The tow-head gave her his best gap-toothed smile. “God, probably.”
She laughed and released him. “I think someone’s been daydreaming during Bible lessons again.”
“They’re so boring. I’d much rather play cops and robbers.”
“I thought you preferred...” She twisted her hands into claws. “Running from tickle monsters!”
Robbie scrambled backwards with a shriek, but he was no match against her years of experience. She caught him around the midriff with one arm and began to tickle his sides with the other.
“Stop,” he begged between snorts and gasps, crumbling to the cold floor, his stockinged feet kicking in the air.
She attacked his armpit without mercy. “Not until you promise to wash up.”
“P-p-promise!”
With a victorious cackle, she let him go. Breathing heavily, she rose to her feet. The wave of dizziness took her by surprise, and she flung a hand to the peeling wallpaper. The small room tilted and swayed. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the spell to pass, as it always did. Eventually.
“Ollie? Ollie?” She slowly became aware of her brother’s arms clutching her waist, his forehead pressed against her ribs. She cracked an eye open; the walls held still.
“No need to worry,” she soothed. “Only a dizzy spell.”
“Should I get Mama?”
“No.” She stroked his blond cowlick to soften her curtness. “We mustn’t worry her.”
“We can practice reading after dinner, if you’d like.”
“I would like that.” She unwound Robbie’s arms and nudged him toward the bathroom. “Now, go.”
This time, he didn’t protest. Olive waited for the water to turn on before returning to the dinette at a sedate pace. Her mother was ladling soup into the bowls, and as Olive had hoped, the anxious lines around her mouth had softened.
“I’d almost forgotten how pretty the little roses are.”
“Me too. We could use some cheer.”
Anna patted her cheek, and Olive leaned into her mother’s comforting touch. Then the water in the bathroom turned off, and Robbie hurtled through the room like a cannonball. Mid somersault, his right foot caught the edge of the side table and sent it tumbling to the floor. A potted plant fell behind the table with a thud, and Olive’s music books and sheet music shot across the floor. Robbie landed in a crouch and scanned the chaos with bemusement.
Olive wasn’t sure whose sigh was louder, hers or her mother’s. “I’ll?—”
“Leave it,” Anna interrupted. “It’s better to eat while the soup’s still warm. Take your place, Robbie.”
Robbie slunk to the table, and Anna led them in a short prayer. Olive spooned the thin soup gratefully, savoring each morsel. Robbie, however, stirred the broth with a wrinkled nose.
“Why must we have soup again?”
Olive kicked him under the table. “Mama worked hard on our supper.”
“Mrs. Bankhead’s soup was thicker?—”
“Mrs. Bankhead doesn’t work for us any longer.”
Anna’s face fell at the reminder, and a sharp pain stabbed above Olive’s eye. If she wasn’t careful, her mother would fall into another depressive state, one where she could hardly rise from bed. Of course things had been easier when Mrs. Bankhead, the cook who had been with them since Olive was a baby, had prepared their meals. But after Mr. Becket died and the income dried to a trickle, they’d had to make the difficult decision to let Mrs. Bankhead—and their young maid—find employment with another family.
“We all miss her, but we can do this together. Isn’t that right, Mama?”
Anna opened her mouth, but a sharp staccato on the door prevented her from speaking.
“Yoo-hoo,” warbled an all-too-familiar voice.
