the pale blue tank top, plus Mindy’s pink scarf, they’ll think she’s older, although this would mean she’d have to pay adult fare. She removes the scarf and uses it to wrap up some of Mindy’s makeup samples piled in a basket by the sink. Mr. Bhanmattie continues to bang on the balcony doors. Harriet uses one of Mindy’s hair clips to twist her hair up the way Mindy does. She puts on Mindy’s cropped jean jacket and slides the door open.
“Who are you?” Mr. Bhanmattie asks.
“Who do you think I am?”
“Are you the one smoking?”
“I only do chemicals,” Harriet says, delighted that he doesn’t recognize her. “Mindy’s not smoking anymore. You can stop banging.” She slides the door closed. Mindy is no longer in the kitchen but in her bedroom, talking dirty to Boyd. Harriet drops her jean jacket on the couch.
“You look shit hot,” Darcy says, fondling lipsticks at the cosmetic counter. “What a sassmaster. How come she never offers me a makeover?”
“Maybe she doesn’t think you need it.”
“Preach it.”
Harriet’s gripping a packet of Jell-O Instant Chocolate Fudge pudding and some miniature marshmallows she intends to pay for with Mrs. Butts’ five bucks.
“If I had money,” Darcy says, “I’d totally get liposuction.” She sneaks a lipstick into her hoodie pocket. “Did you hear about the shooting?”
“What shooting?”
“Some pizza joint. The kid was wearing red. What kind of lame brain wears red in Crip territory? What a time to be alive.” She lines her eyes with black liner. “I could use a heater. Clayton says he can get me a strap for a hundred bucks.”
“A strap?”
“A gun, duh.” She smears purple eye shadow onto her eyelids.
“What do you want one for?”
“Power, yo. Respect.”
“That’s dumb.”
“Who you callin’ dumb, girl?” Darcy brushes blush onto her cheeks.
“You wouldn’t even know how to fire it.”
“It’s easy.” She points her finger like a gun and presses down on her thumb. “Pow. No more fat girl jokes.” Harriet has witnessed boys oinking at Darcy, calling her porky and grabbing at her breasts. Girls call her a fat slob when she wears tank tops.
“You’d have to kill a lot of people,” Harriet points out.
“Not once I get a rep.”
Harriet doesn’t know Darcy well enough to be certain she’s joking. All kinds of kids shoot people. Two fifteen-year-old boys were shot dead by a fourteen-year-old just last week. The idea of having a friend with a strap appeals to her. “So why don’t you ask Clayton?”
“I need a hundred bucks.”
“Get it from Buck.”
“Oh, right, like I can say, ‘Hey, Pops, I need cash for a gun.’”
“Ask him when he’s stoned. I bet he’s always got cash on him for a few grams. Tell him it’s for some outfit you want to buy.” A heater might solve the Gennedy problem, although she’d have to make it look gang related and lure him into Crip territory. She tries to remember if he has any red clothes other than his Speedo. More pus oozes out of her swelling toe. Where the nail cuts into the skin is turning a blend of Phthalo Blue and Burnt Ochre. She imagines the infection spreading up her leg and the doctor telling Lynne he has to cut it off. “Don’t you touch my baby!” Lynne would scream. “You save my baby’s leg or I’ll sue your ass.”
Darcy prods her. “You got any dough?”
“Five bucks and some quarters.”
“Get some Fuzzy Peaches. I’m starved.” She grabs a packet at the checkout and hands it to Harriet. “I’m with her,” she tells the cashier, sliding past Harriet with the lipstick in her pocket.
They sit on the busted fountain in the park, chewing on Fuzzy Peaches. “That Caitlin whore still hasn’t texted me,” Darcy says. “Her wall is, like, totally fake. She’s smiling in every shot like she’s a nice person. And she’s changed her status again, that fucking slut. Her boyfriend looks like a total derp. He’s wearing dark glasses and holding a guitar. Give me a break, he probably can’t even play.”
“Why do you look at her timeline? Just forget about her.”
“That’s easy for you to say because you don’t have any friends. I used to be popular.”
