“Is it cold out?” I wanted to know.
“Not too bad.”
“It was cold the night they brought her here,” I told her.
“Yes. I know.” She sat down on the sofa beside me.
“She died cold,” I said.
Miz Tromp shook her head. “No. She died here, in the hospital. She was warm.”
“The cold killed her, though.” I knew it for certain.
“No, honey, she—”
The door opened again. It was Nurse Cussler with her stethoscope hanging out of one of her hearts-with-wings scrubs pockets.
“You’re awake,” she said.
I frowned. “We’ve established that, yes.”
“Do you think you can eat something? I can get you—”
“I don’t want anything.” Ever. “Thank you.”
And so they gave up on their nursing and mothering and got down to talking turkey. My pa had disappeared, and they didn’t want to take me home to an empty house. How would I feel about staying at the Tromps’ place until someone could locate my pa?
I shook my head sourly. “I just want to go home.”
Several phone calls later, they’d arranged for Dilly Barker to come sit with me until Pa turned up. Besides being a kindly woman, Dilly was also our closest neighbor.
When Miz Tromp dropped me off, the electric was back on.
“The power . . . ?” I inquired.
“Tom rang every number the electric company had until he got someone on the phone who could turn your power back on.” There was some pride in Miz Tromp’s voice as she said it.
“Who paid for it? I’ll have to pay them back.”
“Oh, Genuine, don’t worry—”
“Who?” I demanded.
“Travis and me,” she answered.
“I’ll pay you back.”
“If you want to, honey, sure.” She gave my arm a stroke.
I stepped aside, turned my back on her. “Does everybody know?”
“About what?” Miz Tromp asked.
I wasn’t sure. About the way the help only came after it was too late, maybe.
“Never mind,” I said.
Dilly sat on the sofa, knitting, taking all this in. In the quiet after I’d spoken, she said, “I sure am going to miss Starla.”
For a second, I just looked at her, startled to hear someone say Gram’s name out loud. Then I did the strangest thing. I went into Gram’s room and got her knitting. I sat down on the sofa beside Dilly and started to knit one, purl two. I’d never knitted in my life, but I reckon I’d seen Gram doing it enough to recreate it on my own.
“Do you need anything, Genuine?” Miz Tromp asked.
I shook my head but didn’t say anything.
“Then I’ll leave you girls to your fancywork,” she said, and left.
The pretty scarf Gram had been knitting now looked more like a long snake after a big meal. In short, I had ruined it. But I kept on knitting. I kept on until Dilly had to give me another skein of yarn. Then I kept on knitting until I fell asleep.
When I woke up, Pa’s shoes were next to the sofa. His door was closed. There was a sandwich on a plate in front of me, and, beside me, Dilly Barker continued knitting away.
“Pa’s here,” I said. “You should go on home.”
“Try to eat a little something,” she said, but she didn’t leave.
We knitted until suppertime. Then I followed Dilly into the kitchen and helped her reheat a casserole—one of about fifteen in the fridge.
“Some folks stopped by while you was asleep,” she explained. “Nothing like a death to bring on a plague of casseroles.”
Sunday blurred into Monday. Monday came and went.
Tuesday morning, Dilly Barker walked me to school—only because I’d told her I wanted to go—then headed back to her own house.
“I’ll stop by later with some more yarn,” she called out as she departed.
Jura was waiting for me on the front steps and wrapped me up in a hug so tight, I couldn’t breathe.
“I only met your grandma that one time, but she was real nice,” she said.
“She was nice,” I agreed.
For a time, we were the only ones in the classroom. We sat at our desks, not saying anything at all, Jura rubbing my back with one hand. It felt good. And even though my heart hurt a lot, it was the kind of pain a friend really can help ease. Instead of thoughts of Gram by her lonesome, calling out for me, I thought—just a little—about Penny Walton and about Wish to End Hunger, too. Maybe it was time I dusted off my baking pan and got back to work . . .
Then Sonny Wentz walked in and hugged Jura like it was her gram who had died.
Only after that did he say, “Sorry about your granny.”
He gave Jura a funny look, muttered, “Uh, I’ll just sit over here, then,” and reached for his book satchel—which had been leaning against the leg of my desk. I realized he was mildly confounded because I was in his seat. In the single day I’d been out of school, he’d taken my spot.
“Genuine—” Jura started.
“I—Are you with Sonny now?” I asked.
Jura cast Sonny a quick look.
“I’ll just, uh—” he said, and walked off.
On one breath’s worth of air, Jura blurted, “I figured it was okay. It is okay, isn’t it? I mean, you only liked Sonny when you thought he liked you, right? But when you found out it wasn’t him who’d asked you bowling, you didn’t like him anymore, right?”
I was stunned silent. I don’t know why. I was sorta with Travis now. I kissed him and liked him and everything.
I had to pry my clenched jaw apart to say, “Oh, sure. No. That’s right. No.”
“You look upset,” Jura said.
Me, upset? Surely not! “Just surprised. Glad for you. Surprised and glad.” It wasn’t as if Sonny had given me any real sign that he liked me as anything more than a plain old, boring, ugly, ugly, ugly friend. Genuine Beauty Sweet. Ha.
“Do you swear this is okay?” she asked. “Do you swear?”
I conjured a smile. “Course.”
I started to get up from my desk.
“You don’t have to move.” Jura set her hand on my arm. “Please stay.”