E, My Name Is Emily

by Norma Fox Mazer

“Five o’clock is when I came home. You were gone already.”

  Mom sat down on the couch and took off her shoes and unclipped her earrings. Pink shells to match her outfit. “Emmy,” she said, “I work every day. I work when I get home. I don’t go out, do I? Well, today I just felt like—” She waved her hand in the air. “—fun,” she said.

  “Fun?” I said. “With Mr. Linaberry?”

  She looked at me a long time. Then she said, “Yes. Fun with Mr. Linaberry. I’ve gotten to really appreciate him. He’s a shy man, Emily.”

  “Mom? Mr. Linaberry, after Dad? I don’t get it.”

  “Your father doesn’t come into this. Did you ever think I might be lonely? I’m surprised at you, Emily. You don’t consider me.”

  I flushed. “Mom, I just don’t see what you see in Mr. Linaberry.”

  “You don’t know the real person.”

  I felt like saying, And I don’t want to know him! “What’d you do?” I said finally.

  Mom blinked. “Not that much. We drove around … out to the lake, and we watched the sunset. And then we ate supper, fish and ice cream. And we … laughed.”

  I’d never even seen Mr. Linaberry smile. “What did you laugh at?”

  “Things,” Mom said.

  I didn’t say anything else. What else was there to say?

  Chapter 10

  Each of the three apartments in our building has a tiny front porch. As I came home from school, I saw that on the top porch, the Falansons had a line of washing strung out. His and hers jeans and underpants. On our porch, I could see the top of a tent Chris and Wilma had rigged with sheets and boxes. On Mr. Linaberry’s porch, a rake and shovel stood in the corner, and Robertson Reo sat on the front steps.

  “Hel-lo, Emily Beth.”

  “What are you doing here?” I said.

  “I came to see you. Don’t you want to say hello to me?” He was wearing a blue T-shirt and khaki shorts that showed his long thick legs, which were sprawled out as if he owned the spot.

  “How did you know where I live?”

  “A little birdie told me.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” I said. “I thought you had a job.”

  “I do. I deliver newspapers in the morning. Did you ever do that?”

  I shook my head. “I wouldn’t mind, though. I need to earn some money. I was thinking of putting an ad in the paper, but it’s kind of hard for me to find time to work.”

  “Do you want to know what I was thinking about, sitting here waiting for you? I’ve decided to go into politics when I grow up, and run for governor of the state.”

  “Why not President, while you’re making plans?” I walked around him and took out my key.

  “Where are you going? You can’t go yet. You have a visitor. I came all the way over here to see you.”

  “Well, we’ve visited.” I unlocked the door.

  “Emily Beth! You can be harsh.”

  Maybe he didn’t mean anything by it, but that upset me. I’d been feeling sort of weepy and tense all day. I was probably going to get my period. “Robertson,” I said. “I don’t think I’m harsh. I’m just doing what I usually do when I come home, which is go into my house and take care of my sister and brother.”

  “Don’t you like me at all?” His eyes had that puppy dog look.

  “I don’t know if I like you or don’t like you. All I know is, you’ve been following me. In school, Robertson Reo. On the street, Robertson Reo. And now—here you are again!”

  “I like you, so I like to be wherever you are. And I keep hoping you’ll look at me and like me, too. Do you think that’s romantic? My mother says people have to get to know each other to really love each other.”

  “Your mother’s right.”

  “Well, remember the character analysis said I was romantic.”

  I stuck my head in the door and yelled up the stairs. “Wilma! Chris! Are you guys home?”

  “They’re here,” Robertson said. He looked at his watch. “They got home about thirteen minutes ago.”

  “How do you know my sister and brother?”

  “I introduced myself. That’s how you get to know people. I was sitting here on my uncle’s porch, waiting for you, and these two kids come along and the girl says, Who are you? So I—”

  “Wait a second. Back up. Did I hear you say you were sitting on your uncle’s porch?”

  “Right.”

  “That’s what I thought I heard,” I said. “Are you telling me Mr. Linaberry is your uncle.”

