Douglas mumbled, “Ha ha …”
“Well, she does … not like dumb old Miss Vickers who always made me be in the listener group …”
Douglas tried to grab the phone away but Sally held on and told her father, “Douglas is trying to take the phone from me and I don’t know why because he never even has anything to say and I have a lot to say and listen, Doey … the goldfish in the pool in our courtyard are so big … you never saw goldfish so big in your life and …”
Douglas grabbed again. “Okay, Douglas! Just one more thing, Doey … my friend Andrea has a cat … I wrote you about him … he’s so soft and he purrs when you pet him and I know he hasn’t got any worms. So will you please tell Mom it’s okay for me to play with him? And what about the bathhouse disease? Oh … well, don’t forget … okay, I’ll listen to her … yes, I promise … Douglas is practically breaking my arm … I love you too. Here, Douglas,” Sally said, shoving the phone at him. “I hope you have something important to say this time.”
“Hi, Dad …” Douglas said. “I’m okay … they’re okay … it’s okay … yeah, I feel fine … yeah, I’m trying … yeah, I know … yeah … well, here’s Mom …” He passed the phone to his mother.
“Oh, Arnold …” Mom said, sniffling. Douglas went outside. Sally stayed where she was, hoping to hear the rest of the conversation but Mom waved her away, saying, “Go play …”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes … hurry up … outside …”
“Oh, all right!” Sally went outside, in time to catch Douglas, walking his bicycle from the storage room to the street. “Hey, Douglas, wait up …” she called. “I’ll ride with you.”
“No, thanks …”
“Where are you going, anyway?”
“Exploring.”
“Exploring where?”
“All over,” he said and pedalled away.
Sally sat on the edge of the goldfish pool. It was so quiet this morning. Where was everybody? Probably still sleeping. It was going to be hot today, a real sizzler, as Ma Fanny would say. Later they’d go to the beach. Sally watched a salamander work its way up a bush, changing its color to blend in with its surroundings. Lucky salamander! It would be nice to become invisible like that, sometimes. If she had been able to blend right into the sofa in the lobby she could have listened to Mom talking to Daddy. And what did Mom have to say to him that was so private anyhow? Yes, it would be very nice to be invisible whenever you wanted.
Sally looked into the goldfish pond. I am invisible … I can see you, fish, but you can’t see me … She tossed a pebble at her own reflection and watched as the ripples distorted her face. Invisible … invisible, she thought, closing her eyes.
When she opened them another reflection appeared in the pool, next to hers. She turned around and caught her breath. Mr. Zavodsky! He was standing very close to her. Close enough to reach out and touch her. Close enough to push her into the goldfish pool.
“Hello, little girl … you want some candy?”
“No!” Sally jumped up and tore off into the house. She rushed up the stairs and burst into her apartment. “Do you know Mr. Zavodsky?” she asked Mom.
Mom was sitting in the stuffed chair in the corner, one hand covering her eyes. “I know of him … why?” She sniffled and took her hand away from her face.
“I don’t like him!” Sally said.
“Why … did he do something to you?” Mom looked concerned.
“He offered me candy.”
“I hope you didn’t take any.” Mom wiped her nose with a Kleenex.
“I didn’t … but one time Andrea did.”
“She should know better.”
“That’s what I told her.”
“Stay away from him,” Mom said, “… and where’s your brother?”
“Out on his bike … exploring …”
“Oh, God … what am I going to do?” Mom asked, her voice breaking.
“About what?” Sally said.
But Mom didn’t answer. She ran to the bathroom.
On Thursday schools were closed because of a teachers’ meeting. Sally went down to the lobby to wait for Shelby, who was coming over for lunch. She wondered if Mr. Zavodsky would be there, with his bag of candy. If he was, she’d have to warn Shelby. She’d tell her he was a dangerous stranger, but no more.
Mr. Zavodsky wasn’t in the lobby but Bubbles Daniels from next door was, talking on the pay phone. Sally sat down on the sofa. Bubbles had pretty hair, the color of carrots. She was almost seventeen. Sally wound her braid around her finger, thinking, Bubbles is older than Tante Rose when she had Lila.