Harriet suspects this is untrue but doesn’t question Dee because it might make her stop chilling with her. “Would you be mad if I fixed Buck up with my mother? Then we’d be sisters. I mean, I don’t even know if your dad will be into my mom, or vice versa, but I think it’s worth a shot, don’t you?” When Darcy doesn’t respond she adds, “Wouldn’t it be cool if we were sisters?”
Dee pops another Fuzzy Peach into her mouth. “These are the questions that haunt me.”
“Seriously.”
“Seriously there’s no way fucky Bucky is going to go for your mother. She’s old.”
A dad on a bike with a toddler in a kiddie seat stops in front of the fountain.
“It’s busted,” Darcy tells him. The toddler chortles in the kiddie seat, waving her chubby arms. The dad reaches back and straightens her helmet then bends down to kiss her hands. The gesture is so natural, so casual, Harriet has no doubt the dad takes the toddler for bike rides every single day, and straightens her helmet and kisses her hands. Trent never put a kiddie seat on his bikes.
“Let’s think about all the people we’d whack if we had a strap,” Harriet says.
“Now you’re talkin’.” Darcy reaches for another Fuzzy Peach. “At least you don’t have to waste your brother since he’s dying in a week.”
The thought of Irwin dying no longer sends charges through Harriet but weighs on her. “Some people we should just maim,” she says. “Like Mr. Shotlander. We’ll shoot him in the foot, make him hop around.”
“Nice.”
It takes most of the afternoon to compile the list and decide which targets should be killed and which maimed. Generally Harriet hesitates to smoke people who pay her for errands, but she makes an exception in the case of Mrs. Butts.
Mr. Fishberg, with his shirt unbuttoned and his hand down his pants, whistles when he sees Harriet and Dee with makeup on. Mr. Shotlander holds the door open for them. “Leave the girls alone, Fishberg.” Harriet knows he is making a show of defending them because he wants her to fix his computer.
“Look at you, Harry,” Mr. Chubak says, scratching his bald spot. “All grown up looking. Buffo buffo. Almost didn’t recognize you.” This is what Harriet wants to hear. She presses the elevator button. Darcy snaps open her stolen lipstick and glides it over her lips then offers it to Harriet, who does the same.
“Now that’s a Kodak moment.” Mr. Hoogstra tips his captain’s hat.
“Where did these beautiful dolls come from?” Mr. Zilberschmuck asks, brushing ashes from the lapel of his three-piece suit.
“Harry,” Mr. Shotlander pleads. “I’ll pay you five bucks if you can fix it.”
“Show me the cash.”
“Since when do you need cash up front?”
“Since now.” She steps into the elevator.
“Okay, okay, okay.” Mr. Shotlander pulls out his wallet. “Dang it, I don’t have a fiver. You got a fiver, Chubak?” Mr. Chubak feels around in his corduroys. The elevator doors start to close. Mr. Shotlander jams his orthotic shoe between them.
“I got a couple of toonies,” Mr. Chubak says.
Taj, the janitor-cum-movie-pirate, suddenly appears. “No feet in the elevator doors. You want the elevator to work, no feet. How many times do I call the elevator company? We have to raise your rent.”
Mr. Shotlander removes his foot and the door closes.
“Alone at last,” Darcy says. “Come over later. Buck’s taking me to the DQ. I’ll see if I can set something up with your mom.”
“Seriously?”
“That’s the buzz, cuz. Text me and we’ll work out the deets.”
Harriet knows better than to remind Dee that she doesn’t have a cell.
The apartment appears to be empty. Harriet rushes from room to room to ascertain that Gennedy is out then checks to see if his computer is password locked. It is, which means they’ve been gone awhile and could return any minute. She scrambles into the kitchen, pulls out the plastic mixing bowl, measures out the milk, pours in the instant chocolate pudding mix and blends it with the electric mixer. “Presto,” she says. Once it’s thickened, she stirs in some miniature marshmallows. She eats several spoonfuls before fitting the lid on the bowl and hiding it under her bed with two spoons. She hurries back to the kitchen to clean up the evidence and phone Darcy. “Have you figured out how to fix up our parents yet?”
“Be at the DQ at eight. Get her to put a face on.”
