By the time breakfast was ready, the girls still weren’t downstairs, so I trooped back and found them sitting exactly where I had left them.

“Up, and dressed.” I clapped my hands, so reminiscent of my mother that I flinched. “What do you want to wear?”

Holly slung herself to the floor, and shrugged.

“Your bathrobe? A bathing suit?”

Noelle actually giggled. Holly stared at her through narrowed eyelids. “I don’t care.”

“Pick something.” I turned to Noelle. “Want some help?”

At the dresser closer to her bed, I opened a drawer and held up a pink shirt with purple hearts. Pink was no surprise. “Like this?”

“Can I wear my red shorts?”

Since red, pink, and purple are kissing cousins, I dug for the red shorts and held them up. “These?”

“She can’t wear red shorts with that shirt,” Holly said. “It’s ugly.”

“What are you wearing?” I glanced at her. She hadn’t moved since I’d challenged her. “Oh, goody. I get to pick out something and dress you myself.” I wiggled my eyebrows. “Where’s your Halloween costume?”

The hair took even longer. Holly, finally clad in denim capris and a green shirt, managed to unsnag her own after I told her she was welcome to go to school without combing it. Amid squirms and moans I did Noelle’s. I couldn’t imagine my sister loved going through this torture every morning. Was Wendy such a whiz at braids and pigtails that she needed a showcase?

When the tangles were finally tamed, I found twin gold barrettes and snapped them into place to keep Noelle’s hair out of her eyes.

Downstairs the French toast was not a hit.

With no other choices, I’d made less-than-healthy butter and honey sandwiches to take for their lunch, scrounging for raisins to go with them. I knew better than to exhibit what I’d packed ahead of time. After what passed for breakfast, they retrieved their backpacks, and I stuck the lunches inside. “The lunches will be a surprise.” I beamed as if this was a special treat.

“We buy lunch,” Holly said.

“That’s not what your grandmother told me.”

Somehow I got them out the door, and we started down the street with much dragging of feet, passing one of the few residents I’d noticed. The woman, who looked to be ninety, was hauling a small mixed breed dog along the sidewalk. She nodded, and the dog yapped, showing its remarkable lung power and vocal range until we were half a block away. So much for social life in Tropicana.

Even with a shortcut through a tar pit, we would have gotten there faster. Luckily, by the time we stood in front of the school, the bell still hadn’t rung.

The building was defined by buckling wood panels and outdated windows. At the end of the sidewalk two women waited to welcome students. I dragged the girls, one on each arm, toward them, more than ready to turn them over to a willing adult—or even an unwilling one.