I shook my head and smiled briefly.“No.I feel sorry for him.We met when we were eleven, and he had the chance to change.But he didn’t.Even now, as a man almost fifty, he could change.But he won’t.”
“I don’t feel sorry for Clyde.Did my mom tell you what he did to me today?”She made a sick face.“I can still smell it, and I’ve washed my hair like eight times.”
“She did.And there is no excuse for that behavior.He is a troubled child, raised by troubled people.I don’t think there is much hope for him, I’m afraid.And I know that being on the island here makes it difficult for you not to be in a class with him.”
“He keeps calling me a freak.”
“Having anxiety does not make you a freak.It makes things harder sometimes, for you, and sometimes for those around you who might not understand or know how to help.But it does not make you a freak.If anybody is a freak, it is Clyde.He is not normal.His behavior is not normal.Youare normal.You have anxiety; I have anxiety.But we are good people with good hearts, and we are normal.”
“I’m worried animal control is going to take all the animals away.He said his parents called them.And that they might take me away from my mom for letting me come here.”
I shook my head again.“No,piccola,that will not happen.They can come, but they will see nobody is in danger.Nobody is being harmed.I think he is lying.Trying to scare and hurt you.”
“Well, it worked.”
“Do not let it.”
She frowned, and her hair fell in front of her face.Then she growled and shoved it back behind her shoulders.“God, I canstillsmell it.”
I stood up and offered her my hand.“Come.Let’s see what we can do.”
She took my hand, and I helped her stand up.She gave Raven one last kiss on the nose goodbye, then followed me out of the barn.
Danica was on Mouse, and the two of them were at the top of the field near the road.“Are you okay with coming into the house with me?”I asked her.
She nodded without hesitation and followed me.Portia was with us, of course.
I went to my pantry and pulled out three large jars of homemade canned Roma tomatoes.Then I opened each one, dumped them into a big bowl and used my immersion blender to blend them smooth.
“I thought tomato juice was just if you got sprayed by a skunk,” she said, watching me from her perch on the barstool at the island.
“It is for many things.Skunk spray, poop in hair, pasta sauce.Many things.”
She giggled.
I carried the bowl over to the dining room table and pulled out the chair for her, inviting her to come sit down and lean her head over.“This isn’t going to dye my hair orange, is it?My hair is blonde.This is red.Red and yellow make orange.”
“It shouldn’t, no.But if it does, I will pay for it to get fixed.Then send you and your mama to the spa for the day.”
Giggling again, she sat down.“Now I’m kind of wishing that itdoesdye my hair orange.”
“Cheeky.”I gently tugged on her earlobe before gathering her hair—which did still have a bit of an odor to it—and placed it into the bowl of pureed tomatoes.
“You’re not going to cook with this after, are you?”
“No.I will put it in the compost.”
Her body shook a little in a deep, relaxing sigh.“I don’t understand why people are so mean.They have toknowthat they’re being mean, right?”
“Si.Of course they do.They just lack the capacity to care.”
“I couldn’t imagine being mean to someone at all, let alone the way Clyde is mean to me.”
“Because you have a pure heart,piccola.”
“What does that mean, ‘piccola’?”She couldn’t really look at me where I stood beside her, so I sat down in the adjacent chair to make it a bit easier.
“It means ‘little one,’or‘small.’It is a common term of affection or endearment in Italy for young girls.”
