Hard Eight

“I’d like to talk to you.”

“I can’t talk now. I have to get things straightened out first.”

“What things?”

“I can’t talk about it.” And she hung up.

I gave Dotty the keys to my car. “Keep your eyes open for Jeanne Ellen. Check your rearview mirror for a tail.”

Dotty grabbed the bag of groceries. “Don’t let Scotty drink out of the toilet,” she said. And then she took off.

The two-year-old was standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, looking at Lula and me like he’d never seen humans before.

“You think that’s Scotty?” Lula asked.

A little girl appeared in the doorway leading to the bedrooms. “Scotty is a dog,” she said.

“My brother’s name is Oliver. Who are you?”

“We’re the baby-sitters,” Lula said.

8

“WHERE’S BONNIE?” THE little girl asked. “Bonnie always baby-sits for Oliver and me.”

“Bonnie punked out,” Lula said. “So you get us.”

“I don’t want you to baby-sit for me. You’re fat.”

“I’m not fat. I’m a substantial woman. And you better watch what you say on account of you say things like that in first grade and they’ll kick your ass out of school. I bet they don’t put up with that kind of talk in first grade.”

“I’m going to tell my mother you said ass. She won’t pay you after she finds out you said ass. And she won’t ever have you baby-sit again.”

“And what’s the bad news?” Lula asked.

“This is Lula. And I’m Stephanie,” I said to the little girl. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Amanda, and I’m seven years old. And I don’t like you, either.”

“Bet she’s gonna be a treat when she’s old enough for PMS,” Lula said.

“Your mom shouldn’t be long,” I said to Amanda. “How about we put the television on?”

“Oliver won’t like that,” Amanda said.

“Oliver,” I said, “do you want to watch television?”

Oliver shook his head. “No,” he yelled. “No, no, no!” And he started crying. Loud.

“Now you did it,” Lula said. “Why’s he crying? Man, I can’t hear myself think. Somebody get him to stop.”

I bent down to Oliver’s level. “Hey, big guy,” I said. “What’s the matter?”

“No, no, no!” he yelled. His face was brick red, scrinched up in anger.

“He keep frowning like that and he’s gonna need Botox,” Lula said. I felt around in the diaper area. He didn’t seem wet. He didn’t have a spoon stuck up his nose. No limbs seemed to be severed. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” I said. “I mostly know about hamsters.”

“Well, don’t look at me,” Lula said. “I don’t know nothing about kids. I never even was one. I was born in a crack house. Being a kid wasn’t an option in my neighborhood.”