“OK.”
“I been meaning to say to you how much I appreciate the way you’ve been making friends with William Ernest.”
“Yeah, OK.”
“Like Miz Ellis says, you’re a special kind of person, Gilly. It makes me praise the Lord to see you so busy helping stead of hurting.”
Shut up, Trotter.
“You got so much to give. Mercy, what most of us wouldn’t give for half your brains.”
Shut up, Trotter, shut up!
The silent commands were obeyed because just then William Ernest, honey, appeared, and Trotter roused her great hulk from the table to get him his snack.
Trotter, baby, if you had half my brains you’d know to let the boy do things for himself. If I were going to stay here, I’d teach him how. You want to so hard, and you don’t know how. Even the birds know to shove the babies out of the nest. If I were going to be here, I’d make a man of your little marshmallow. But I can’t stay. I might go soft and stupid, too. Like I did at Dixons’. I let her fool me with all that rocking and love talk. I called her Mama and crawled up on her lap when I had to cry. My god! She said I was her own little baby, but when they moved to Florida, I was put out like the rest of the trash they left behind. I can’t go soft—not as long as I’m nobody’s real kid—not while I’m just something to play musical chairs with…
An elbow pierced her rib cage.
Gilly jerked awake. What the hell? W.E. was trying to attract her attention without getting Trotter’s, mouthing some words through a full load of cookie crumbs.
Huh? She asked the question by raising her eyebrows.
He swallowed. Then “Surprise,” he mouthed, pointing his head in Trotter’s general direction.
She shook her head with exaggerated vigor. “Not yet!” she mouthed back. “Later.”
A little grin escaped and danced around his face.
Gilly sighed. If she didn’t watch herself, she’d start liking the little jerk. She excused herself. “I’m going to get on to my dusting over at Mr. Randolph’s.”
W.E. made as if to follow.
“Naw, William Ernest. You better watch Sesame Street today. I’m going to help you with your reading later on, and you have to be real sharp. Right, Trotter?”
“You better believe it.”
She knocked several times at Mr. Randolph’s door before he opened it, his tie and shirt awry and his face still clogged with sleep.
“I—uh—brought your stepladder back, Mr. Randolph.”
“Oh? Oh, thank you, thank you. Just put it down out there on the porch.”
“But—but—I thought since I was here and had the ladder and all, I might come on in and—uh—start to work.”
“Oh, Miss Gilly. You don’t have to worry. I was just talking the other night. What I can’t see isn’t likely to hurt me.”
“I don’t mind. I want to help.”
“Every week or so my son over in Virginia comes and brings a lady to vacuum a little. It’s really all I need.”
“But I want to”—god—“What I mean is, I want to help Mrs. Trotter, and you know how she is, she really doesn’t need my help. But I figured if I do something for you, it will be like doing something for her…”
“Bless you, you sweet little lady. How can I say No to that?”
It worked. He stepped aside for her to come in and shuffled along right behind her into the living room. Was he going to stay in there, his sightless eyes following the sound of her?
“Why don’t you just go up and finish your nap, Mr. Randolph? I feel bad waking you up like this.”