Comfort & Joy

“You promise?”

“Cross my heart. ”

He finally smiles and leans back, pumping his legs. “How about that cloud? It looks like a pointy stick. ”

“Or a piece of coconut cream pie. ”

He giggles. “Or Gandalf’s hat. ”

We swing so long I go from feeling airy and light to light-headed. I slow down, stare out at the lake. Quiet settles in between us, turns awkward. “Maybe it’s time for me to tell you that story now. We could sit on the grass. ”

Bobby sighs. “I gotta go to youth group today. ”

“Is that so bad?”

“Arnie Holtzner is there. And Father James always tries to talk to me about Mom. He thinks I’d feel better if I prayed. As if. ”

I turn to look at him. “You don’t think it would help?”

“God let her die, didn’t he?”

“Ah,” I say, recognizing the emotion. “So you’re mad at Him. ”

Bobby shrugs. “I just don’t wanna pray. ”

The clouds bunch up above us, take on a steely tinge. Before Bobby finishes saying, “It’s gonna rain,” it’s pouring.

Laughing, we run for the house. Inside, I shake off, but no amount of movement will dry my clothes. I peel off my clammy sweater and wipe the rain from my eyes. “I have got to go to town for clothes. ”

“There’s a lost and found box in your closet. My mommy kept everything in case people came back. ”

“Really?”

“Unless Dad threw it away. He can’t wait to get rid of our stuff. ”

I hurry to my room, open the closet, and there it is: a cardboard box marked Lost and Found. The box is heaped with clothing of all kinds and sizes. After a thorough search, I choose a black broomstick skirt with an elastic waistband that falls almost to my ankles, an ivory boatneck sweater, and black knee socks.

When I return to the lobby, dressed in my new wardrobe, Bobby is waiting for me. “Can we play more?”

“I thought you had to go to youth group. ”

“Not till after lunch. Dad wants to finish painting the hall upstairs. So he can sell the place and move us to Bawston. ”

I can’t help smiling at his perfect accent. I sit down on the floor beside him. “You don’t like Boston?”

“I like it here. ”

“Have you told your dad that?”

“Like he listens. ”

“Maybe you should try talking to him. ”

Mondo hypocrisy. Suddenly I’m Dear Abby. Me, who ran away from a sister who wanted to talk. “My parents got divorced when I was about your age. My mom took my sister and me across the country for a new start. My dad just . . . let us go. I never saw him again. ”

“You’re lucky. ”

I look at him. “You really think so?”