Free Monday I Love You by Constance C. Greene Page A

liked me. I could tell. Aunt Rena must’ve been able to tell too. “You stay away from that Eric,” she warned. “He’s too old for you. Don’t think I don’t see him giving you the eye. While you’re under my roof, you do as I say, Grace. There’ll be no shenanigans around here, mark my word.” Aunt Rena talked like a character out of a book. Or an old movie. What kind of a word was “shenanigans,” anyway? If Aunt Rena had had a dictionary I would’ve looked it up. As it was, I had to use my imagination. The way her lip curled when she said it meant it was another word for “no good.” Eric was a no-good person, then. Was that what she’d meant? No he wasn’t. Any fool could see he was a hard worker, industrious, eager to earn a buck. Eric ate his lunch out of a brown bag while sitting propped up by the warm wall of the barn. I went out to keep him company, talk to him. Well, the truth of it was, I talked, he listened. I told him all sorts of stories—where I’d been, what sights I’d seen. Eric only nodded, dipping his yellow head down into his lunch bag, seeing what he’d overlooked, eyes shining with excitement. He believed every word I said. I soon saw that, and it gave me a feeling of power. He was shy and seemed younger than me, although as I said, he was four years older. He’d never been anyplace, it seemed. When I told him about my father being a croupier—I made it sound like that’s what he was doing now, leaving out the part about being an encyclopedia salesman, thinking that was a job that lacked glamor—Eric’s eyes got very round.
    â€œI sure would like to go to one of them casinos,” he said. “Them gambling places. I saw it on TV. They stay open twenty-four hours a day. All night long. They never close doors. Any time of the day or night suits you, you just go inside there and lay your money down. Go on,” he urged. “Tell me more.”
    I was flattered, never having had such an avid audience in my grasp before. I went wild, made up lots of stuff, just the way William used to do—things that never happened but might’ve if given a chance. Eric loved it all. If Aunt Rena hadn’t crept up on us and yelled, “Time’s a-wasting!” the way she did, we’d be there still, lolly-gagging around. That was another of Aunt Rena’s words, “lollygagging.” She was a pistol when it came to words, all right.
    One day in mid-August, my father came trudging up the hill. I’d been picking peaches all morning for Aunt Rena to make into jam and preserves, and my arms and hands were all sticky. If you’re not quick, and don’t lick it off fast, the juice runs all over.
    â€œHow’s my girl?” my father said, hugging me. “Happy? Say”—he held me at arm’s length, studying me—“you’re all grown-up. While my back was turned, you grew up. How’s Rena? Treating you all right?” The grooves at either side of his mouth looked so deep I could’ve laid my finger inside them, but otherwise he seemed all right. I didn’t mention my mother. I figured if he’d heard from her, he’d say so.
    Aunt Rena made my father go to church with us on Sunday. “How do you expect a child to have religion if her father sets a bad example, Frank?” she stormed. Aunt Rena was known for her temper, but I’d never seen it in action until then. Her face turned pale purple and the veins in her neck stood out so’s you could practically reach out and grab one. My father always knew when he was licked. He came quietly, hat in hand. I wore my first pair of earrings, which I’d bought with money Aunt Rena had given me for helping her out. They were white plastic circles almost as big as a small plate and they dragged my earlobes down some, but I thought they were wonderful and made me look very grown-up. During