Good Graces - Lesley Kagen [60]
“Thick o’clock, tree o’clock, leben o’clock,” Wendy Latour says next to me. She’s got her pudgy hands over her face, but her fingers are as wide open as her eyes.
Once we get to twelve o’clock we’re supposed to go walking around in the dark chanting, “Midnight, midnight, hope we don’t see a ghost tonight.”
We’ll go between houses and into the alley and yards. When we get close to where Troo is hiding she’ll jump out, or if she’s hiding in the bomb shelter, she’ll rise up and chase you. If you make it back to the graveyard—the O’Haras’ steps—you’re safe to live another day, but if Troo catches you, you gotta be the ghost the next time around.
“Ten o’clock, eleven o’clock . . . midnight!” Willie shouts. “Ready or not, here we come.”
Everybody dashes off in different directions except for Wendy and Artie.
“Thally, me go you? Paulie not gutter ball. Thorry,” droopy-eyed Wendy says, wrapping her strong arms around me.
“Sure, a course ya can come with me,” I say. “Just like always.” I feel like such a pill for yelling at the sweetest kid in the world. She’s a hunk of burnin’ love, that’s what our Wendy is. And so protective of me, which is a quality I really like. When Buddy Dietrich tried to steal my transistor radio over at the playground, Wendy picked him up and tossed him into the sandbox like he was a used toothpick. If this bowling job doesn’t work out for her, I’m going to suggest to Mrs. Latour that Wendy try becoming a strong girl in the freak show at the State Fair.
“Okay, you can let go of me now, ” I tell her. “I’m not kiddin’. I can’t breathe.”
“Thorry, thorry,” she says, letting her arms drop down to her sides.
“Just hold my hand, okay?” When she puts hers in mine, I can feel that she’s not wearing that plastic ring on her wedding finger anymore. It musta broke. I’m gonna have to start eating Cracker Jack again to see if I can find her another one.
Artie is still on the step looking lost, so I say to him, “C’mon,” and then tell the both of them, “I gotta do something real quick before we go lookin’ for Troo. I promised Mrs. Goldman that I’d check on her house while they’re gone and I forgot today.”
I already decided that cutting through people’s backyards would be the fastest way to go. I don’t want to waste time saying hello to our neighbors who are out on their front steps trying to catch a breeze on this muggy night. I take off and Artie comes right after me, but Wendy, who broke outta my grip, is lagging behind because she has the goofiest way of running. We make our way through the Sheldons’ and the Mahlbergs’ and the other backyards without any problems except for a near beheading from Mrs. Frame’s clothesline.
When we get to the edge of the Kenfields’ property, I stop. I haven’t gotten this close a look at their place for a while. It’s not so dark that I can’t see the house needs paint and the grass is anklehigh. The garbage cans out by the alley are lying on their sides and a tiger cat is picking through what’s spilled. It really does look like a ghost house now, the way Fast Susie used to tell me it was. Mr. Kenfield used to take pride in his property. Mother told me he cut his lawn with scissors. Before his daughter, Dottie, disappeared, he loved it when kids played catch back here and would sometimes grab his glove and join in, but I heard if your ball wanders back here now, he goes crazier than Lizzie Borden.
I kiss Daddy’s watch for luck and point across the yard that seems wider now than center field. “I don’t have to go all the way over to the Goldmans’. If we make it to the other side, I can just look through the hedge.” It’s gotten overgrown like the rest of the yard and doesn’t look at all like Henry’s new haircut. “Ready?” Both of them nod even though only one of them knows what