  Robertson nodded. “He’s my mom’s older brother.”

  “Good grie,” I said. I felt like fainting. Was it a plot or something? Robertson and his uncle out to get me and Mom? I knew that was crazy, but I couldn’t help thinking it. Then I wondered if Robertson had said anything to his uncle about me. My face flushed hot. I hated people talking about me!

  “Are you going to stay out here and talk to me for a while?” Robertson asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I told you I have stuff to do. Why do you keep asking me things like that? Why are you such a pest?”

  He stood up and sort of hung his head. “Is that all you think about me? That I’m a pest?”

  I stood there, half in and half out of the door. That was the way I felt about Robertson liking me—half in and half out. Even if he was young, he was cute, and I have to admit it was flattering to have him like me so much. But it was also sort of annoying the way he constantly dogged me. It was just something else I didn’t need in my life at the moment.

  I took the mail out of the box and went upstairs. About ten minutes later, I went out on the porch and looked down. Robertson was still there. “What are you doing?” I said. “Aren’t you going home?”

  “I’m waiting to see my uncle.”

  “He’s probably out back in his welding shop.”

  Robertson snapped his fingers like I’d given him the most brilliant suggestion in the world. “You’re right again! Thanks, Emily Beth!” He got up and went around the side of the house.

  Chapter 11

  “I need to see a picture ID to open an account,” the woman behind the desk said. She was a tall African-American woman, wearing glasses. “Sit down, dear. You, too,” she said to Bunny.

  I dug into my purse and came up with my laminated school photo, the one we use on the cafeteria line and for games and dances.

  “This is you?” she said, looking at me, then at the card. “Are you sure?”

  Bunny looked over my shoulder. “That’s Emily. I can vouch for it, I’m her best friend.”

  “You don’t think it looks like me?” I said.

  The woman smiled. “No, I don’t! Unless you’re thirty-five and your own mother.” She got up. “Hang on, I’ll be right back.” She went off to another area of the bank.

  “I didn’t think it was that bad a picture,” I said to Bunny. “I wasn’t even wearing my glasses in it.”

  “What gets me is that it’s so hard to open a savings account! Wouldn’t you think they’d just take your money and say thank you, and that would be it?”

  I nodded and counted my money again. Thirty dollars, and I’d earned it all in less than a week. Four hours cleaning out a cellar and two hours mowing grass. If I could do that every week, in three months I’d have enough for a plane ticket to Chicago. The only thing I didn’t like about it was that the money came from Mr. Linaberry.

  Last week he’d come upstairs and asked if I wanted to work for him. “I own two other houses,” he said. “I could use the help now and then.”

  “Well, I have to take care of the kids,” I said.

  “Your own time,” he said. “Whenever.”

  I looked at Mom. She nodded her head that it was okay. Later I realized it couldn’t be a total coincidence that I’d mentioned to Robertson that I wanted to earn money and then his uncle offered me work. Did Robertson think that was going to make me like him more? That seemed a little sick
. But I liked working. Mr. Linaberry wanted the cellar cleaned out. Sunday afternoon I carried boxloads of junk out of the cellar and loaded them into Mr. Linaberry’s pickup truck. It was kind of neat seeing the cellar empty out. And the pay was really good, more than I could ever make baby-sitting.

  “What’s Mr. Linaberry like as a boss?” Bunny asked.

  I shrugged. “Okay.” I couldn’t say anything bad about him, but that didn’t mean I wanted to say anything good, either.

  “Are you going to work for him again?”

  “He said if he thinks of anything else I can do, he’ll call on me.”

  “Oh, so it isn’t regular.”

  “I wish it was.”

  We sat in silence for a minute, then Bunny said, “You know what I just thought? Emily, if your mother got serious about Mr. Linaberry—”

  “What do you mean, serious?”

  “Serious, like married him. If she—”

  “Married him! Are you crazy, Bunny?”

  “If she did, though, that would make Robertson your cousin.”

