Rocky Road Read Free Page B

the Albertsons deli counter, remember? I knew we’d need a furnished place.”
    Ma was right about needing furniture. We had close to nothing besides the odds and ends in the U-Haul and a set of beat-up southwestern patio chairs that Ma inherited from her parents’ ranch years ago. Sometimes I wondered if Ma thought Pop had a contagious disease, what with all his stuff she threw out. She even pitched the rattlesnake boots he won in a card game, and I bet
they
cost a pretty penny.
    Ma scooped meat filling into the tortillas as I looked around at what the Mohawk Valley Village brochure called a newly renovated kitchen. The cabinets were freshly painted like they said, though that must’ve been one farsighted painter. Brush bristles were stuck to the puke-green cabinet doors, and the walls had spots missing paint. And the sink was cracked, like someone had whacked it with a cast-iron pot. The kitchen had a counter with three wobbly stools with ripped cushions. At least there was a microwave, even if the door handle was broken.
    Ma poured me a glass of juice. “Jordan still sleeping?”
    I nodded.
    “Good. He needs the rest.” She refilled her mug. Ma drinks her coffee with the socks on, meaning plenty of cream.
    “Better add batteries to the shopping list,” Ma said, pointing to the wall clock. It was stuck on 2:25. Beside it was a frayed poster of a horse race titled “Saratoga, Top of the Stretch.”
    I sipped the juice. “We’ve got to find a craft store. If the home-fashion police saw this place, we’d be under arrest. We need new curtains, throw pillows, and a gallon of paint primer, and that’s just for starters.”
    “Decorating can wait, my crafty queen. First thing this morning, I’m calling to get you registered to start school tomorrow. And I’ll ask about the best school for deaf kids. They must have a good one nearby.”
    My mouth dropped open. “What do you mean, they must have a good one nearby? You said that’s why we moved here!”
    “’Course they got a crackerjack school for deaf kids, Tess. I just haven’t seen it yet. How ’bout you give me twenty-four hours before quizzing me on local geography?”
    Ma put a chipped yellow plate in front of me with two breakfast tacos and a pile of apple slices sprinkled with cinnamon sugar. A newspaper called the
Daily Gazette
rested beside it.
    “I’ve been studying the classifieds,” she said, pointing to the paper. “Trying to find the best place to hang a shingle. I’m fixing to meet Jimbo’s wife’s cousin’s stepsister on her lunch hour when you’re at school tomorrow to hear more about this city. More to come, but I’ll give ya a preview like they do inthe movies. Something sweet is calling for Delilah Dobson in the world of retail.”
    The world of retail?
I didn’t like how that sounded. “Something could’ve called you back in Texas, and we would’ve saved a lot of gas,” I said. For one, we had no money; two, we knew nobody in New York; and three, aside from slicing ham and scooping ranch-style beans for deli customers, what did Ma know about retail?
    Then, as if it would make me feel better, Ma rubbed my back. “Trust me, honey. I’ve got a plan.”
    My whole life I’ve wanted to trust Ma, but that’s impossible if you’re around her more than an hour. Know that guy Murphy, whose law always predicts the worst? Ma lives by the Dobson Doctrine, which promises sunshine and lemonade—but we end up with rainstorms and spoiled milk.
    I finished off my first taco and spooned hot sauce onto the second. “What kind of business are you talking about?”
    “The kind that wipes away sadness the way an antibiotic clears an infection.”
    “Selling what?” I asked, chewing. The suspense wasn’t killing me, but it was getting on my nerves.
    Ma started singing. “I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream….”
    I gulped down a mouthful of spicy sausage. “You want to buy an ice cream truck?”
    “Heck, no! The mayor