"My brother's coming home soon," I reminded her. "It's going to be harder and harder."
I brought that up because she sounded as if she had no intention of ever leaving.
"We'll cross that brother when we come to him," she replied, and laughed. Once again, I was amazed at how casual she could be about it all. If I were living upstairs in her home secretly, I would be on constant pins and needles.
"What are you planning on wearing to school tomorrow?" she suddenly asked.
"I don't know. Nothing special. Why?"
"You have to wear something special, silly. First, I want you to look bright and happy and more mature, somehow. You're going to be the center of attention. The worst thing you can do is look dreary and depressed. People, especially boys, will stay away from you. If you play your cards right, you can enjoy this." "You're making me so nervous about going to school again."
"You'll get over it."
"I don't see how I can enjoy this, Karen."
"You will. You have to think of it that way, or you'll do something stupid. Let's check your wardrobe and think about tomorrow," she said.
"Wait!" I cried. "The dishes, everything first. My father could walk in here and see all this and wonder why, if I was alone, I needed two plates, two sets of silverware .. ."
"Okay, okay. You are the worrywart. I wouldn't have forgotten."
We cleaned the kitchen and put everything away so well it looked unused. I caught every crumb.
"I don't know," Karen said, looking it over when we were finished. "It looks suspicious. It's too clean. It looks like a coverup."
"No, it doesn't. I clean it this well all the time when my mother's at work."
"Mama's goody girl. I forgot," she said, looking angry at me for being so. Then she smiled again. "Okay, to the closet," she cried, and we headed for the stairway.
While we were picking out something for me to wear to school, she chose a few things to wear herself while she was up in the attic. I gave her fresh panties and socks. She didn't mind not having a bra.
"I don't want to take too much. It could raise suspicion if your mother noticed so many things were missing, unless she's like my mother and has no idea what I have."
"She doesn't?"
"One of the privileges I was given when she went to work at Harry's drugstore wa
s the right to take care of my own clothes and be responsible for them. Wasn't that wonderful?" she asked with a smirk. "Once in a while, I went shopping with her and bought some new things, but she was very conscious of what she spent on me so Harry wouldn't complain."
"He would complain about that?"
"Of course, he would. He was like his mother. He knew just how many matches there were at the stove. Believe me, he died with his first dollar still in his bottom dresser drawer. Well, not all of it. I took some before I left. Forgot to mention it."
"But he made so much money, and the house is so nice. Why would he be such a miser?"
"Some people make money to spend it and buy things, and some make it to accumulate it and stare at numbers in bank books. With what she'll inherit, my mother won't lack for anything for a while, but only for a while. Her taste has gotten considerably richer since she's been married to Harry. She never hesitated spending on herself."
"Why didn't he complain about that?"
"He did, but she had ways of hiding things from him. I know she stole from him at the drugstore," she added casually.
"Really? She stole from her own husband? I can't believe it."
"Everything I tell you, Zipporah, is true. See what I mean about holding back some secrets sometimes? I wasn't exactly eager to brag about all this."
"I guess not," I said.
"Forget about it. It's all in the pasty' she said, waving her hand as if she easily could wipe away everything that had happened.