Free Penny from Heaven by Jennifer L. Holm Page A

her hair. It’s long, almost all the way down her back. After her hair is smooth and free of tangles, I twist it into one thick braid, tying it at the end with a piece of black ribbon she hands me.
    “There,” I say. “You look real good, Nonny.”
    Nonny takes off her bathrobe and there it is: a long white slip, an old-fashioned cotton one with handmade lace at the hem. I look in her eyes, and I suddenly know why she wears black. It’s her shield, her armor in a country where she can’t speak the language, where she’s still afraid after all these years to talk on the phone or answer the door because she might not understand what someone’s saying. It’s her way of looking fierce, of hiding the fact that she’s old and tired and homesick.
    “Tesoro mio,”
she says, her voice weary.
    I help her into bed and tuck the sheet high around her neck. She is asleep before I even leave the room.

    Frankie’s waiting for me when I come downstairs.
    “Well?” he asks.
    “You were right,” I lie. “Black.”
    He slaps his palm on his leg. “I knew it!”
    But I know that it doesn’t really matter. Black, white, or purple underwear, she’s still my Nonny.

CHAPTER NINE
    The Slider
    Uncle Dominic says the thing about a slider is that you never see it coming. It’s the one pitch that can fool even the best batter.
    When I get home from delivering orders with Frankie, I find Mother in her bedroom, sitting at her dressing table. She’s wearing a dress I haven’t see before. It’s lemon yellow and strapless. It looks glamorous and shows off her freckled shoulders.
    “Are we going out for dinner?” I ask. We don’t go to restaurants very often and, believe me, it’s a real treat when we do.
    “Actually,” she says, “I’m going out. Me-me’s made hamburger-olive loaf for you.”
    I groan. Me-me’s hamburger-olive loaf is so bad, it should be in jail.
    “You going out with Connie again?” I ask.
    She turns around on her little stool and looks me in the eye. “Mr. Mulligan asked me out to dinner and dancing.”
    “Mr. Mulligan?” I say.
    “Yes.”
    “The milkman?”
    “Yes.”
    “You’re going out to dinner with the milkman?” I blurt out.
    My mother’s voice doesn’t have to get loud to show her disapproval. “His name is Mr. Mulligan, Penny, and he’s a very nice man. And there’s nothing wrong with being a milkman. He does quite well for himself.”
    “Hold it,” I say, remembering the two of them talking on the porch. “Is this the first time you’ve gone out with him?”
    She hesitates and then says, “No.”
    “You’ve been dating him? For how long?”
    She looks out the window, idly picking the dead leaves off the plant on the windowsill. “A little while.”
    This is even worse than Me-me’s hamburger-olive loaf!
    I look at her ring finger and notice that it’s bare; the engagement ring is gone!
    “Mother, where’s your ring?”
    “Penny,” she says, her voice cool, “I need to finish getting ready. We’ll talk in the morning.”
    “But—”
    She cuts me off with a look.
    “Mr. Mulligan will be here at six,” she says, and then she turns her back to me and starts putting on her lipstick.

    I stay awake waiting for my mother to come home. Scarlett O’Hara keeps me company in the parlor.
    All these years I’ve wanted a father and this is what I get? The milkman? What does she see in him? My real father was handsome as a movie star, not going bald like Mr. Mulligan.
    “I can’t believe she’s dating the milkman, Scarlett O’Hara,” I tell my dog.
    She whines like she’s as shocked as me.
    Pop-pop wanders through and says, “What’re you doing up?”
    “I can’t sleep,” I say.
    “What?” he asks. “What?”
    “I said, ‘I can’t sleep,’” I say loudly.
    “Drink some warm milk.”
    “I hate milk,” I mutter. “Especially now.”
    “Hmph,” he says.
    When I finally hear the car pull up, it’s late, nearly midnight. I creep over to the front