The truck joggled over the railroad tracks, making Lucinda’s stomach flop, then swung into a yard as familiar to Lucinda as her own yard. “Why are we here?” Lucinda said. This couldn’t be the place where someone might be in trouble.
“Don’t say anything,” her dad said. “Sit on the couch and be a good girl, understand?”
Lucinda nodded. Her stomach felt squashy, the way it did when her parents yelled or she got lost in a store and couldn’t find her mom. She should have been happy to be here, but she wasn’t. Her dad always went out when the ambulance was called, and she fretted Sally might be really sick.
“Promise me,” her dad said, looking at her with a tight mouth.
She promised.
He messed up her hair with his bear-paw hand, but the look on his face wasn’t playful. It made her want to be home, by the fire. She was sorry she fibbed about the crayon and promised herself she’d never play with fire again, so she’d never have to fib about playing with it.
“I was melting crayons in the fire,” she said and braced for her scolding. Her dad opened his truck door, not seeming to hear her.
“I won’t do it again,” she said. “Ever.”
The porch light was out, and Lucinda and her dad stood side by side on the porch in the darkness. Her dad tipped his sheriff’s hat back with his thumb and knocked on the door, once. Hard. He clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat.
“You can just go in without knocking,” Lucinda said. “I always do. Mrs. B. says I’m family, and Sally never knocks when she comes—”
“Don’t jibber jabber in there,” her dad said, lifting his chin to stare at the closed door, his spine stiff, his shoulders square. “Remember about the couch. Stay planted.”
The porch light blinked on, and in an instant Lucinda was relieved and glad to be there. She’d been silly to think Sally might be so sick she’d need an ambulance. Dramatic about her squashy feeling. Her mom often said how dramatic Lucinda was. Called Lucinda a— Lucinda could never remember the word. An alarmist. Making mountains out of molehills, a phrase that tickled Lucinda though she didn’t really get it.
Whatever was going on, Lucinda was happy she’d have Sally to sit with on the couch.
Lucinda’s dad had warned her to stay on the couch, but he hadn’t said anything about not sitting with Sally. Maybe Lucinda and Sally could watch TV with the sound off. Or maybe it would be okay if Lucinda played in Sally’s bedroom. The last time Lucinda had been in Sally’s bedroom Sally had shown her something scary. Not super scary, but scary enough that Lucinda had giggled to try to show that she wasn’t scared at all.
The front door opened and light from inside washed away the rest of Lucinda’s silly fears that had started to sprout in her brain. Until she noticed Mr. B.’s face.
He didn’t look like he’d seen a ghost: he looked like he was a ghost. Like he’d been dead for a jillion years.
Lucinda pulled up close to her dad’s leg. Her dad gave her shoulder a squeeze and guided her into the house with his palm at her back.