How many exits do we need?â
âActually,â I corrected her, âit says Gate 3B .â
She squinted at it. âOh. Well, thatâs a bad sign.â She held out her tiny pale hand. âAnyway, Iâm glad to finally meet you, dear. Do you like scrapple?â
I stared at her. âExcuse me?â
She took a step closer and looked up at me. Even though I wasnât that tall, I still towered over her. âScrapple,â she repeated.
What the heck was scrapple? âWhat?â
She chewed her lip for a moment and waved her hand at me, and I bent my head down to her level.
I could hear her taking a big, raspy breath. âSCRAPPLE,â she shouted.
âOw!â I put my hand over my ringing ear.
âOh, that must be your good ear. My left ear is my good one, too! We already have something in common.â She patted my handâthe one that wasnât holding my ear. âWe need to go to Shop ân Save because I want to buy you some food and Poppy really needs his scrapple.â
I stared at her stupidly because I couldnât think of what to say.
Moo gazed at me, her smeared red lipstick making her smile even broader. âYou look like your father, dear. Only not as . . .â
Smart. âYeah, I know.â
She glanced at the Exit 88/Gate 3B sign for a moment, then looked around the concourse as if she were lost. âBut I canât see you.â
âIâM RIGHT HERE.â
She flinched and turned her owl glasses to me. âI know, dear. What I meant was I canât see your eyes because your hair is in front of them.â
I tried pushing some hair out of my eyes, but it didnât work very well. My hair grows in stupid swirls all over the place. I figure itâs a commentary on whatâs directly underneath.
âYour hair is very different from your fatherâs. Jamesâs hair was so limp. Yours isâwell, you just donât see that many people with cowlicks.â
âThatâs because I got all of theirs.â
âWould you like me to give you a trim?â She reached over and touched one of my swirls.
I cringed at the thought of someone with her eyesight cutting my hair.
âOh, thatâs right, James hated anyone touching his hair, too.â She sighed. âAt least you donât cover your ears and scream.â
âExcuse me? Dad used to do that?â
âYes. You mean heâs outgrown that?â
âYeah, well . . . heâs fifty-six now. What else did he used to do?â
âWell, he was always forgetting things.â
âHe still does.â
âAnd he loved candy.â
âThat hasnât changed, either.â
âHe had . . . unusual ideas.â
âThatâs because heâs a genius.â
âOh, is that what theyâre calling it now?â
âWhat?â
âNever mind. Iâm glad to hear heâs grown up a little. It takes some of us a long time, doesnât it? Still, little steps eventually get us somewhere. Speaking of which, we need to get moving.â She turned and started off the way she came, her pale yellow sneakers looking like duck feet padding down the concourse, pushing through the small crowd of people.
I grabbed my backpack and sports bag and followed her.
âJames said youâre going to help Poppy, and I must say, he could certainly use the help. Are you good at working with wood?â
I thought about my Câs in shop class. It was the fine corners I wasnât any good at. But a screw didnât have fine corners. âWoodworking? I canât get enough of it!â
She clapped her hands. âThatâs wonderful, Mike!â
âWhat exactly am I going to be doing?â
âOh, Poppy will let you know.â Her smile remained frozen. âEventually.â
âEventually?â
But she hurried on. âI want you to have some fun, too! All work and no play makes James a very
Colin F. Barnes, Darren Wearmouth