Free 100 Days and 99 Nights by Alan Madison Page A

broke my duty. . . .”
    The image of Ike breaking his “doodee” almost made me break out laughing, but the sad trickle of tears that slid down into his furred brown coat collar stopped me.
    We turned onto our street. The dogwood trees, with yellow ribbons tied to their trunks in hopes of our soldiers’ safe return, stood at attention as we passed. Our house squatted on the far corner. The white paint had started to potato-peel off parts of the walls. Dad would fix that when he got back. He’d take us to the hardware store to buy paint and turpentine.
    Turpentine! Dad thought turpentine was a funnier word than yogurt, llama, or even spatula.
    “You going to tell Mom?”
    “Turpentine.”
    I didn’t mean to say that; the silly word just slipped from my lips. Ike looked up at me, scrunched his damp face in confusion, and then for the first time since I saw him sitting on that bench in the office, smiled. Somehow, at that moment, “turpentine” was the very best thing to say. Funny, how you can get lucky that way. Then Ike’s smile just as quickly disappeared.
    “What about Daddy?”
    What about Daddy? I repeated inside my head. For the first time since my father had left for war, I was angry with him. How could I possibly be angry with him when he wasn’t even here? The house needed painting, Ike got into a fight, Mom needed help, and we hadn’t had a good pancake in weeks. He had other duties — duties here with us. Which came first, the sergeant or the daddy? My lips went straight and my teeth gritted hard together at this dangerous thought. I knew deep inside that even thinking this I had somehow broken an important rule. I sucked in a deep breath of cool air through my nose and looked down at Ike, who waited, expectant eyes, chin raised, for my answer to “What about Daddy?” Think, Esme, think what to say. Be owl wise. But at that moment I was so mad-sad about so many things that I had gone blank inside my head and couldn’t put any words in any correct order.

    I stepped over the curb onto the faded stone walk that led to the house. From behind the front door you could barely hear Napoleon’s muffled welcoming barks.
    “I miss Dad,” I soft-said. It wasn’t something I had ever said since he had left. But now, having said it, I felt like I had broken another big rule.
    “Me too.”
    Ike slipped his hand into mine and squeezed. We continued up the path toward home.
    Tiger, Turtle
    This is my third time through the T’s. I started with Tina my tiger, which I got from Mommy’s little brother, Tom, when he visited us in Germany two years ago. He took us on an amazing boat trip down the blue Danube, a river in Germany whose banks are dotted with ancient castles that Tom told us are ruled by ferocious trolls. (Tom likes telling stories so I am not sure how true that part is.)
    My turtle’s name is Tililah, which Ike insists is no name at all. This is another case of Ike Sense. Since my turtle is named Tililah, it is most definitely a name. When we first arrived in Alexandria, Delilah, a corporal lady in my dad’s division, gave me Tililah. She explained that this turtle would always remind me that “slow and steady wins the race.” Even though I like Delilah and Tililah very much, I don’t believe that one bit because anytime we race in gym I have noticed that the fastest one wins and the slowest, steady one does not. Sometimes grown-ups don’t know very much about kids.
    I bounced on my bed, examining my crossed-off calendar. It looked like I was X in a very long tic-tac-toe game that I should have won at least ten days ago. To try and make the game a tie, I decided to circle the rest of the days Dad was gone. With my thick black marker I circled day seventy-two, a sunny Sunday. At least I had Grandpa McCarther’s visit to look forward to.
    Napoleon’s happy howls from the living room announced Grandpa’s arrival. I tucked Tililah back into my bedzoo between Sylvester my squirrel and Tina my