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My mouth opens and closes like a goldfish’s. “This is
Aunt Marty’s house?”
Now I understand why the Odessa Homeowner’s
Association refused to let Mom join up. She isn’t a homeowner!
“My parents wanted to punish me for having you,”
Mom says, “but Martha wouldn’t let them. She’s let us live
here rent-free all these years.”
“Wow!”
Mom clucks her tongue. “There’s a lot you don’t know
about your aunt.”
“Like what?”
“Like—” Mom looks at me long and hard. I feel my
heart pounding. My tongue becomes a dry piece of sandpaper
in my mouth. At long last, I will know the whole story.
“Are you wearing makeup, Ruthie?”
“Don’t change the subject, Mom.”
“I’m quite sure I told you gloss only.”
“A little mascara and blush! What’s the big whoop?”
Mom has that block-of-wood look on her face I’ve seen
a gazillion times. Mules could use lessons from her on stubbornness.
She says, “I won’t have you disobeying me just because
Martha is here.”
“It’s a stupid rule. I’m fourteen!”
Mom says, “Go wash your face.”
Bending down, she turns her attention to the garden.
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