A gastric yawp from Mira’s stomach chirrupped through the silence. It sounded like a cricket in her ribcage. “I’m praying to the Devil,” she said. “I think She listens.”

– 12 –

– 12 –

GIVE ME SOMETHING
GOOD TO EAT

Quellie Soo called them a Bell cab. Rosemary canceled it and called for a People’s Taxi. Quellie Soo booked them a room at the Motor Lodge. Rosemary canceled that and reserved a room at the Slumber Inn.

“Who cares what she wants?” Rosemary told Mrs. Park. “That person’s not part of our family.”

“But, baby,” her mother said, “she’s our realtor.”

As their cab departed, all three Park girls craned their necks back and watched as a team of swarthy men pulled a giant red-and-white striped tarp over their house, lifting it strategically so it wouldn’t catch on the chimney, the satellite dish, the falling-apart gable. The men climbed up and down casually. They had a lot of faith in shingles.

One waved to the cab. Then with a heave-ho, his pals pulled the tarp square down the sides of the house and its familiar form disappeared. The big top was in town.

“I lost the war,” muttered Mira. Rosemary squeezed her hand.

At the end of Santa Claus Lane, they encountered another cab driven by a younger man coming in the opposite direction. Both drivers rolled down their windows and traded greetings in battle-ax Armenian. Rosemary had assumed that their driver was Iranian or Pakistani from the giant god bless america decal on his window.

“That guy,” the driver explained as he rolled up his window, “his wife always asking for money. Never enough money.”

“He should get a divorce,” said Rosemary. Her mother elbowed her.

“He already did. This is third wife.”

Kate wondered where Mrs. Park was taking her daughters in the taxi that had just crossed paths with hers. She got an answer when her own cab pulled up to her house and she saw the giant tent across the street.

Her driver clucked his tongue. “Now all their rats will run away to your house, and next year it’ll be your turn to make your house to wear the dress.”

Kate paid the tab gruffly. “Could you wait till I get inside and wave at you?” Her driver struck her as sort of shifty-seeming, but at least he was young and had hairy fists.

“No problem. You go. I wait here.” He rolled down his window and lit up his cigarette.

Kate started climbing out of the cab, but was knocked back by her still unfamiliar new center of gravity.

“Could I ask you to do something else for me?”

The driver nodded.

“If you see a man—brown hair, early to mid-thirties—trying to enter the house while I’m in there, could you sound your horn twice, to warn me?”

“No problem, lady. You go.” He exhaled a big puff of smoke. “I have only one question.”

“What’s that?”