The Great Gilly Hopkins

“That all that stuff about happy endings is lies. The only ending in this world is death. Now that might or might not be happy, but either way, you ain’t ready to die, are you?”

“Trotter, I’m not talking about d

ying. I’m talking about coming home.”

But Trotter seemed to ignore her. “Sometimes in this world things come easy, and you tend to lean back and say, ‘Well, finally, happy ending. This is the way things is supposed to be.’ Like life owed you good things.”

“Trotter—”

“And there is lots of good things, baby. Like you coming to be with us here this fall. That was a mighty good thing for me and William Ernest. But you just fool yourself if you expect good things all the time. They ain’t what’s regular—don’t nobody owe ’em to you.”

“If life is so bad, how come you’re so happy?”

“Did I say bad? I said it was tough. Nothing to make you happy like doing good on a tough job, now is there?”

“Trotter, stop preaching at me. I want to come home.”

“You’re home, baby. Your grandma is home.”

“I want to be with you and William Ernest and Mr. Randolph.”

“And leave her all alone? Could you do that?”

“Dammit, Trotter. Don’t try to make a stinking Christian out of me.”

“I wouldn’t try to make nothing out of you.” There was a quiet at the other end of the line. “Me and William Ernest and Mr. Randolph kinda like you the way you are.”

“Go to hell, Trotter,” Gilly said softly.

A sigh. “Well, I don’t know about that. I had planned on settling permanently somewheres else.”

“Trotter”—She couldn’t push the word hard enough to keep the squeak out—“I love you.”

“I know, baby. I love you, too.”

She put the phone gently on the hook and went back into the bathroom. There she blew her nose on toilet tissue and washed her face.

By the time she got back to an impatient Courtney and a stricken Nonnie, she had herself well under control.

“Sorry to make you wait,” Gilly said. “I’m ready to go home now.” No clouds of glory, perhaps, but Trotter would be proud.