  “Bunny, my mother’s not going to marry Mr. Linaberry. It’s a stupid idea. Don’t even say it!”

  “Well, I bet if I’d asked you a month ago if you thought your mother even liked him, you would have laughed in my face. And now they’re very very buddy buddy, right?”

  “Buddy buddy? They’re not kids at camp.”

  “You know what I mean. Friendly. Maybe even friendlier than friendly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Sex?” Bunny said.

  “Shut up, Bunny! They’re too old for that.”

  “My mother says people are never too old.”

  “You talk to your mother about stuff like that?”

  “Sure.”

  I just looked at her. Sometimes I envied Bunny her family. When my parents were splitting, I used to pretend I was going to live with the Larrabees, be their third daughter, because I knew they would never split up. But other times, like now, I knew that I could never fit into that family.

  The bank rep finally came back. She had papers for me to sign. Then she took my thirty dollars and went away again. When she came back, she gave me a stamped receipt and a black bankbook with a gold seal. “There you are. Good luck, dear.”

  As soon as we were outside, I opened the bankbook and looked at my name and the neat little notation of my first deposit. “Next time I come, I’ll have earned interest on this,” I said.

  “Right. In a month, you’ll have made at least fifteen cents,” Bunny said.

  “Well, it’s still fifteen cents more than I’d have if I didn’t put it in the bank.”

  We hung around the mall a while. We were in the bookstore, browsing, when I heard someone say, “Hel-lo!” I didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was. “Find something good to read?” Robertson said.

  “Hi, Robertson,” I said. “You know Bunny.”

  “Bunny Larrabee,” he said with enthusiasm. “The great basketball star. The female Jabar.” He did a pantomime of a skyhook and gave her his 500-watt smile. We stood around talking for a few minutes, then Robertson said, “You girls want to go get something to eat? My treat.”

  “You’re paying? You don’t know how much Bunny eats,” I said.

  “Thanks, sweetie,” Bunny said.

  “Order anything,” Robertson said, when we were standing at the counter. He took a wad of bills out of his pocket. “That’s all you’re going to have, Emily Beth?” I’d ordered a soda.

  “Bunny’ll make up for me,” I said.

  Bunny kicked my leg.

  Obviously I wasn’t in my most tactful mood, and when we sat down with our trays, I blurted to Robertson, “Where did you get so much money?”

  “My friend is so subtle,” Bunny said.

  “My paper route is a little money machine,” Robertson said. “I built up the route. I make customers and I keep them. I’m one of the best. It’s a good way for anyone to make money. You don’t have to work that hard, but you do have to be consistent. You have to get up early every morning.”

  “Don’t you have to be strong to carry the papers?” Bunny said. “The Sunday papers must weigh a ton.”

  “That’s a special route,” Robertson said. “There’s a guy with a station wagon who does that. I have a carrier I put on my bike for the daily papers. Some people use shoulder pouches, but that’s brutal.”

  “I’d like a paper route,” I said. “Regular work, regular pay. Sounds good.”

  “There’s a long waiting list,” he said. “I know one girl who had to wait six months for her route.”

  “Oh. I need money lots sooner than that.”

  Robertson leaned his big head toward me. “You could share my route. We could do it together. Go out every morning, you take one side of the street, I’ll take the other. Fridays, we collect. We’ll split the profits.”

  “Why would you do that for me?” I asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I? I like you.” He stuck out his hand. “What do you say, want to be partners?”

  I didn’t know what to say! It would mean seeing Robertson every single day. I looked at Bunny for a sign.

  “Go for it,” she said, pouring ketchup on her fries. “What can you lose?”

  “Sleep,” my mother said. “That’s what you can lose, sleep. You’re still growing. You need your sleep.”

  “Mom, I need to make money!” We were sitting on my bed, facing each other, knee to knee.

  “Emily … listen to me. I’m a nurse, I know what I’m … And you can’t afford to lose it at your age.”

  “Lose what?”

  “Sleep. What are we talking about?”

  “I thought we were talking about money! I told you, I need money!”

