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enough coffee to color it, then added three teaspoons of sugar. I sat down and looked at Carlie. Her lashes were clumped with old mascara and most of the eye shadow had rubbed off during the night.
    She picked up a piece of her hair and frowned as she studied it. “Looks like shit disguised as straw,” she said. “Do you think I should dye it back?”
    I shrugged and chugged the coffee milk, held the glass to my mouth and watched the melted sugar flow toward my tongue in a slow sweet stream. The sugar flooded my mouth and breached my taste buds back to my ears.
    â€œMaybe you should ask Grand what she thinks,” I said.
    â€œOh shit,” Carlie said. “Grand. I wonder what she’ll say.”
    â€œLet’s get dressed and go over and find out. I bet she likes it,” I said.
    When she saw Carlie’s hair, Grand said, “Well, now, that’s a change.”
    â€œLeeman hates it,” Carlie said.
    â€œHe’ll get over it,” Grand said. “Hattie Butts and Cora Brown and I liked to do each other up. Least Leeman noticed. Franklin never did. I don’t see the harm in it.”
    After our visit, Carlie felt better. Still, we cleaned house until it sparkled and made Daddy a good supper. Carlie got a phone call from Patty midway through the day and I caught the words, “I really screwed up this time,” before they hung up.
    Daddy came home to the smell of supper and the table set. Carlie moved her chair close to his and he kept looking at her, trying, I guess, to learn who she was with this new hair. About halfway through the meal, I realized I might as well be wallpaper. Carlie kept rubbing his leg under the table and Daddy’s eyes were getting bright. When Carlie asked me to go to Ray’s for some dessert and to take my time, I knew enough to go.
    Stella Drowns was the only one in the store. I headed for the cream horns, took two of them to the counter, and handed Stella a dollar.
    â€œYou still being punished for the fire?” she asked.
    â€œI didn’t set it.”
    â€œNot what I asked,” she said. She smiled, shifting the scar a few inches up on her cheek. “Think you’ve learned your lesson?” she asked.
    â€œCan I have my cream horns?” I said.
    â€œNot getting it until you answer me,” she said.
    â€œGive me back my money,” I said.
    She slapped my dollar into my palm.
    â€œYou’re a witch,” I said, and left the store, determined to tell Daddie and Carlie about her. When I got close to our house, I heard Elvis on the record player. I started to go inside, but then I stopped, wondering at the sight of Daddy holding Carlie to him as he led her in a clumsy slow dance across the kitchen floor. When they saw me in the doorway, I said, “I’m staying at Grand’s house. I need my PJ’s.” I started to walk past them, but they opened their arms as if they were a bridge and then they brought down their arms. Carlie giggled on one side of me, and Daddy’s soft chuckle moved against my ear. “Let me go,” I said, in a muffled voice. When they freed me, I grabbed my pajamas and ran out the door.
    Grand cut me a big piece of her chocolate cake and we watched television, then went up to bed. I snuggled down in Daddy’s old bedroom to go to sleep. Just before I dropped off, Stella’s voice hissed at me, “Think you’ve learned your lesson?”

5
    M adeline, Dottie’s mother, was an artist. She sold watercolors at a little gallery up on Route 100. I loved to watch her paint, and on a Wednesday afternoon during the second week in August, Dottie and I sat on her lawn while she did just that. She gazed out over the water, back at her painting, out again, dabbed a few strokes of color down, looked out. I could have watched her for hours.
    That Monday morning, a blond Carlie and a redheaded Patty had driven up north for their yearly trip to Crow’s Nest