Beth Ann’s parents both work and so does her older sister Judy, so we have the house to ourselves. We always go into the kitchen, and I sit at the table while Beth Ann takes out a bottle of Coke and a bag of potato chips. It amazes me that there is always Coke and potato chips. In our house stuff like that would disappear in about ten minutes.
On the way home from Beth Ann’s, I ran into Alex Cheevey, who doesn’t live anywhere near here. He had his hands in his pockets and he looked very pink. When he got up close to me, I said, “Alex Cheevey? What in the world are you doing over here?”
He said, “Oh. Do you live over here?”
I said yes, I did.
He said, “Oh. What a coincidence.”
I said, “Why?”
He said, “Oh. Well, I know someone over here.”
I said, “On Buxton Road?” I was a little surprised, because Buxton Road is a very short road and I know everyone on it and I had never seen Alex Cheevey here before.
He said, “Oh. No.”
I said, “On Winston?” Winston is the next street over.
He said, “Oh. Yeah.”
I said, “Who?”
I am getting tired of writing “I said” and “he said.” Sometimes you don’t have to put those words just to know who is talking, so I’m not going to.
“Oh. The Murphys.” (That’s Alex talking.)
“The Murphys?” I’d never heard of the Murphys.
Well, anyway, we talked on like that for a while and he asked me if I was going to Christy’s party. I told him that no, I was not going, and I was glad I wasn’t going.
So that was on the last day of school, and when I got ready to go to bed and thought about everyone being at that party, including Alex, I sort of wished I was there too. Not that I thought it would be any fun, but because I didn’t have anything much to do that night. I’m not used to this idea of vacation yet.
Boy, if I write this much every day of the vacation, I will need ten journals. Wouldn’t Mrs. Z. be amazed???
For your sake, though, mystery reader, I hope things get a little more interesting. God.
Well, I have to admit that we did get an interesting bit of news today! I almost missed it entirely, because of all the commotion at the dinner table. There is always commotion at the dinner table—you can hardly hear yourself eat. We had spaghetti, and Dougie doesn’t like spaghetti and was pushing it around his plate and slopping sauce all over, and so Dennis punched him and Dougie started crying and Mom told him to be quiet and eat his spaghetti because he wasn’t getting anything else. And Dougie said, “I’m just a poor little slob,” and Dennis said, “That’s right.”
In the middle of all that Dad said, “Had a letter from Radene today.” Radene is married to Dad’s brother, Uncle Carl Joe, and they live in West Virginia. “Did you see it?” Dad said. (He meant the letter.)
“No, I didn’t see it. Dougie, if you don’t stop that hollering right this minute—” (Just to give you an idea of how hard it is to follow the conversation.)
“Well, she wants to know—”
“Dennis, are you aggravating the situation? If you are—” Mom can hardly eat, she’s so busy trying to figure out who’s causing the trouble. All this time Tommy is throwing spaghetti all over the floor and it’s in his hair, but that’s just the way he eats.
“Sally, are you listening or not?” My dad is getting annoyed because he can’t stand all this commotion, and it happens every night.
“Why, of course I’m listening, Sam. Dennis, put your hands on the table where I can see them.”
“Radene wants to send Carl Ray up here.” Dad eats a meatball.
About this time Dougie is so upset that he spills his milk right onto my plate.
“Sam, can’t you do something about them?” Mom said.
My dad looked up from his meatballs and spaghetti and said, “Somehow, I don’t think that any of my study of rock formations and fossils prepared me for this.”
I don’t know how we all settled down, but we did for a time, and that’s when Mom finally realized what Dad had said about ten minutes earlier.
“Radene said what?”
“She wants to send Carl Ray up here.”
Carl Ray is one of Aunt Radene’s and Uncle Carl Joe’s seven children. He’s my cousin.
“What do you mean, she wants to send Carl Ray up here?” My mom didn’t look too happy about this.
“Just temporarily,” my dad said. “He wants to get a job. No work down there. It’ll just be for a little while, until he gets a job and gets on his feet.”
“Send him here? To this house? To live with us?” As I said, my mom didn’t seem too happy about all this.
Then she said, “Don’t you think that’s a little strange, Sam? There are lots of other places he could go, aren’t there?”
My father shrugged. Sometimes he doesn’t like to elaborate.
“And just where exactly will we put him?” My mother had stopped eating by now.
“Well, we could put the boys in together—”
“All three of them?”
“Wouldn’t hurt ’em. Then we could put Carl Ray in the little room where Tommy is now.”
“In the nursery? Sam, are you serious?”
“It’s just temporary. A month. Maybe two months. Maybe the summer—”
“The summer? Are you serious?” My father was closely examining his meatball. My mom kept going. “And when does she want Carl Ray to come up here?”
My father was chewing when he answered. “Saturday.”
Mom almost choked. “Saturday? Saturday? Sam, today is Thursday! You can’t be serious. Why didn’t she phone?”
“They don’t have a phone. You know that,” he said.
Maggie said, “How primitive!” Maggie could not exist for one single day without a phone, I can assure you.
So Carl Ray comes the day after tomorrow. That should be interesting. I have to admit I’m sort of surprised, mainly because the West Virginia Finneys hardly ever leave West Virginia. The only time I ever have heard of Uncle Carl Joe venturing this far north was when he visited my father and met Aunt Radene, a long time ago.
My parents talk about that time whenever New Year’s Eve rolls around. That’s because they had one heck of a New Year’s Eve, and Uncle Carl Joe and Aunt Radene fell in love “at first sight.” Anyway, Uncle Carl Joe whisked Aunt Radene off to West Virginia (I think they got married first), and I bet they haven’t left West Virginia since. They never visit us anyway. They have too many kids to fit in the car. We’ve been to their house, though.
I can hardly remember which cousin Carl Ray is, but Maggie told me later that he is the one with the white-blond hair and he is seventeen years old, the same age as Maggie. This should be real interesting.
Lord, what a day. This business about Carl Ray is getting out of hand. When I got up this morning, I noticed that instead of my mom’s usual individual notes for each of us, there was just one note by the telephone that said: “Magggggie or Mary Louuuuuu, call me at work when you get up. Love, your old Mommmmmmm.”