Promises to Keep - Ann Tatlock [103]
“Um, Tillie . . .” I interrupted, clutching my stomach more tightly. “If I don’t lie down, I might throw up.”
Tillie raised her hands in surrender. “By all means, then, go lie down. And here” – she grabbed a plastic bowl from the counter – “take this with you, in case you need it.”
“Will you send Mom upstairs when she gets home?”
“Soon as she walks in the door.”
I went to my room and got in bed, fully dressed. I knew I’d be there for at least an hour before Mom got home, but I had to make it look good. If Tillie believed I was sick, chances were Mom would too. When Tillie came upstairs a few minutes later with a glass of Coca-Cola, I pleaded my case by moaning.
“Merciful heavens,” Tillie said as she placed the soda on my bedside table. “Thelma’s really outdone herself this time. I wonder if any of the other kids are sick. Maybe I should call Mara’s mother and see – ”
“No, don’t do that!”
“Why not?”
“Mara brought her lunch today. She didn’t eat the meatloaf.” I moaned again. “Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up.”
“All right then, not another word. You just rest and try to sip that soda. The bubbles might calm your stomach a little.”
I nodded agreeably and shut my eyes. Tillie left the room; I heard her heavy footfalls going down the stairs. When she was gone, I sat up and drank some of the soda. My eyes wandered the room, looking for a way to entertain myself till Mom got home. I settled for reading a book.
The time passed slowly, but I finally heard Mom’s car in the driveway, her key in the back door. Then, after a moment, during which time I’m sure Tillie was telling her about my case of food poisoning, Mom came upstairs and found me moaning in the bed, covers up to my nose, plastic bowl on the floor beside me.
“Tillie tells me you’re sick.” Her voice was sympathetic. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled down the covers so she could see my face.
I nodded. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Tillie says it was the lunch at school?”
“Yeah.”
“Shall I call the doctor?”
“No. I don’t think so. I’ll be all right. But, Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Don’t leave me with Mrs. Kinshaw tonight. I don’t want a baby-sitter when I don’t feel good.”
Mom thought a moment. Then she nodded in agreement. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll stay here with you. I can always visit Lyle later. He’s probably not up for much company tonight anyway.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Sure, honey.” She kissed my forehead and stood. “I’ll be back to check on you shortly.”
I watched her leave, then let out my breath in a sigh of relief.
Tillie left me a bowl of the chicken soup, which I said I felt well enough to try to eat. I would rather have had the lasagna that Mom and Valerie were having, but it would have given me away. I ate the soup slowly, like someone unsure of whether or not it would stay down. When I finished I was still hungry, but I didn’t dare ask for anything more.
After supper I spent the evening reading and sucking on Sugar Daddies that Daddy had given me for Valentine’s Day. I ate four of them, one after the other, as I waited and wondered what was happening at the boardinghouse. After I ate them, I folded up the wrappers and stuffed them into my jewelry box, along with the rest of my wrapper collection.
It was close to nine o’clock when Tillie came home.
“Lyle’s doing great,” she told Mom. “Almost good as new.”
“Thank God.”
“Yes indeed,” Tillie said. She smiled at me as I walked into the kitchen to join them. She took off her coat, kicked off her snowy boots, and wiggled into the slippers waiting for her by the door.
“When will he go back to work?” Mom asked. She was at the stove pouring Tillie a cup of coffee. She poured a little more into her own cup before joining Tillie at the table. I listened to them talk as I fixed myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“Midweek,” Tillie said. “Probably Wednesday.” She sipped the coffee, seemed to savor the warmth.
Mom nodded. “I’m glad he’s doing so well. And did you get to meet Mr. Knutson?”
I drew in a sharp breath and stood motionless while waiting