Free A Dream for Addie by Gail Rock Page A

B.V.D.’s and told ’em all to shut up because he was trying to take a nap. Then he took his gun—he had this five-hundred dollar hunting rifle, all gold inlaid and carved—and he shot up every teacup in the room. They said the old biddies screamed like mad and ducked behind the sofas and thought they were all going to get killed. Nobody got hurt, but I guess they were picking bullets out of the woodwork for months.”
    I didn’t say anything for a moment. At first the story had seemed funny, but then I wondered what I would have done if it had been me in that living room playing the piano.
    â€œI wonder what Constance did,” I said.
    â€œI bet she quit playing the piano real quick,” Dad laughed.
    It didn’t strike me funny. “I bet she cried,” I said quietly.
    Dad looked over at me thoughtfully. “I suppose so,” he said. “She must have had a hard time of it.”
    â€œI feel kinda sorry for her,” I said. I waited a second, then plunged into it. “Listen, Dad. Wouldn’t it be great if we could invite her to stay at our house for a few days until she feels better?”
    â€œDon’t start that,” he said, giving me a sharp look. He realized that’s what I had been leading up to.
    â€œBut, Dad … it would cheer her up to be around other people.”
    â€œForget it!”
    â€œShe could have your room, and you could sleep on the sofa.”
    â€œWhat?” he said incredulously.
    â€œJust for a few days?”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œLet’s ask her, please?”
    â€œWe can’t have her at our house!” he said. “What would people think?”
    â€œWho cares what other people think?” I said. “Couldn’t we?”
    â€œNo!” he said again.
    â€œJust for a few days?” I repeated.
    â€œNow don’t harp at me,” he said angrily.
    â€œWell, I think we should do something to help her,” I said stubbornly. Now that Grandma’s ideas had taken hold, I wasn’t about to give them up so quickly.
    He got up and started to climb back into the crane.
    â€œGet out of here,” he said irritably. “I gotta get back to work!”
    â€œDad,” I said, climbing up after him. “Could I at least go over and she if she’s OK?”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œShe looks like she might be sick.”
    â€œI don’t want you going over there.”
    â€œWe could stop by after you finish work, OK?”
    â€œWe?” he said.
    â€œI’ll just look in to see if she’s all right.”
    â€œNo!” he said firmly.
    â€œPlease, Dad?”
    â€œI’m not going over there and neither are you!” he said angrily. “I don’t want you to have anything more to do with her.”
    I climbed right onto the seat next to him, and he gave me one of his exasperated looks. He knew I wasn’t going to give up so easily.
    We drove up to the Gunderson house in Dad’s old red pickup shortly after five.
    â€œJust see if she’s OK,” Dad said. “I don’t want you going in and staying …”
    â€œOK,” I answered, and got out of the truck and went up and knocked on the door. I waited a few moments, looked back at Dad and shrugged. I knocked again.
    Finally the door opened, and there stood Constance, looking pale and disheveled. She was barefoot and wearing a faded old bathrobe. When she saw me, she left the door standing open and turned away and moved back into the hallway as though she didn’t want me to see her.
    â€œHi,” I said. “I just wondered if you needed anything.”
    She kept her face turned away from me. “I’m so sorry about what happened yesterday, Addie.”
    â€œThat’s OK.”
    â€œNo, it isn’t,” she said. “It was a terrible thing to do to you.” She walked slowly over to the big staircase and stood at the foot of the steps as though she