Chapter 58 – Phony Maloney
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
PHONY MALONEY
“Grant?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Don’t you want to go out front and play?”
“No. I don’t feel like it.”
The screen door creaks. The wood of the porch flexes with each step she takes. The smell of her perfume fills my nose when she sits next to me.
“You miss her, huh?”
I nod instead of talk because my throat burns from trying to hold back the tears. Boys don’t cry over girls, but she’s gone, and all I want is to cry because I miss her.
My mom slips her arm around me and pulls me against her side. I concentrate on pushing the rocks on the porch beside me around with my finger instead of crying.
“Why did she have to go?”
I’m the reason she left.
She made me promise, and I told.
I’m the reason she left.
“She’s gone for just a bit. She and her mommy are at the hospital for?—”
“Is she sick?”
“No.” My mom makes that one word sound so sad. “She’s just not feeling well.”
“But why?—”
“And then after they leave, they are going to go on a big adventure,” she says in that funny voice she uses when she tells us the dentist is going to be fun. Like I’m supposed to believe her when she’s not telling the truth.
“Where?” I ask, my hopes getting up that she’ll send me postcards.
“I don’t know,” she murmurs and then sniffles as if she is crying, but when I look up to her, she shifts suddenly so I can’t see her face. “Are these the rocks you were painting?” The dentist voice is back again.
“Yeah. I painted them for Emmy.”
“That was nice of you.”
“She likes rocks. Even ugly zombie ones. She’s been really sad, so I’ve been painting them and putting them in her planter. She said they make her smile.” I push the rocks around some more. “She’s not going to have any more of my rocks, Mom. How is she going to smile now?”
“Oh, Grant.” My mom hiccups real loud, and it sounds like she’s crying again. Before I can look, she grabs me into a hug and holds so tight I can’t breathe.
But I cry, too.
I miss my best friend.
Her and her yucky purple backpack and her Barbies and other girly things I hate but would play with her a hundred times if she would just come back home.
Bye, Emmy.
I’m sorry I told your secret, and it made you go away.
If I had kept my pinky promise, you’d still be here.
I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?