“Hey, Reds. I like it,” a boy says, making an outline of my body with his hands. When I look his way, he blows me a kiss from the window of a shiny black car with tinted windows and big silver rims. He tells me to come talk to him a minute. I shake my head and turn away, but I can feel my cheeks burning.

“You growing up, all right,” Odd Job says, staring at the boy. “Guess I need to be calling you plain old Raspberry, huh? Not Raspberry Cherry and stuff like that.”

We left Momma back home cleaning up and waiting for the glass man to come by. Me and Odd Job going to the bank, then out to eat.

Everybody knows Odd Job, so we get stopped six times before we even get to the bank.

When we walk into Goodies Restaurant, Odd Job opens the door and lets me go inside first. “Any boy that don’t open the door or pull out the chair for you ain’t worth your time,” he says.

“Boys my age don’t care ’bout stuff like that.”

Odd Job don’t wanna hear that. “You gotta make a boy treat you the way you want to be treated. But first,” he says, opening up the menu, “you gotta know how you want to be treated.”

I don’t wanna talk about boys with him. So I change the subject. When the waitress comes, Odd Job asks me what I want to eat. I order waffles.

“Me too,” he says, licking his lips. “But make mine three orders of three each. Bring me a bowl of blueberries and plenty butter.” He stops the waitress when she turns to walk away. “How ’bout a order of bacon, some eggs, and a large orange juice, too.”

The busboy over at the other table keeps staring my way. I don’t take my eyes off the fork and knife till my food comes.

“The boys treating you all right, ain’t they?” Odd Job asks.

“Why you wanna talk ’bout that stuff?” I say, putting my napkin in my lap.

Odd Job says he just noticing how the boys are looking at me. “Especially Sato,” he says, smearing butter on his waffles and toast. “You like him, huh?”

I’m playing with the food on my plate.

“You like him or not?”

I smile. Try to eat a piece of bacon but I can’t stop grinning. “He’s all right.”

When we’re done eating, Odd Job pulls out his cash. “A gentleman always pays for a lady’s meal,” he says. “And leaves a tip. You know a brother is cheap and triflin’ if he eats and don’t give the waitress her due when he’s done.”

I look at him, wonder why he’s telling me all this. When we get back outside, Odd Job asks me if I miss my father.

I belch and keep walking.

“When your father was in his right mind, he treated your mom like she had golden feet and diamond eyes,” he says, letting out a belch, too.

We walk for blocks not talking to each other. Then Odd Job says he seen Daddy, not too long ago.

I stop walking. Press my fingers to my lips and close my eyes. “He ain’t coming back, is he?”

Odd Job’s big brown arms cover me. His muscles bunch when he squeezes me tight. “He ain’t stealing from you no more,” he says. “Me and him talked about that.”

I wipe my eyes and look up at his. They are burnt-toast brown and got long red lines shooting through the white parts, like he’s way past tired. “You get back my money?” I ask.

Odd Job turns me loose. Starts walking again. Says he woulda got my dough, but wasn’t none of it left by the time he caught up to Daddy.

I ask if he went looking for him. Odd Job don’t say yes or no. Just that he put the word out that Daddy better stay clear of Momma and me.

We almost back at Odd Job’s spot when I ask him if he would ever hurt Daddy. He don’t answer, just says can’t nobody do nothing worse to Daddy than he already done to hisself.

He’s right, I guess. But I can’t help wondering what Odd Job said or did to Daddy to get him to stay away from us— for good.