"Good," I said. Good, I told myself. The
moment my mother left for her shift, I'd be able to get
upstairs and be with Karen.
Pretty smart thinking, Zipporah, I heard myself
think. It was as if Karen had just said it, too. The phone was ringing almost as soon as we
entered the house, which gave support to my theory
and reason to stay home. Suddenly, girls at school
who would barely nod at me wanted to speak to me. I
told my father to say I was unable to speak on the
phone. I was asleep. They all understood, but I was
sure all that did was make me more desirable. They were all hoping for the same thing: exclusive information that they could then spread through their
gossip mill.
My mother called to see how I was doing, and I
went to the phone to speak with her.
"Daddy told me about the police, Zipporah. I
guess they weren't as nice to you as they should have
been. Are you all right?"
"I'm okay," I said, "but I want to stay home
tomorrow."
"Yes, he explained that, too. I agree you should.
Get a good night's rest. We'll talk in the morning:' "Okay," I said, and went up to my room. My
father was on the phone, so I shouted good night, and
he shouted back, "Sleep tight!"
I was tempted once again to go up to the attic.
He would probably stay downstairs and watch
television or read or do both, as he often did. The risk
remained too great, so I opted to be patient. When I
went into my bathroom to wash and brush my teeth,
however, I found a note on the sink.
Hey, I'm doing fine. Don't worry. I got