  “What is the big … I really don’t understand,” she said softly. “All of a sudden, you want want want.” She’d brought her knitting in, and now she opened the bag and took out the needles. A long, shapeless gray something dangled from them.

  “I don’t just want want want. It’s for a reason. I’m saving so I can visit Dad in Chicago.”

  She looked up. “Oh.” Her hair was in her face. Messy. She’d put on lipstick after her shower, but she’d smeared it. She’d put on her old frayed robe. Suddenly I hated the way she looked so much I couldn’t sit there one more second.

  I scrambled off the bed. “Mom, this is a good opportunity. There aren’t that many ways kids my age can make money.” I went to the window and turned my back so I wouldn’t have to see her. “You didn’t mind when I cleaned the cellar for Mr.—” I was so mad I couldn’t even think of his name! “A plane ticket is expensive. I have to earn a lot of money.”

  “Your father should buy the ticket for you.” She was knitting so fast her needles hit each other.

  “I want to buy my own ticket.”

  “What about baby-sitting?” she said. “You can always …”

  “Sure, on Saturday nights, if you’re not working. Once a week, that’s how much you’ll let me baby-sit. I’ll be old and dead before I save enough money that way!” In the other room I could hear the TV and, over that, Wilma’s voice going on about something.

  “Anyway, next week you start working nights again,” I said. “Did you forget? That means I have to be here every single minute after school and every evening. The only time I can work is in the morning. A morning paper route is perfect! Please, Mom, say yes!”

  “Sweetie, I would, but your health is more important than money.” She got up and bent to kiss me.

  I felt like jerking my head away. I didn’t. I just stood there like a statue. I didn’t kiss her back.

  Chapter 12

  “… and this man was wearing a mask,” Wilma said in a deep voice, “because he was going to kidnap this kid and drag him to where he lived with the lady in this dirty spidery place under a porch.”

  Chris’s mouth was open. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, twisting the napkins in his hand. “So what
happened?” he quavered. Two more words out of Wilma and tonight he’d have living-color nightmares.

  “Wilma, you’re talking too much,” I said. “Are we going to have this party or not?” I smeared more strawberry icing on the cake.

  “The man and woman lived under a porch?” Chris said.

  Wilma nodded and dropped a stack of silver on the table. “They were crazy and dirty people, and they got kids and tied them up. You better watch out for them.”

  I glanced at Chris. “Wilma, let’s get this party on the road.”

  The birthday party for Mom had been Wilma’s idea. I was just going along. I was still mad at Mom for not letting me take the paper route. I’d made the cake, true, but the kids had done practically everything else—picked out the recipe, planned the menu, and decorated the house with balloons and streamers.

  “Do you want to know what the man and woman did to the kids, Chris?” Wilma said.

  “Nothing,” I said. “They didn’t do anything. People don’t live under porches and kidnap kids.” I put the frosting bowl in the sink and ran hot water.

  “You’re wrong, Emily. It’s a true story,” Wilma said.

  “Wilma, give it a rest.”

  “What do you know about it?” she argued. “Lyda Storch told me in school, and her father’s the sheriff, and it’s a true story.”

  “Well, I don’t want to hear any more about it. And I mean it,” I snapped.

  Wilma and Chris finished the table. Next to Mom’s place, they put the evening newspaper folded to the back page, where all the birthday greetings were printed. Right at the top of the page in a box were the words, “Look for ANN BOOTS at Community General Hospital tomorrow. Then be sure to wish her a fabulous 38th birthday and oodles of love from her kids—Wilma, Chris, and Emily.” Below that was a picture of Mom from when she was a kid. She had cheeks and pony tails and ribbons. The greeting had been Wilma’s idea, too.

  “Mom is going to be so surprised,” Wilma said with satisfaction. She stood back with her hands on her hips.

  “I’m hungry,” Chris said.

  “You can’t eat,” Wilma said. “We have to wait for Mom today.”

  They were both watching the clock. When we finally heard Mom on the stairs, they raced to the door. “Happy birthday, Mom! Surprise!”