Every Day After Read Free Page B

Town Resident Older than Dirt, Mr. Reed also claimed bragging rights for Owner of the Friskiest Dog in All Creation. Ziggy, Mr. Reed’s pampered retriever, would find a way to move even if you glued his paws to the ground. He’s kept penned at all times, except for the occasional squirrel- or duck-hunting trip, because he knocks down every poor soul who crosses his path. He’d never once gotten out of his pen until that very moment when Myra happened to be running past.
    Ziggy never could resist a moving target. He bolted and headed straight down the hill, right toward Myra. She went to screaming like she was dying, squealing so loud she almost cracked a window at Hinkle’s. She headed for the nearest door, but Ziggy was too fast for her. He jumped up and she went down, kicking and screamingsomething fierce. Mr. Hinkle rushed out and pulled Ziggy off her. Myra took off like a burglar from a bank, her back soaked with dog slobber. A muddy puddle marked the place where she’d gone down, and the front of her departing dress told where that puddle had come from. She’d flat out wet herself! Right there in front of God and everybody.
    Soon enough the whole school was talking about it. Eliza Dawson, the sheriff’s daughter, had been walking to the sheriff’s office and had seen the whole thing too, and everybody knows a sheriff’s daughter isn’t allowed to exaggerate. No one ever figured out how Ziggy got loose, but I knew. Myra Robinson knew too, but she wasn’t about to tattle on Erin for fear the next act of revenge would be even worse. Myra went the long way home from then on.
    The Robinsons moved to Huntsville just before Christmas, and some say it was because of what happened with Ziggy. No kid had dared say the word “adopted” or cross Erin in any other way since … until me. I had no doubt she was planning her revenge, but I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of carrying it out. She was barking up the wrong tree.
    I looked over at Ben. His mouth was moving, but I only heard the last of what he was saying. “… somehow. You know?”
    I stared at him, not sure how I was supposed to answer. “Uh-huh” was all that came out.
    “You weren’t listening again, were you?”
    “I was listening,” I said in my most convincing voice. “I just didn’t quite catch that last part.”
    “Forget it,” he mumbled. “We goin’ fishin’ today or not?”
    “Yep. I just need to check on Mama and change first. You run on and grab the poles. I’ll meet you down there.”
    “All right,” he said. “Hurry.” He took off toward our barn.
    I bounded onto the front porch, kicked off my crusty shoes, and ran inside. “Mama, I’m home,” I called. There was no reply. Before Daddy left, Mama would answer with “Hey, sweet. Did you have a good day?” But every day after, I’d been greeted only by silence.
    I peeked through the curtain at the back porch. She was in her rocker, the exact spot I’d left her when I headed off to school. She’d need to stand up and stretch her legs, and I’d have to make her do it. Otherwise, she’d rock in that chair till the rails fell off.
    I ran into my room and changed as quickly as I could—T-shirt and overalls, bare feet. Prime fishing wear. I threw my mud-stained dress into the bag with the rest of the clothes I needed to wash. The dress would need to be scrubbed harder than usual, and even then the stain was probably set already. My church dress would have to do for school until next laundry day. My crusty shoes could be cleaned off down at the pond.
    I hurried to the icebox and chipped some ice off the block—one chip for me, the rest in a glass of water for Mama. I took it out to her.
    She didn’t look up. She never did. She just sat there, staring, her right hand resting in her lap, clutching her worn book of old proverbs. Mama had become quiet over the past month. Too quiet. She was no longer feisty, no longer sharply spouting off the exact right quote