He turned his face away, staring out the window, but answered, “I don’t know. I guess I must think that she is, or I wouldn’t want her to stay away from the coven.”
“Do you know any of the other members of the coven?”
“Yeah — a couple of the other kids at the shelter are into it. Sammy was hanging out with them at school a lot. That was before she got kicked out of her house. Now I kind of feel like it’s my fault.”
“Why?”
“She wasn’t really very into it until she got kicked out. Then I mentioned the shelter, not knowing these kids lived there, and then she really got seriously involved in it. I never should have mentioned the shelter. I should have talked to my mom about it more than I did. I asked if Sammy could live with us, and she said no, but I didn’t really — you know — beg and plead with her or anything. Now look.”
“Sammy is your age?”
“A little older. She’s seventeen, I’m sixteen. I won’t be seventeen until January.”
“She’s free to make her own choices, even bad ones, Jacob. Don’t feel guilty. There are other kids at the shelter she could have chosen as friends, and you said yourself she was already into it before she moved there.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just wish there was something I could do.”
“Keep her occupied with other interests, other friends.”
“You probably saw why she doesn’t have too many friends.”
“You saw through it — other people can, too.”
He was quiet until we pulled up in his driveway.
“Thanks, Miss Kelly. Thanks for trying, anyway.” He walked back into the house in the same glum mood I had seen him in first thing that morning. I was, at that moment, happy to be heading toward forty after all. I wouldn’t be sixteen again for anything.
I STOPPED BY the store on the way home and bought some candy and a pumpkin. Pickings were slim by then, but I did manage to find a bag or two of not-too-unpopular candy bars. At the checkout stand I had an inspiration and bought something for Frank.
I OPENED my front door cautiously, and found myself battling the fear that always overtook me when I was home alone. I live in a little 1930s-style bungalow in a neighborhood that threatens to become more upscale, a relatively peaceful area. But the violence of the previous summer had been brought to my doorstep, and try as I might, I could not yet feel safe in my own home. The window blasted out by gunfire had been replaced, the locks improved, the wall replastered — even my grandfather’s chair had been repaired and reupholstered. I was the only item that was still damaged.
Wild Bill Cody, my gray, twenty-pound tomcat, heard the door open and came bounding in, scolding me loudly when he reached my feet. I picked him up and scratched his ears; he closed his eyes and purred loudly. “It’s your own fault, Romeo,” I said. He clawed my arm in response. I dropped him on the floor with a yelp. We were even.
He trotted after me, following me into the kitchen. I opened a can of some foul-smelling stuff he was fond of. I rinsed the cat food can and put it in the recycling bin. He was already chowing down, but he looked up and blinked his thanks.
I watched him with affection. Lately he had been shuffled around like an orphan, traveling between my place and Frank’s. At first he was a terror to transport, employing a vast array of tricks for fighting the cat carrier, and wreaking havoc on Frank’s house when we got there. Frank learned to catproof his place and Cody learned — after two or three times of being left by his lonesome — that if he was going to make a stink about it, he’d be left behind. This time he had refused to come when I called for him, so I had left some dry food and fresh water near his cat door.
Outside of shredding the newspapers I put down to shield the kitchen table, Cody didn’t interfere with my pumpkin-carving efforts. He made the biggest mess he could with the papers, decided he didn’t like the smell of pumpkin pulp, and took off. After a minute, I wondered what he was up to, and found him chewing on a candy bar. It was one that had a mint flavor — a particular weakness of Cody’s. I took it from him and got a nice scratch for my efforts. I was going to have to watch that candy bowl like a hawk.
The trick-or-treaters started arriving, and kept me busy for the next few hours. It is not a good idea to rest your hopes for the next generation on what they choose for Halloween costumes. While I knew that the boys probably wouldn’t
“You’re a pirate!” I said.
“I’m a pirate
I gave her six times as much candy as the usual ration, and told her to be sure to thank her parents for me.
FRANK CALLED as business was slacking off, at about 8:30, saying he wouldn’t be free until after 11:00 — could I wait? I told him I’d have a snack and wait for him to get back for dinner. I air-popped some popcorn and curled up on the couch to listen to a Kings game in progress. Cody strolled over and settled on my lap. He smelled suspiciously of mint, but I didn’t see a half-eaten candy bar anywhere.
During the second period break, I packed up my clothes for work the next day. Frank and I were alternating between houses — one week at mine, one week at his. It was an arrangement that had already grown tiresome, but neither of us had broached the subject of moving in together. Or whatever it was we were going to do next. I was happy to keep packing clothes and cat for a while.
On my way back to the living room to listen to the second period, I stepped on something soft — Cody’s candy bar. I bagged up the remaining candy and stuck it in the freezer. What worked with Frank would work with Cody. After that I was completely absorbed in listening to the hockey game. The Kings won in overtime and I was jumping up and down and whooping for joy when the front door burst open, scaring me clean out of my wits.
Frank and I stood looking at one another with startled expressions.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “I heard screaming.”
