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By Root 371 0

me down her walk, however, it was her grown son, Tommy. I could tell right away he was mad. His face was puckered and red, and his fists were clenched, ready to hit something. As he got closer, I dropped my eyes and concentrated on my feet, even though they had stopped moving. I heard a car door opening and then slamming shut, followed by the gunning of an engine as Tommy turned his car onto the dirt road. I jumped toward Mrs. Nelson's to avoid Tommy's front grille, and little pieces of gravel flew up against my leg as the car roared by. Tommy didn't even turn his head to acknowledge me.

As I stood watching the car disappear, Mrs. Nelson's head popped out of the screen door. "Is he gone?" she yelled.

"Yeah!" I yelled back a little too loudly, given that we were only fifty feet apart.

"Did he say anything to you, Jackson?" she asked a little quieter as she stepped off her porch toward me.

"No. But he almost ran me over," I answered dramatically.

She stared at me, her eyes moving from my wet shoes to my ears, which were turning red from being stared at and because of the subfreezing temperature. "Why don't you come in for a minute?" she finally said, motioning toward her door.

I'd talked with Mrs. Nelson hundreds of times on her porch and outside her house, but she'd never invited me in before. A small tingle of fear ran down my back for some reason.

"Okay. I probably can for a minute."

On the way toward the porch, I remembered my muddy shoes. I tried to slide along the dead grass next to Mrs. Nelson's walkway to scrape off some of the mud. I spent several moments dragging my shoes across the WELCOME, FRIENDS mat she had in front of her door. She finally said, "That's enough. Now come in before we heat up the whole outdoors."

I hesitated inside the doorway, unsure whether to take off my shoes, but she motioned to a chair in her front room as if I was supposed to sit down. I slinked over, glad that the carpet was off-brown. The room itself was very neat, but with lots of little shelves and cabinets full of things my dad would call worthless clutter—snow globes from all fifty states, statues of fat little angels, and shiny bowls and glasses in pale pinks and greens.

Before I knew it, Mrs. Nelson was handing me a cup of cocoa. It was just cool enough that I could tell it had been made way before my arrival. "How's your family doing? How's your mother?" she asked, sitting across from me.

She had never asked about my family before, and I took my first good look at her. The way she was dressed reminded me a little bit of her house—neat but with too many fancy accessories for someone who lived down a dirt road. She had probably spent an hour arranging her graying hair but it had unraveled, and I could see by her eyes she had been crying. "My mom's okay," I managed to squeak out.

"You need to always remember your mother and how much she does for you, even when you get older."

"Uh-huh," I mumbled, as I pretended to be interested in the cocoa.

"Because what really matters in this life is your family, and you always have to treat them right." Mrs. Nelson paused a few seconds and looked around the room. "You know, it's all been so different since my husband died. You'd think being alone like I am, Tommy would be happy to spend time with me."

The way Mrs. Nelson was talking reminded me of something, and when she reached her last sentence, I knew what it was. She sounded just like my mom after she and my dad had been arguing. I knew right then that I was supposed to nod my head a lot and agree with her. Tell her things like "He just doesn't appreciate you" and "You deserve better." I started the head nodding and was about to say something sympathetic when she continued.

"And now my doctor says I might have cancer, and my own son acts like he doesn't even care. Tells me I'm being overdramatic." Mrs. Nelson reached for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes.

Awkwardness filled up the room and pushed my shoulders to the floor. I could tell Mrs. Nelson was waiting for some kind of response, but I had no idea what to say. I looked