The Great Gilly Hopkins

“Anything I can do for you, honey?”

Yeah. Fry yourself, lard face.

“Can I come in?”

“No!” shrieked Gilly, then snatched open the door.

“Can’t you leave me alone for one stupid minute?”

Trotter’s eyelids flapped on her face like shutters on a vacant house. “You OK, honey?” she repeated.

“I will be soon as you get your fat self outta here!”

“OK.” Trotter backed up slowly toward the stairs. “Call me, if you want anything.” As an afterthought, she said, “It ain’t a shameful thing to need help, you know.”

“I don’t need any help”—Gilly slammed the door, then yanked it open—“from anybody!” She slammed it shut once more.

“I miss you. All my love.” I don’t need help from anybody except from you. If I wr

ote you—if I asked, would you come and get me? You’re the only one in the world I need. I’d be good for you. You’d see. I’d change into a whole new person. I’d turn from gruesome Gilly into gorgeous, gracious, good, glorious Galadriel. And grateful. Oh, Courtney—oh, Mother, I’d be so grateful.

“Lord, you are so good to us.” Mr. Randolph was saying the supper blessing. “Yes, Lord, so very good. We have this wonderful food to eat and wonderful friends to enjoy it with. Now, bless us, Lord, and make us truly, truly grateful. Ah-men.”

“Ay-men. My, Mr. Randolph, you do ask a proper blessing.”

“Oh, Mrs. Trotter, when I sit before the spread of your table, I got so much to be thankful for.”

Good lord, how was a person supposed to eat through this garbage?

“Well, Miss Gilly, how was school for you today?”

Gilly grunted. Trotter gave her a sharp look. “It was OK, I guess.”

“My, you young people have such a wonderful opportunity today. Back when I was going to school—oh, thank you, Mrs. Trotter—what a delicious-smelling plate. My, my…”

To Gilly’s relief, the blind man’s attention was diverted from his tale of childhood schooldays to the organization of the food on his plate and the eating of it, which he did with a constant murmuring of delight, dropping little bits from his mouth to his chin or tie.

Disgusting. Gilly switched her attention to William Ernest, who, as usual, was staring at her bug-eyed. She smiled primly and mouthed, “How do you do, sweetums?”

Sweetums immediately choked on a carrot. He coughed until tears came.

“What’s the matter, William Ernest, honey?”

“I think”—Gilly smiled her old lady principal smile—“the dear child is choking. It must be something he ate.”

“Are you all right, baby?” asked Trotter.

W.E. nodded through his tears.

“Sure?”

“Maybe he needs a pat on the back,” Mr. Randolph offered.

“Yeah!” said Gilly. “How about it, W.E., old man? Want me to swat you one?”

“No! Don’t let her hit me.”

“Nobody’s gonna hit you, honey. Everybody just wants to help.” Trotter looked hard at Gilly. “Right, Gilly?”