Free Iggie's House by Judy Blume Page A

in the driveway. Winnie wondered if anybody was home. She pressed the bell again and listened for footsteps. She didn’t know just what she was going to say to the Garbers, but she had to face them.

chapter eight
    Glenn answered the door. “Hi Winnie,” he said, munching a chocolate-chip cookie.
    â€œHi. Can I come in?”
    â€œSure. Why not?”
    Winnie realized that she hadn’t been inside the house since the Garbers moved to Grove Street. The thought gave her a sinking feeling, but she swallowed hard and stepped into the house. “Isn’t anybody else at home?” she asked.
    â€œTina and my father took Woozie to the vet. He needed some shots.” Glenn’s voice was almost awhisper. Winnie had to lean close to hear every word. “And Herbie’s upstairs sleeping.” Glenn finished his cookie and brushed off his hands.
    â€œSleeping? At quarter to five in the afternoon? How come?”
    â€œHe puked after lunch. After uh … after Mrs. Landon … oh, you know.” Glenn looked at his sneakers.
    â€œYeah,” Winnie said, and then tried to brighten things up. “Say! I threw up on a bus once. Spaghetti! All over the place. The people on the bus weren’t very happy about that at all.” Winnie laughed nervously. She certainly hadn’t planned to tell anyone that story.
    Glenn didn’t laugh. He just looked at her kind of funny. “I’m doing something in the kitchen … come on.”
    Winnie followed Glenn through the long hallway leading to the rear of the house. The kitchen looked out on the back yard. A folding table and three chairs were set up in one corner of the bright sunny room. Winnie sat down on a chair. The yellow countertops were cluttered with grocery bags. Somebody must have been shopping. Glenn reached into bag after bag, coming up with a variety of cans, jars and boxes, which he banged down on the counter. Winnie watched silently. She noticed thatthe Garbers used the same kind of peanut butter that her mother bought for her. The creamy kind. She hated the kind with lumps.
    Glenn opened the cabinet over the counter and started putting in all the cans and jars. He didn’t make rows like Mrs. Barringer did. He practically threw them in every which way. Winnie’s mother lined everything up so you could read the labels.
    â€œHow come you’re putting all that stuff away? Where’s your mother?” Winnie asked.
    â€œUpstairs,” Glenn mumbled.
    â€œWhat’s going on around here anyway?”
    Glenn faced her. “Okay, you might as well know, Winnie,” he said disgustedly. “My mother’s packing.”
    â€œPacking! For what?” Winnie asked.
    â€œTo leave here … to move … that’s what!”
    â€œBut why?”
    â€œWhy!” Glenn raised his voice. “How can you ask why? You
know
why.”
    â€œYou mean you’re going because of … of … that sign and Mrs. Landon?” Winnie didn’t want to believe it. How could the Garbers give up so easily?
    â€œI don’t know if we’re really going or not. All I know is my mother’s been screaming and carrying on all afternoon. She’s had it! That’s all I know.”
    â€œBut what about you?” Winnie asked.
    â€œMe!” Glenn laughed. “Do I matter? Does anybody ever care about what I think?” He turned back to the bundles.
    â€œI do,” Winnie said softly.
    â€œA lot of good that’ll do!” Glenn clunked two cans of tuna fish into the cabinet. “For all I know my mother’s going to take us back to Detroit and leave my father here.”
    â€œWhy would she do a thing like that?”
    â€œBecause my father’s not going to
want
to move. I just know it He’s got the job he’s been after … the one he’s been working for.”
    â€œYour father’s not