ALLI

That fall, the weeks just flew by. I was still uncomfortable at the Porters. Only difference–now it was a familiar uncomfortable. Livable, I guess. Same thing at the Wilma Rudolph Elementary School. Grades were good, I never had to worry about that. And I knew more people. Still missed my old school, though.

For sticking it out here, I felt I deserved a guerdon. (Guerdon: Middle English derivation. Definition: A reward. G-u-e-r-d-o-n. Winning word in the 2008 spelling bee.)

Each Sunday afternoon that fall, I used the Porter’s computer or Eliot’s computer and read the BabyPayne.com blog. Each week, I held my breath until I read that everything with Mandy and Baby was still okay. Mimi had gone home until Baby came, and Mandy was working part time again.

Ted wrote a lot: I loved the weekly reports and the reports on the doctor’s visits. How much the doctor guessed the baby weighed now. The pink quilts that Mandy had bought that week–Ted even posted a picture. Things like that.

Baby was due about a week before Thanksgiving. After reading the blog updates, I studied online about babies growing inside a mama and figured Mandy’s baby was doing just fine. I wanted to see the ultrasound pictures, and finally Ted posted one. You could even see Baby’s profile, her tiny nose.

So, my determination grew: I would go to the hospital to see Baby. Lay my eyes on Baby for myself and know that I hadn’t caused any problems with that accident.

The early fall passed. Thinking about Baby or visiting families for the Bread Project or doing homework. And then, it was Halloween.

Mandy and Ted didn’t care much for Halloween. Oh, we went to carnivals at school, or did some trick-or-treating. But no enthusiasm.

This year–it would be different. The Community Center started passing out brochures for its annual carnival, and it looked like fun. For one thing, several schools in the area attended, and there would be more people, lots of excitement.

Really, what I love about Halloween is the masks. Something about hiding your face; it’s great. It makes me into somebody else.

After school on the 31st, I asked Mr. Porter if I could walk home. I took some of the money I won from Toby, stopped by a store and bought a two masks, one for me and one for Eliot, who said Marj didn’t do anything about a costume for him. I didn’t want a costume, nothing fancy. Just a facemask was enough. The kind that make you look like a raccoon.

Then I skipped back to Mr. Porter’s, whistling.

Opening the front door, I heard Mr. Porter whistling, too. Funny, guess I had taken up his habit. Went through the living room to the kitchen, where the table was spread with three large bowls, and Mr. Porter was dumping bags of candy into each one. Then stirring up the mix with both hands.

I set my shopping bag on a chair and knelt on another chair. “Can I help?”

Mr. Porter shook his head no.

He finished dumping out the candy, then smiled. Motioned for me to take something.

No need to ask me twice. I took a tiny bag of candy corn. My favorite.

“You’ll think this strange, but I love giving out candy, and the kids around here know it,” he said. “I’ll dress up in a costume and be here for hours.” Somehow, the holiday put him in a talkative mood. “My dad loved Halloween. You know, my sister and I always dressed up as a pair. Cowboy and cowgirl. Space astronauts. My parents loved to hold parties and decorate and—” He trailed off.

His ugly face looked almost kind. He had his routines, his ways of doing things and obviously loved this holiday like none other. Strange, but I guess everyone has some soft spot.

I thought I should reassure him, let him know that I was taken care of for tonight. “Eliot said he and Mrs. Winston would come by and pick me up. We’ll go to the Community Center and then trick-or-treat for a while.”

I ripped open the candy corn package and bit off the white end of one piece and smiled up at Mr. Porter.

But he was frowning. “I tried the Community Center party the first year or two they did it. But, it was boring for me. I like passing out candy here.”

“Sounds like you had nice parents.” I struggled to figure out what to say. “Sounds like they started nice traditions for Halloween.”

“Mom and Dad were great.” Idly, he stirred the candy around again. “I’m trying to be a good parent, just like they were. That’s why I need to talk to you,” he said, “about Eliot. And Toby.”

“Yes?” I ate the tip from the next candy corn, then the middle and then the last section.

“Miss Clay says she has seen you playing cards with those boys.”

I shrugged. “Yes.”

“She says you play for money.”

“Sometimes.”

“You gamble? You’re playing cards and gambling? You admit this?”

“It’s just for fun. It’s not a lot of money.” Besides, I thought, we only played once a week or so, anyway.

Mr. Porter stood and paced, two steps to the fancy stove that rarely got used, then five steps back to the wall with the fridge and the microwave. The freezer was full of frozen dinners now–he’d gotten in the habit of Friday night grocery shopping–so I had become an expert at microwaving stuff.

“Alli, I’m going to have to ask you to stop gambling with Toby and Eliot.”

I was totally surprised. I turned in my chair to watch him, still pacing. “Why?”

“Because, well, because I said so, and I’ve asked you not to do it.”

I shook my head, trying to understand. What had Mr. Porter so riled up? Just a card game? “I don’t–”

But Mr. Porter interrupted. “I don’t care if you think it’s silly. Or if you think the amount you gamble isn’t enough to worry about. Growing up, we were taught that gambling was a sin. Now, I don’t go that far, but in grade school, my best friend’s mother, old Mrs. Pardo–” he broke off and stood with his arms crossed. “I don’t have to explain it to you. You’re a guest in my house, and I won’t stand for a gambler living here.”

I closed my mouth and crossed my arms. “Then give me an allowance.”

Mr. Porter stepped backward, his eyes wide and shocked, like I had slapped him. “Allowance? Why?”

“So I can buy the things I need.”

He took two quick steps to the table, snatched up my shopping bag and pulled out the masks. “Like this?” He threw them onto the table. “You need masks? Two of them?”

“One for me, one for Eliot.”

“And Eliot can’t buy his own?”

By now, I knew about Eliot’s dad up-and-dying, and about Marj being unsure-about-adoption. I couldn’t answer that question without telling Mr. Porter more about Eliot’s life than Eliot would like. “I just wanted to give him one.”

“You’re sweet on him?”

Now, I blushed. “NO! It’s not that.”

Mr. Porter stepped back again and waved his hands, cutting off anything else I might say. “Doesn’t matter. No more gambling. Do you hear? I’d like it even better if you’d find different friends. But for sure, no cards, no gambling.”

Great. Where would I get money now? There were just things that kids needed. Like the almost-empty jar of peanut butter in my desk drawer upstairs. Mr. Porter wouldn’t even buy peanut butter for me. Sure, he was doing better at getting food, but only food he approved of. Okay. Fair enough. His money, his choice. But my money, my choice. I wanted peanut butter and I would need another jar of it soon.

I stood, trying to stretch my backbone to be taller than Mr. Porter. Keeping my face calm, I picked up the masks. The bowls of candy were so tempting, I wanted to grab a handful to take to my room. Instead, I said, slow and distinct, so I wouldn’t be misunderstood, “Mr. Porter, I promise I will not play cards with Toby or Eliot again. Is that what you wanted me to say?”

Mr. Porter leaned against the fridge and shook his head. Kept shaking his head.

After a couple more shakes, I realized he was off thinking about something else. Or remembering something from his childhood. Probably playing the gambling discussion over in his head and trying to figure out how to say everything a different way. Or how he would tell it to his sister or to his golf buddies.

I turned on the ball of my foot and marched upstairs.