Free Grover G. Graham and Me by Mary Quattlebaum Page B

swings.
    “Tracey, spin us. Tracey, please!” Kate and Jango yelled, and soon their excited screams filled the air.
    Grover toddled from swings to sandbox, but his busy eyes kept sliding in the direction of that big whirling thing.
    “Ga.” He pointed.
    “Oh, Ben, let him ride.” Kate brushed back her tangled bangs as the whirl-go-round slowed. “I’ll hold him.”
    “He’s too little—,” I began.
    “Sure, he can ride,” Tracey broke in, clapping her hands at Grover. “Want to ride, baby? Come on!”
    “Ga!” laughed Grover, clapping back.
    “Come on, Grover!” yelled Kate.
    Even Charmaine had to add her two cents’ worth, barking like a fool.
    And Grover? He toddled over so fast his stubby legs blurred.
    Tracey picked up the baby and plunked him in Kate’s lap. “Hold tight,” she directed, starting to push.
    Grover squealed and squirmed.
    That dumb Kate. She wasn’t paying attention.
    In two strides, I was beside the whirl-go-round, reaching for Grover.
    Tracey’s voice stopped me. “He wants a ride.”
    I clenched my hands. I wished I were suddenly three inches taller. Then I could stare Tracey down. It’s not the same when you have to stare up.
    “That ride is dangerous,” I said.
    “Ben’s afraid.” Kate looked over at Tracey. “Listen. His voice is shaking.”
    Tracey shook her head. “You and Jenny,” she said to me. “You’re like two old bats, squeaky and scared.” She grabbed a bar on the whirl-go-round. “This
is fun.”
    “Whee!” Grover clapped his hands.
    Tracey stared straight at me. “You’re going to make Grover as nervous and sneaky as you. I don’t want him to be like that.”
    My eyes didn’t shift from hers. Listen to her, talking like I was hurting Grover. After what
she
had done. “What kind of mother are you?” My words came out, hot and hard. “You don’t care. You left your baby—”
    “What kind of mother am I?” Tracey’s breath came fast, like mine. “I’m
Grover’s
mother. And I say he’s going to ride.”
    This must be some of Tracey’s hard stubbornness. Well, I could be stubborn, too.
    In one motion, I grabbed the bar, grabbed Grover from Kate. I plunked the baby on my lap.
    “Ben’s going to ride,” cried the twins. “Tracey, make it go fast. Really fast!”
    Tracey began pushing the ride.
    “Faster,” screamed Kate.
    I hung on grimly to the bar, tightly to Grover.
    The ride picked up speed.
    “Faster!”
    I watched Tracey’s hands grab each bar and push. White hands, blue-dotted fingernails, gray steel bar. The green of leaves and grass spun together. Potato salad and cookies spun in my stomach.
    “Bye!” Grover squealed, flapping his fist. “Bye!”
    His hair whipped my cheek. I tightened my grip. I wanted to close my eyes, but I didn’t. White-blue-gray-green-green-green. I tried to focus on the names of colors.
    I will
not
get sick, I thought fiercely.
    Then the whirl-go-round started slowing.
    “What a short ride,” whined Kate.
    “And way too slow,” Jango added her whine. “Come on, Tracey, spin us again.”
    “I wanted it slow and easy for Grover.” Tracey stopped the ride. “Did you like that, baby boy?”
    “Whee!” Grover laughed.
    I didn’t bother to look at Tracey. Stupid. Mean. Hard. Slow and easy for Grover. Like she cared.
    I heaved the baby into my arms and stalked back to the picnic area. The potato salad and cookies fought in my stomach. A lousy mother
and
a lousy cook, I fumed, hearing the ride creak and the twins squeal and Charmaine excitedly bark.
    I am
not
a squeaky old bat.
    Mr. T. was stretched out in the shade, but Mrs. T. waved me to the table. I put Grover down, keeping an eye on him as I sat beside her.
    Mrs. T. was smoothing crumbs to the edge of the table. The crumbs from Tracey’s lousy cookies.
    “Ben, you’re great with Grover,” she said slowly. “And he obviously loves you.”
    I smiled.
    Mrs. T. pushed the crumbs into a neat pile. “But you seem … well, too protective