Free Stumptown Kid by Carol Gorman and Ron J. Findley Page B

Will?”
    “Yeah?”
    “I’m glad you still want to play ball with us,” I said.
    “Oh,” Will said. “Okay. See ya.” He hung up.
    I’d wanted him to say,
Sure, I’d rather play with you guys.
    I wondered if he liked playing with the Wildcats better than us.
    It was only two o’clock, so I had a couple hours to kill. When I heard the buzz and bells of Herman’s ice cream cart, I grabbed a nickel from my bank and ran outside.
    Herman has a lame leg, but he can drive his cart since it’s mounted on a motorbike.
    “Hey, Herman!” I called. I stopped at the curb and waved my arms.
    He waggled a hand and pulled up next to me.
    I don’t know Herman’s last name, but we always talk baseball when we do business. I never see him without his St. Louis Cardinals cap. It’s dark with dirt, but he said he got it at a game in St. Louis in forty-seven and he’s never throwing it away. Or washing it, either, probably. He always has stubble growing on his chin and cheeks, like he can’t be bothered to shave more than every few days.
    “I want a grape Popsicle, please,” I said.
    “That’ll be a nickel,” Herman said, opening the frosty top of his cart. I stuck my face in to feel the cold air, but he pushed me out of the way. “Don’t breathe in there, kid. You hear the Cardinals game last night?”
    “I heard when Stan Musial hit a home run,” I said. “That was pretty exciting. What was the final score?”
    “The Cards walloped the Cubs, six to zero,” he said. He grinned and showed the hole where his front tooth should have been. He raised an eyebrow. “I hear you had to run from that Lobo kid this morning.”
    Geesh. Bad news travels at lightning speed around Stumptown.
    “You were talkin’ to Lucy just now, huh?” I said, scowling.
    Herman shrugged. “She bought a Frosty Ice Cream Bar. How’s your mom?”
    “Fine,” I said.
    “She still seein’ that salesman?” he asked.
    I scowled again. Seemed Herman sure had to know everything. “Yeah. So?”
    “They gonna get married? Your mom and the salesman? What’s his name?”
    “Vern Jardine,” I said. “Why’re you so interested?”
    “Just wonderin’, that’s all,” Herman said. “Maybe he’ll adopt you, and you’ll inherit all his money. You’d have to change your name, probably.”
    “I’d never change my name,” I told him. “My dad’s name is Nebraska, and that’s the only name I’ll ever have.”
    “Not if that fella adopts you.” Herman got on his bike and started up his motor again. “Charlie Jardine. That’s not too bad. Well, see ya.”
    He rode away.
    I watched him go. If it wasn’t for those grape Popsicles, I wouldn’t care if I never saw Herman again. He’s the nosiest person I ever met, and he spreads gossip like wind spreads a wildfire.
    I tore the paper wrapping off the Popsicle and sat under the tree to eat it. There’s nothing better on a hot day than a grape Popsicle. It fills your mouth with a sweet coldness that spreads through you and seeps into your bones for a few minutes, like the cold in the storm sewer.
    This time I didn’t enjoy it too much, though. I was playing over in my mind what Herman said about Vern adopting me if Mom married him. There was no way I’d ever let them change my name.
    “Vern’ll
never
be my dad,” I said out loud to myself.
“Never.”
    After the Popsicle was gone, I went inside and into my room. I picked up the snow globe my dad won for me and shook it. I lay on my bed and watched the white snow swirl around the little house.
    Dad, please be alive. Come home so Mom won’t marry Vern. Come home so Mom and I can be happy and everything can be like it was before you left.
    My comic books are piled on a shelf above my bed. I sat up and looked through them. I lay back again and reread one of the
Superman
comics.
Captain Marvel
and
Superman
are my favorites, but
Batman, Robin,
and
Crime Does Not Pay
are good ones, too.
    When I’d finished reading the comic book, I