Free Billie Standish Was Here by Nancy Crocker

Eight

    T   he next morning I almost jumped out of my skin when I walked into the kitchen and found them sitting in the same chairs. I hadn’t seen them both at the breakfast table since winter. There were coffee mugs in front of them and Mama looked like she had either slept too hard or done some serious crying.
    Daddy cleared his throat and said, “Sit down, please.” I slid into my chair. “Your mother is concerned.” Mama kept her head down.
    I sneaked a look. He was speaking for her now? He went on. “Don’t you think it’s . . . well, unwise to spend time with an old woman addled enough to take her own boy for a prowler?”
    I concentrated on my hands. “Oh, as long as I don’t wait till the whole town’s been gone a month and then try sneaking into her house at three in the morning, I imagine I’ll be safe,” I told him.
    Mama pounced. “What’s wrong with you that you can’t spend time with girls your own age, anyway?” she said.
    A few weeks earlier I would have winced. “Nothing’s wrong with me,” I told her. “The only two girls around who are my age live about eight miles away. Plus they’re tight as ticks. And even if they did want me in their little club, would you drive me out to their farms all the time?”
    She took the bait. “I’m not your taxicab.” I had heard that often enough.
    â€œDidn’t say you were. Just answering your question.”
    â€œI guess what your mother and I don’t understand is why. Why do you want to be around an old woman like that?” Daddy looked honestly perplexed.
    I didn’t mean to, but I started laughing. Then tears sprang to my eyes and I just overflowed all over. I wiped my face on my T-shirt sleeve when I could and said, “She’s my friend.”
    Mama sucked her teeth and shook her head at Daddy like this had proved something.
    I concentrated on breathing. It seemed like I could forget to. The eye of the storm was coming back.
    I made my face blank. “She talks to me,” I said. “She listens to me. She teaches me things. How to cook, how to crochet, how to fix stuff.” I took a deep breath. “She likes me.”
    â€œYour mother can do all those things with you, can’t she?” Daddy’sface was so drawn in on itself it looked like a fist.
    â€œMiss Lydia enjoys it,” I said.
    â€œOh, but—” Daddy started. Then he looked at Mama and whatever he saw stopped him. His eyes came back to me and, for the first time that morning, I remembered the big red splotch on my cheek. I stared at the sugar bowl. From the corner of my eye I saw him study my face.
    Several minutes passed with no more said. I got up and slid my chair into place, went to my room and closed the door. I got dressed, then rummaged in the top drawer of my desk for the stationery I’d gotten for Christmas. I took out a piece and wrote in my most careful hand.
    Dear Miss Lydia,
    You can ask me anything and tell me whatever you want, too. We can talk about anything under the sun you think needs to be talked about, as far as I’m concerned. You are not alone, either.
    XOX,
    Love,
    Billie Marie
    I folded it in thirds and slid it into an envelope. I wrote her name on the front, sealed it, and laid it on the sewing machine next to the door so it was ready to grab on my way out. Just then I heard doors slam out in the driveway, one-two, and gravel crunched as the pickup drove away. I opened the door and helped myself to a great big breath of their air.
    I thought the two hours doodling with makeup had produced a perfect result. I guess the sun had some harsh thoughts otherwise, though, because Miss Lydia jumped when she opened the door. I was afraid she’d get tangled up in the throw rug and fall. I grabbed her elbow just in case.
    â€œLands, child,” she said. She pulled away like I was something from the