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wanted.
    “Dinah’s busy.” His mother lifted Jody out of the water and wrapped her in a towel. “You sit in there and soak awhile. It’ll save me some scrubbing.”
     
    T OGETHER THEY CROSSED the street. Charlie wore long pants that made his legs itch. His mother held Jody on one hip; a diaper bag hung from the opposite shoulder. She wore lipstick and a hat, a sign they were going somewhere unpleasant. Her heels clicked across the pavement and up the stairs to the Semples’ front porch.
    “You behave yourself,” she whispered to Charlie, knocking at the screen door. “Be a little gentleman.”
    The door opened. A dusty smell floated onto the porch. “Good morning, all,” said Miss Semple, holding the screen door open with a long arm. She was tall and thin, the sort of woman who’d been old for a long time. She wore a plain gray dress that nearly touched her ankles, black shoes as big as a man’s. Eyeglasses dangled on a chain around her neck.
    “I should be back by three o’clock,” said his mother. “Four atthe latest.” She took the diaper bag from her shoulder and handed it to Miss Semple.
    “Take your time,” said Miss Semple. “We’re always happy to have Charlie and Jody.”
    Charlie tried to catch his mother’s eye. He hoped she would not take her time. But you never knew with her.
    “We just finished eating,” said Miss Semple. “Can I get them some lunch?”
    Lunch, Charlie thought.
    “Goodness, no,” said his mother. “I don’t want you going to any trouble.”
    Miss Semple smiled. Deep cracks appeared around her eyes, as if her skin wasn’t used to such treatment. “Later on we’ll have some tea.”
    Charlie’s mother bent and kissed him. On his cheek he felt the waxy imprint of her mouth. “I’ll be back soon,” she said.
    Miss Semple took Jody by the hand. “Come say hello to Mother. She’s looking forward to seeing you.”
    They went into the house. Charlie glanced back at his mother standing at the corner, fumbling in her purse. A car whizzed past. Look both ways, he thought as she scurried across the street.
    He followed Miss Semple past the dark parlor, toward the light of the kitchen. In all the times he’d been to the house, they’d never sat in the parlor, though once he’d sneaked inside the small, cluttered room and examined the photos hanging on the wall, women in bonnets, old men with long Semple faces. The windows were hidden by deep blue curtains. Everything else—the sofa, the fringed lampshades—was covered in plastic.
    The kitchen smelled of toasted bread. Charlie glanced toward the stove: an empty pot, nothing more.
    “Mother’s out enjoying the sun,” said Miss Semple.
    They went out the back door to the screened porch. Sun streamed through the striped awnings, a hot green light. Mrs. Semple lay on the wicker sofa, her head propped with pillows, her bottom half covered with a crocheted afghan. She was old and enormously fat; through the afghan Charlie could see the outline of her thighs, round as hams. In front of her a tray table held a half-empty bowl of soup. Beside her a radio played organ music.
    “Mother,” said Miss Semple, touching her hand. “Look who’s here. It’s Charlie and Jody.”
    The old lady blinked. She was nearly blind. Miss Semple nodded at Charlie, his signal to speak. She had taught Sunday school.
    “Hello, Mrs. Semple,” said Charlie.
    The old lady reached out to touch his face. She smiled, showing shiny pink gums.
    “She’s glad to see you.” Miss Semple sat on the old glider, covered with flowered cushions. “Come sit next to me,” she said to Charlie.
    Jody dozed in Miss Semple’s lap. The organ music ended and another program began, a man who believed the world had turned its back on Jesus.
    “This is the Reverend Poundstone,” said Miss Semple. “He’s Mother’s favorite.”
    Charlie watched the old woman and wondered how you could tell: Mrs. Semple appeared to be asleep. Finally Miss Semple got up