The minute Gennedy and Lynne walk in the door, Harriet can tell her mother’s been crying again. Red eyes and a puffy face will not turn on Buck. While Gennedy carries the sleeping Irwin to his room, Harriet wraps her arms around her mother and kisses her on the cheek several times to cheer her up.
“What’s got into you?” Lynne asks.
“I love you and I’m so happy you’re home.”
“I love you too, bunny.” Lynne holds her at arm’s length. “You’re wearing makeup.”
“Mindy did a makeover.”
“Who’s Mindy?”
Gennedy returns. “Some white trash in the building.” He pours spaghetti sauce into a saucepan.
“You’re white trash,” Harriet says.
Gennedy looks at Lynne. “You see how she talks to me?”
“Harriet, why were you with Mindy? Aren’t there children your own age to play with?”
“I went out with Darcy afterwards.”
“Who’s Darcy?” Lynne sits wearily.
“The new girl in the building of questionable character,” Gennedy reminds her. “They went to the Eaton Centre together to purchase the leopard spotted bra with pink lace trim.”
“You’re so obsessed with that bra,” Harriet says, “you should wear it.”
He waves a wooden spoon at Lynne. “I’m supposed to tolerate this disrespect? You think I exaggerate how she treats me, but I can assure you no exaggeration is required.”
Lynne leans her elbows on the table and rests her head in her hands. “Bunny, what’s with the bra? You’re way too young for a bra like that. If you want a bra we can get you a sports bra that’s soft. You don’t need a padded underwire bra.”
“She needs it to make her breasts look bigger,” Gennedy says.
“And you need dick enlargement,” Harriet says. Darcy showed her ads for penis enlargement online.
Gennedy waves the wooden spoon again. “See how she talks? Is this acceptable language for an eleven-year-old? She’s rude, potty mouthed, disrespectful . . .”
“Respect has to be earned,” Harriet says. Mr. Chubak says this. “And I’m not ‘she.’ I’m right here, in this room, and what I buy is none of your business. It’s my money. Mum, what’s up with Irwin? Is he getting worse?” Suddenly she’s worried her mother is crying because he’s almost dead already, before Harriet has had a chance to make him happy with pudding. Just as she was too late to make Mrs. Rivera happy by singing “Beat It” and moonwalking.
“He needs rest,” Gennedy says. “Do not disturb him.”
Harriet runs to Irwin’s room and stands over his bed, waiting for him to move. She holds a hand in front of his face to feel if he’s breathing. She has done this many times, always hoping to feel nothing, but now the soft puff of air against her palm causes giddy relief and she whispers in his ear. “Do you want some chocolate fudge pudding with miniature marshmallows?”
“Am I allowed?”
“Just don’t tell. Be right back.”
Lynne and Gennedy resume their bickering in the kitchen. Harriet knows it will escalate until Lynne boohoos on his shoulder and he tells her they’ll get through it, darlin’, they always do. Get through what? Harriet wants to shout. There’s always more to get through for them. She doesn’t want to spend her life getting through stuff. She grabs the bowl of pudding, the spoons and scurries back to Irwin’s room, closing the door. “If we’re quiet, they’ll forget about us.” She helps Irwin to sit up, bolstering him with pillows, and hands him a spoon.
He digs into the pudding. “Wowee, wowee, marshmallows.”
“They’re vitamin enriched. They’ll make you strong.”
“Cool.” He spoons pudding into his mouth. “Yum.”
“Chocolate fudge is my absolute favourite.”
“Mine too.” He spoons more pudding. Knowing this equals hundreds of calories, Harriet feels triumphant.
“They’re fighting again,” Irwin whispers.
“No, they’re just trying to figure out what to make for dinner.”
“I don’t want dinner.”
“Just pretend to be asleep and they’ll leave you alone.”
“See my new spy handbook?” He holds up a small bound notebook with a clasp. “I can lock it shut. It’s got a key.”
“Wicked. What are you writing in it?”
“Spy stuff. Top secret. Will you snuggle with me?”
“When you don’t want any more pudding. We don’t have to finish it. I’ll put it back in my room and we can have more later.”
“Cool.”
He eats eight more spoonfuls. Harriet feels whole, as whole as she felt with Mrs. Rivera.