Miss Ellis was looking at the two of them like a bird watcher onto a rare species. But the big woman—Gilly could see the pain breaking up the totem-pole stare—Trotter shuddered to her feet like an old circus elephant.
“You tell the child what’s got to be done. C’mon William Ernest, honey.” She stuck out her big hand. “We ain’t helping here.” When he hesitated, she reached down and gently pulled him to his feet. They closed the door behind them, leaving Gilly cold and alone.
“You seem to have changed your mind about a lot of things.”
“So?”
“So you goofed it, right?”—Gilly didn’t answer. What did it matter?—“I’d really like to know what you wrote that fool letter for.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“You bet I wouldn’t. I don’t understand why a smart girl like you goes around booby-trapping herself. You could have stayed here indefinitely, you know. They’re both crazy about you.” Miss Ellis shook her long blonde hair back off her shoulders. “Well, it’s done now. Your grandmother will come to pick you up at my office tomorrow. I’ll come about nine to get you.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Gilly, believe me, it’s better. Waiting around is no good in these situations.”
“But I got school”—not even a good-bye for cool, beautiful Miss Harris or silly little Agnes?
“They’ll send your records on.” Miss Ellis stood up and began to button her coat. “I must admit that last month when you ran away, I thought, Uh-oh, here we go again, but I was wrong, Gilly. You’ve done well here. I’m very pleased.”
“Then let me stay.” Galadriel Hopkins had rarely come so close to begging.
“I can’t,” Miss Ellis said simply. “It’s out of my hands.”
THE GOING
For dinner that night Trotter fried chicken so crisp it would crackle when you bit it, and she beat the potatoes into creamy peaks with the electric mixer. She had made Mr. Randolph his favorite green beans with ham bits and for Gilly and W.E. there was a fruit salad with baby marshmallows. The sweet-sour smell of cherry pie filled the kitchen where the four of them sat around the table without appetite for food or speech.
Only William Ernest cried, big, silent tears catching in the corners of the frame of his glasses and then spilling down his cheeks. Mr. Randolph, smaller and thinner than ever, sat forward on his chair, with a shy, half smile on his face, which meant he was just about to say something but he never quite got it out. Trotter was breathing as hard as if she had just climbed the stairs. She kept rearranging the serving dishes as though just about to offer seconds, but since the four plates were still piled high, the gesture was useless.
Gilly watched her and tried to decide how much Miss Ellis had told her. Did she know the Thanksgiving visitor was Gilly’s grandmother? Did Trotter know—she hoped not—about the crazy letter? She still couldn’t remember what she had said in the letter. Had she said W.E. was retarded? Her mind blanked in self-defense. Oh, god, don’t let Trotter know. I never meant to hurt them. I just wanted—what had she wanted? A home—but Trotter had tried to give her that. Permanence—Trotter had wanted to give her that as well. No, what she wanted was something Trotter had no power over. To stop being a “foster child,” the quotation marks dragging the phrase down, almost drowning it. To be real without any quotation marks. To belong and to possess. To be herself, to be the swan, to be the ugly duckling no longer—Cap O’Rushes, her disguise thrown off—Cinderella with both slippers on her feet—Snow White beyond the dwarfs—Galadriel Hopkins, come into her own.
But there was to be no coming, only a going.
“If you all don’t start eating this supper, I’m gonna”—Trotter stopped, fishing around for a proper threat. She took a deep breath—“Jump up and down on the table, squawking like a two-hundred-pound lovesick chicken!”
“Really?” William Ernest took off his glasses and wiped them on his pants to prepare for a better view.
Mr. Randolph’s fixed smile crumbled into a nervous titter. Gilly swallowed to clear her clogged-up throat and took a large noisy bite of her drumstick.
“Now, that’s more like it.” Trotter patted her shiny face with the tail of her apron. “This was supposed to be a party, not some kinda funeral.” She turned to Mr. Randolph and half shouted. “Gilly’s folks are from Loudoun County, Mr. Randolph.”
“Oh, that’s lovely, lovely country, Miss Gilly. Real Virginia horse country.”
“You got horses, Gilly?”
“I don’t know, W.E.” She found it hard to imagine the little pudgy lady on horseback, but who could tell?
“Can I see ’em
?”
“Sure. If I got ’em, you can see ’em.”
She caught a flicked warning from Trotter over the boy’s head, but Gilly ignored it. “It’s not as if I’m going to Hong Kong. Hell. You can just hop on a bus and come to see me—any time.”
Trotter was shaking her head. She put her hand over on W.E.’s shoulder. “When folks leave, William Ernest, honey, they gotta have a chance to settle in and get used to things. Sometimes it’s best not to go visiting, right away.”