Free How High the Moon by Sandra Kring Page B

town, before I even knew their names, Teddy and I walked down to The Pop Shop so he could get the Sunday paper to do his crossword puzzle. Ralph was parked up alongside of them, and Walking Doll was chewing him up one side and down the other about something, cussing like a sailor. They stopped arguing when they saw us, and Teddy stared right into Walking Doll’s face—probably trying to figure out if her Marilyn Monroe mole was real or fake—and then he gripped my hand tighter and yanked me across the street to the store fast, even though there was a car coming. Teddy sure did hate cussing, but I didn’t think it was very nice of him to not say hi back, or give a thank you after Walking Doll called to him to stop by anytime—which I thought was right neighborly of them.
    As soon as we got across the street, while Teddy had his hand on the smudged door of The Pop Shop, but before he opened it, he turned to me and said, “I don’t want you anywhere near those women. You cross in front of the Jacksons’ house and come down this side of the street. You hear?”
    “I heard. I ain’t deaf,” I said.
    Teddy made me wash until my eyes stung and my skin looked like it was rubbed raw with pickled beet juice, then he made me sit on the couch while he chewed me out for sneaking into the theater,dragging Charlie along, and making poor Mrs. Fry worry herself to the brink of death.
    While he blabbed on and on, the snappy melody of a song they played in
Lady and the Tramp
came back to me and I started singing it. It was one of those songs with no words, so I just sang la-la-la where there should have been some.
    I expected Teddy to tire himself out from his ranting like he usually did, but this time, right in the middle of his outburst, he stopped. Just like that. And when I looked up, he wasn’t even standing over me anymore, but sitting in his chair, even though his work clothes were cow-bloody. His arms were lying in his lap, limp as the empty sleeves of a wet work shirt.
    I stopped la-laing. “What’s the matter, Teddy?” I asked.
    Teddy stared straight ahead and sighed.
    “Teddy? What is it?”
    “I don’t know what to do anymore, Teaspoon,” he said. His chin was tucked in so far that you couldn’t even tell he had one, and his voice was raspy, like he had tonsillitis.
    “What do you mean?” I asked, my chest feeling like Charlie was sitting on me all over again.
    He clicked his tongue against his teeth, making that little sucking sound, then he sighed big. “Since your ma left, I’ve done my best, Teaspoon. But I fear my best isn’t good enough. What do I know about raising a child, much less one teetering on the edge of womanhood. You run like a stray, you fight like a barroom drunk, and you don’t do your schoolwork.”
    “But I don’t cuss anymore,” I reminded him. “That says something, doesn’t it, Teddy?”
    “…and now you’ve added breaking into theaters to your behaviors,” he said, not even giving me one ounce of much-deserved praise for keeping a clean tongue.
    “Oh, I didn’t just add that, Teddy. I’ve been sneaking into the Starlight for a couple of years now.” Boy, did I hate it when my mouth worked so quick I didn’t have time to catch the words before they came out.
    “And to top it off,” Teddy said. “Mrs. Fry ran into Miss Tuckle today, and she told Mrs. Fry that you haven’t been to Sunday school in weeks, even though every Sunday I give you a dime for the offering plate, and off you go.”
    I might have been scared as Charlie when Teddy brought up yet another one of my bad deeds, but I wasn’t about to let him see that.
    “Well, I guess you could say that I did get a little sidetracked on my way to church the last few Sundays, but I still got those dimes you gave me,” I lied. “And I’ll see that Jesus gets them when I go back tomorrow.” I thought for a second, and chewed my lip. “Hey, Teddy. Mrs. Fry didn’t blab about me and Charlie sneaking into the