Promises to Keep - Ann Tatlock [46]
Mr. Nightingale repeated his earlier regrets and thanked Tillie for the offer.
“Oh, by the way, Willie, since we’re speaking of driving,” Tillie went on, “the car’s been running better than ever since you gave her that tune-up. You do work wonders, you know.”
Mr. Nightingale smiled shyly. “That’s fine, Mrs. Monroe. I’m glad to hear that. Any time you have problems, you bring the car to me.”
“We will, certainly,” Mom interjected.
Mrs. Nightingale pulled a piece of paper out of her pocketbook and handed it to Mom. “Here’s the number where we’ll be, just in case. Celia Greer, that’s our daughter. We’ll be staying with her.”
Mom looked at the paper and nodded confidently. “I’m sure everything will be fine. You just go enjoy that new grandbaby of yours.”
The Nightingales both smiled broadly at that, their white teeth shining in keen contrast to their dark skin. “We’ll do that, Mrs. Anthony,” Hester Nightingale said. “And thank you again for watching Mara.” She leaned over and kissed Mara’s cheek. “Now you be good, baby, and mind your manners.”
“I will, Mama.”
Her father laid his oversized hand on her head and patted her hair gently. His nails and palms were pink, though the skin on the back of his hand was tough and wrinkled as an elephant’s. “Bye now, baby girl,” he said quietly. “We’ll be back in about a week.”
“All right, Daddy.” She hugged him around the waist, then picked up her suitcases and looked at me. “Where’s your room?” she asked.
“Upstairs. Come on!”
I showed Mara the way and pointed to the bed that would be hers. She dropped the suitcases on it and sat beside them cross-legged. “I’ve been checking your desk at school every day while you’ve been gone,” she said.
“You have?” I sat down on my own bed and cocked my head.
“Yeah. You know, to check on the note to your daddy. It’s still there. He hasn’t come.”
“Oh.” I looked past her to the window, not wanting to lie but afraid to tell her the truth, that I’d seen Daddy at the library. Now that I knew Daddy was in town, and now that I knew what he wanted, I’d get rid of the note in my desk in the morning. “Well – ”
“Maybe whoever left those Sugar Daddies wasn’t your daddy.”
I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. “Maybe.”
“I’m sorry, Roz.”
“It’s all right.”
“I know you were hoping . . .”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. What’s in your suitcases?”
Mara looked at the suitcases wide-eyed. “I’ll show you.” She tapped on one of them, saying, “This is just clothes and stuff, but this one . . .” She finished by pulling the suitcase toward her and popping the two latches. She opened the lid and smiled at me, as though she were showing me a treasure.
“What’s with all the books?” I asked.
“You haven’t done your report on Marie Curie. I’m going to help you get it done, so I checked out every book in the library that says anything about her.”
“All those books are about Madame Curie?”
“Well, not all of them. Some of them I’m just reading for fun. Like this one.” She lifted one of the books so I could see the cover.
I squinted, as much in exasperation as in an effort to read from several feet away. “Greatest American Poems of the Twentieth Century? You read that kind of stuff for fun?”
“Sure! I love poetry. Besides, how am I going to be a great writer if I don’t read important stuff ?” She was beaming. I was frowning. She didn’t seem to notice. “Do you want to start reading about Madame Curie?” she asked.
Schoolwork hadn’t exactly been on my list of things to do when I learned Mara was coming over. But she’d gone to the trouble of getting the books I needed for my report, and anyway, I didn’t want to disappoint her.
“Yeah, okay,” I said with a shrug. “I guess I should get started on that paper.”
I sure hadn’t had any friends in Minneapolis like Mara Nightingale. She was like a grown-up living inside a little girl’s skin. But I liked her, and so far she was my one and only friend in Mills River.
I took the