face with a cool washcloth and lifted her

head from the pillow to help her sip some-

thing cold. Later, as the shadows of the room were fading, Ramona had to hold a ther-mometer under her tongue for what seemed

like a long time. She felt safe, knowing her mother was watching over her. Safe but sick.

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No sooner did she find a cool place on her pillow than it became too hot for comfort, and Ramona turned again.

As her room grew light, Ramona dozed

off, faintly aware that her family was moving quietly so they would not disturb her. One tiny corner of her mind was pleased by this consideration. She heard breakfast sounds, and then she must have fallen completely

asleep, because the next thing she knew

she was awake and the house was silent. Had they all gone off and left her? No, someone was moving quietly in the kitchen.

Howie’s grandmother must have come to

stay with her.

Ramona’s eyes blurred. Her family had all

gone off and left her when she was sick. She blinked away the tears and discovered on her bedside table a cartoon her father had drawn for her. It showed Ramona leaning against

one tree and the family car leaning against 117

another. He had drawn her with crossed

eyes and a turned-down mouth. The car’s

headlights were crossed and its front bumper turned down like Ramona’s mouth. They

both looked sick. Ramona discovered she

remembered how to smile. She also discov-

ered she felt hot and sweaty instead of hot and dry. For a moment she struggled to sit up and then fell back on her pillow. Sitting up was too much work. She longed for her

mother, and suddenly, as if her wish were granted, her mother was entering the bedroom with a basin of water and a towel.

“Mother!” croaked Ramona.“Why aren’t

you at work?”

“Because I stayed home to take care of

you,” Mrs. Quimby answered, as she gently

washed Ramona’s face and hands. “Feeling

better?”

“Sort of.” In some ways Ramona felt

better, but she also felt sweaty, weak, and worried. “Are you going to lose your job?”

she asked, remembering the time her father had been out of work.

“No. The receptionist who retired was

glad to come in for a few days to take my

place.” Mrs. Quimby gave Ramona a sponge

bath and helped her into cool, dry pajamas.

“There,” she said. “How about some tea and toast?”

“Grown-up tea?” asked Ramona, relieved

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that her mother’s job was safe so that her father wouldn’t have to drop out of school.

“Grown-up tea,” answered her mother,

as she propped Ramona up with an extra

pillow. In a few minutes she brought a tray that held a slice of dry toast and a cup of weak tea.

Nibbling and sipping left Ramona tired

and gloomy.

“Cheer up,” said Mrs. Quimby, when she