Free Anastasia Again! by Lois Lowry Page A

called him by name. He hated laughter. And I could never have said Yoyd without laughing. When I had to speak to him at all, I called him Mr. Stein."
    "A magazine that I read a lot would call that a Brief and Unfortunate Marriage."
    "Yes. It was certainly a Brief and Unfortunate Marriage."
    "Did you ever look up
llama
in the dictionary? To see if maybe he was right?"
    "Of course not. Of course he wasn't right. He was an idiot with goldfish eyes."
    "Well, I'm sorry that you married him."
    "Me too. But it was understandable, I guess. I was over thirty, after all, and all alone. I liked his aluminum cookware. And the man I loved had married someone else."
    Now
that
was romantic and interesting.
    "What was
his
name?"
    Gertrustein looked a little bit sad. "Edward Evans. We had grown up together. As a matter of fact, Anastasia, Edward lived in your house, when he was a boy."
    It was always hard to imagine old people being
young.
Anastasia looked for a long time at Gertrustein and just couldn't see even the smallest fragments of a young face. Sam had been right; she really did look like a witch.
    "I don't mean to be rude or anything," Anastasia said, "but you know, Gertrustein, you really would look much nicer if you would fix your hair differently."
    Gertrustein held up her hands. They were twisted and
misshapen. "It's all I can do to hold a hairbrush," she explained. "My arthritis is so bad."
    "Well," said Anastasia, "tomorrow, when you take Sam for a walk, why don't you walk down past the drugstore? And buy some curlers, and when you come back,
I'll
fix your hair for you!"
    Gertrustein thought about that, frowning. "All right," she said, finally. "We'll give it a try, now that there is a new Mr. Stein in the house."
    In his bowl, the new Mr. Stein gazed out with bulging eyes, swished his tail, and swooped around the plastic diver. Anastasia, who was an expert on goldfish emotions, could tell that he was quite happy.
    ***
    "Mom, I have something important to talk to you about."
    "How do you like the curtains so far?"
    One of the new curtains was hanging at one window. The others were still spread out on the kitchen table beside the sewing machine.
    "Fine. They look pretty good. Can you stop sewing for a minute?"
    "Sure. What's on your mind?"
    Anastasia sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, opposite her mother, and wrapped her feet around the rungs. "This is sort of embarrassing," she said. "Promise you won't tell anyone."
    "Okay. I promise."
    "Well, I feel sort of weird about this. I'm sorry, but
there isn't any word except weird for it. But I think I'm going to have to marry Robert Giannini."
    Anastasia had always thought that it was only in books that people's mouths fell open in surprise. But her mother's mouth fell open in surprise.
    "Anastasia! That's
impossible!
How could that be? You're only twelve years old! You can't possibly..."
    "Mom," Anastasia said impatiently. "I didn't mean
now.
I mean
years
from now, after I finish college. But I might as well start getting used to the idea now. And that's what makes me feel weird. Because I can't
stand
Robert Giannini. I had sort of decided that maybe I could learn to like him, because I do like him a little bit sometimes. But I was just talking to Gertrustein, and she was telling me how she married someone she couldn't stand, although she liked his aluminum cookware, but she never did learn to like him, because he wanted her to call him Yoyd, and then he ran off with a mandolin player, and..."
    "Hold on. Hold everything. I very rarely want a beer in the middle of the afternoon. But suddenly I want a beer. Can I get you something?"
    "Are there any Popsicles?"
    Her mother came back from the refrigerator with a can of beer and a green Popsicle. Anastasia peeled off the paper and began to lick the Popsicle carefully.
    "Now, for starters. Why do you think you're going to have to marry Robert Giannini in ten or fifteen years?"
    "Because he loves me. And he's the only boy who ever has