2/3/1967
DEED ARNOLD COHEN
DUN HO WONG
Dun Ho Wong.
Immediately, she thought of Mr. William from the 99 Cents store.
Wong, the landlord.
Sadie threw open her bedroom door and, with her laptop in her arms, raced downstairs to speak with her father. He wasn’t there, but Sadie found her mother sitting on the stoop with a bowl of candy in her lap, engulfed in a tidal wave of Elsas and Luke Skywalkers.
“You’re home!” Her mother laughed, surprised to see her. “I thought you were out with friends.”
Sadie waited for the kids to disperse.
“Where’s Dad?”
“He went to the fish store. We were thinking salmon for dinner.”
Sadie craned her neck down the block, hoping she could see her father among all the trick-or-treaters. “Are you all right?” her mother asked.
“I need to talk to him. Can’t we just order in?” Sadie grumbled. “Why do we always have to have an elaborate home-cooked meal?”
With no choice but to wait for him, Sadie plunked herself down on the stoop, grabbed two Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups from the candy bowl, unwrapped them, and popped them in her mouth.
Her mother mused, “I’ve been out here for ten minutes, and I’ve already gone through two bags of candy.”
Like usual, her mom wore jeans and an old sweater, her graying hair parted evenly in the middle. This evening, however, there was a red zigzag on her forehead and masking tape on the bridge of her glasses.
“Are you supposed to be Harry Potter?”
“Correct!”
“You should tie your hair back.”
“I couldn’t find my scrunchies.”
