Scrapbook of Secrets Read Free Page B

boys could not get them. It literally took her weeks to accomplish sorting and separating the pictures. Stolen moments during naps. Or when the boys were playing quietly. Or, God forbid, but yes, watching television. Her “stolen time” strategy worked, and she was prepared for tonight’s crop.
    At least she would get Ben’s book started, she told herself. That was the goal. She had no idea how she would steal the time to finish it, but she would. Then she planned to go back and bring Sam’s up to date. But in the meantime, the boys hungered for lunch; and oh, yeah, she needed to finish folding laundry and put another load in. It was never-ending—the piles of laundry.
    She saw herself in the mirror in the hallway—baggy sweats, nightshirt, and no bra—as she moved through her house to her kitchen. She could not remember if she brushed her hair or not, but it needed it. She also probably needed a haircut. Funny, she thought as she ran her fingers through her long, dark hair, she didn’t think about her hair until she needed to go out.
    She briefly wondered if Mike would get home in time for her to steal away to get a haircut before the big crop. Was she making too much of this? She laughed. Probably, she answered herself.
    “Okay, Ben,” she said. “Time-out is over. I want you to understand the consequences for hitting your brother. If you do it again, there will be no ice cream tonight.”
    “Yes, Mama,” he said, walking off into a corner in his room. Ben always took his punishment to heart and tried to behave himself.
    He’s a good kid, she thought, and felt a twinge of guilt for his punishment. Still, she would not tolerate him hitting Sam.
    The phone ringing interrupted her thoughts.
    Both boys ran for the phone and struggled to answer it—she grabbed the receiver from Ben, with him screaming, “Hullo! Hullo!”
    She pointed with her finger for them to go and sit down.
    “Hello,” Annie said.
    “Annie?”
    “Yes.”
    “This is Sheila Rogers. I was just checking to see if you are still coming tonight.”
    “Oh, yeah, I’ll be there,” Annie said, distracted by the level of noise her boys were making. “I’m sorry about the kids.”
    “Don’t worry about that. I have a few of my own,” Sheila said, sort of giggling.
    “You do, don’t you?”
    “Some of us just don’t know when to stop.” Sheila, the mother of four children, sighed. “They keep you busy.”
    “They sure do,” said Annie, wondering where this conversation was going. “So I’ll be there. Is there anything special I need to bring?”
    “Oh, no, just your pictures and scrapbooks—if you have them. Of course, I’ll have some books if you want to buy them. But it’s really a no-pressure situation. A crop is for us to make the time for ourselves, do what we enjoy, not really to sell stuff,” Sheila said.
    “Good,” Annie said, hearing a strange beeping noise in the background. “Where are you, Sheila?”
    “Vera Matthews mother was brought in to the hospital earlier. I’m just here checking on her. It’s taking the doctor forever. I’m sure she’ll be fine,” she said, with a note of finality in her voice, which made Annie feel like she shouldn’t pry.
    “Okay. Bye,” Annie said.
    The boys scurried off into their room. Annie surveyed her house. She was glad that the ladies were not coming here tonight. The floor needed sweeping—bits of some kind of food from last night’s dinner were scattered under the table. She just did not have the heart to investigate at this minute. Toys were spread all over the floor, crayons, coloring books, trucks, and dolls. She thought of something her mother always said: “Clean the kitchen first. A clean kitchen is a clean house.”
    She walked toward the sink of dishes and began rinsing them to place in the dishwasher. Sippy cups half filled with spoiled milk, juice, and God only knows what else. She held her breath as she poured the mystery liquid down the sink. She rinsed