Bubbles put her hand over the mouthpiece and spoke to Sally. “I’ll just be another minute.”
“That’s okay,” Sally told her, “I’m not waiting for the phone.”
“Oh … then could you possibly go outside?”
“What for?”
“So I can finish my conversation.”
“I don’t mind if you finish.”
“I’d like to finish in private,” Bubbles said.
“Oh … why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Sally walked outside. As she did, she heard Bubbles say, “Will I be glad when we finally get a phone upstairs!”
“Everybody’s got secrets these days,” Sally muttered to herself.
Sally met Shelby out front. “I brought my Jolly Roger game,” Shelby said.
“Good.”
They went into the lobby. Bubbles was still on the phone. “Just a minute …” she said into it, giving Sally and Shelby a nasty look. When they were on the stairs, Bubbles went back to her conversation. “The children in this house are driving me crazy!”
“She’s my next door neighbor,” Sally told Shelby.
“Lucky you!” Shelby said.
Sally opened the door to her apartment and called, “Shelby’s here …”
Shelby looked around. “Your place is so pretty!”
“Thanks … you should have seen it before …” Sally had to admit that Mom and Ma Fanny had done a nice job. The apartment was bright and cheerful now, with plants and curtains and plaid slipcovers on the day beds. There were pictures of boats and sunsets hanging on the walls and Ma Fanny’s collection of family snapshots standing on all the small tables. There were twenty-two photographs in silver frames, four of them showing Tante Rose and Lila at different ages. Sally picked up her favorite. “This is Lila, my cousin, once removed. She died in a concentration camp.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Doesn’t she have big eyes?”
“Yes.”
“You can tell she’s happy even though she isn’t really smiling, can’t you?”
Sure.
Sally wanted to grow up to look just like Lila. She hoped her eyes would get bigger and her hair heavier, and that you would know she was smiling even when her mouth was closed. And then, when she finally parted her lips—what a surprise—a beautifully chipped front tooth, exactly like Miss Swetnick’s.
Sally and Shelby had sour cream and cottage cheese for lunch and for dessert, ladyfingers with grape jelly. After, they played three games of Jolly Roger.
“Would you like to play something else now?” Sally asked.
“Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know … we could play Pretend …”
“Pretend what?”
“Cowgirl or Detective or War … something like that.”
“I wouldn’t mind playing Cowgirl,” Shelby said. “What are the rules?”
“There aren’t any … I make up the story and we play … it’s easy …”
“I don’t know … I’m not very good at games without rules.”
“Well … if you don’t want to …”
“What about marbles?” Shelby said. “I like to shoot marbles.”
“I have a great collection!” Sally said, jumping up. “Wait till I show you my favorite … clear green all over …” She pulled her keepsake box out from under the day bed, opened
it, and took out a small cloth bag. She emptied it on the floor, in front of Shelby.
“Next time I’ll bring my collection over,” Shelby said. “I’ve got one that’s pure black!”
That night Mom took Sally and Douglas to the movies to see The Farmer’s Daughter. Even though Sally loved movies she missed seeing them with her father, because without Daddy there was no one to act out scenes with her after the show. And when she asked questions during the movie, Mom and Douglas just said, shush …
But there were some things in Miami Beach that were better than in New Jersey. One of them was Herschel’s Sweet Shoppe. Mom always took them to Herschel’s after the movies. Herschel knew just how to make Sally’s sundae. She never had to remind him. One scoop of chocolate ice cream, one scoop of vanilla, lots of hot fudge sauce, a great pile of whipped cream and just a touch of cherry juice on top, but not the cherry itself. Herschel got it right every time.
It was Wednesday afternoon and Miss Swetnick was dictating a poem to the class. They would be graded on spelling and handwriting. Sally dipped her stick pen into the inkwell in the corner of her desk. She glanced across the aisle at Barbara. Barbara had the best handwriting in the class. At least Miss Swetnick thought so. She always gave her an E for excellent while Sally never got more than a G for good. She was hoping for an E today. She watched Barbara form her letters and she tried to make hers look the same. Big and round with lots of space between each word. She didn’t worry much about spelling becau