Free Nobody Knows Your Secret by Jeri Green Page B

Beanie,” Hadley said, “if you could cover all your floor up with piles of junk, you never have to worry mopping or vacuuming. How do you ever know if they are dirty if you can’t see them?”
    “Hadley,” Beanie said, “that’s a hard question. It’s like if the moon is made of cheese, how come it’s not orange?”
    “You’re right, my friend,” Hadley said. “Life’s full of mysteries.”
    “Ain’t it, though,” said Beanie. “But I ain’t gonna strain over it. Them piles ain’t nuthin’ to laugh at, Hadley. Ardell Devereaux had hisself a bad case ‘a piles. Him and Lum was talkin’ outside the Spoon. Ardell said the itchees was so bad he’d back up to buildings and act like he was scratchin’ his back. Lum laughed so hard he started cryin’. Lum said he was the same way when he sat in a patch of poison oak. Them tourists must think we got awful itchy shoulder blades. Ardell told Lum to tell ’em your beer belly gives you an overhaul wedgie.”
    Hadley smiled.
    “Hadley! Look!” Beanie said, dropping a box of junk.
    The dust cloud caused by this threatened to engulf Beanie.
    “It’s a dead possum!” Beanie exclaimed.
    “It’s not dead, Bean,” Hadley said. “We startled it.”
    Hadley knew from her work with Ruth at the wildlife rescue center that opossums were North America’s only marsupial. Like kangaroos, opossums carry their young in pouches. If startled, the animal would “play dead” by curling up on its side and letting its tongue fall out of its open mouth.
    “He’s hoping we’ll leave him alone,” Hadley said.
    “Let’s wander over here to the other side of the room and take a break. We can keep an eye on him from a distance and make sure he’s not injured.”
    “Do you think he’s got rabies?” Beanie asked.
    “Ruth says that possums are seldom rabid. She told me once that they think their body temperatures are too low to let the rabies virus live.”
    “Oh. That’s good. Ha! Look, Hadley. That ole possum is raisin’ from the dead.”
    “He was never dead, Bean. Just playing like he was,” Hadley said.
    Beanie stood looking solemnly at the gray fur slowly rise. The possum looked back at Beanie and gave him a big grin. Beanie grinned widely.
    The possum ambled off out the open door and into the woods near Eustian’s house. Beanie still stood there smiling.
    “Beanie,” Hadley said.
    “Uh-huh,” Beanie managed to say through clenched teeth while maintaining his impossibly wide grin.
    “What are you doing?” Hadley asked.
    “Well,” Beanie said, rubbing his jaw muscles as if they were sore and cramped, “I was tryin’ to be neighborly.”
    “Neighborly,” Hadley said.
    “Yeah. If you was wrong and what I just seen was a possum ghost raise from the dead, I wanted to be sure I was on his good side. I think it worked, Hadley. Did you see him grin at me?”
    “He wasn’t grinning, Bean,” Hadley said. “He was bearing his teeth. Possums have 50 teeth. Did you know that?”
    “Fifty! And I thought I was doin’ good ’cause I got six.”
    Hadley stifled a laugh.
    “If a possum’s angry or scared, he’ll bare all those teeth. It’s his way of saying ‘go away.’”
    “Well, anyway,” Beanie said, “if he did raise from the dead that means he’s a ghost. Fifty teeth or not. I ain’t about to tangle with no ghost. That’s why when he showed me his 50 teeth, I showed him my beautiful six. Just so he’d know I was the friendly type who don’t want no trouble.”
    “He won’t give you any trouble, Beanie. Let’s you and me and your beautiful teeth get back to work.”
    “Sure, Hadley,” Beanie said.
    From the front room, they worked their way into the parlor. They moved mountain after mountain of trash.
    “Legal papers in the boxes,” Hadley reminded Beanie. “Everything else into the wheelbarrow for the dumpster.”
    Beanie and Hadley worked on.
    “You know what, Bean,” Hadley said, “I think going through all this stuff is a