Turtle in Paradise by Jennifer L. Holm

Author:Jennifer L. Holm
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780375893162
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2010-01-18T22:00:00+00:00

Whenever Archie comes back from a sales trip, it’s like Christmas. He buys perfume for Mama—Je Reviens in a tall blue glass bottle that looks like a skyscraper—and pretty things for me, like mother-of-pearl comb-and-brush sets.

Then he takes us all out for a fancy meal—chicken à la king and peach melba ice cream—and Mama dancing after.

Uncle Vernon doesn’t buy treats like Archie, but things are different with him in the house. Beans is a little nicer, and Buddy has fewer accidents, and Aunt Minnie doesn’t seem so tired. Uncle Vernon’s got a quiet way about him. He doesn’t say much at all. But I like him.

Aunt Minnie makes beef soup for dinner to celebrate Uncle Vernon being home. It’s delicious. I eat three bowls.

After the dishes are done, the boys play outside in the lanes and Aunt Minnie delivers clean laundry.

It’s just Uncle Vernon and me. He pulls a sewing box down off a shelf and takes it into the parlor, where he sits by a lamp. He threads a needle, picks up a shirt from a basket of clothes needing mending, and starts sewing a tear on the elbow. His stitches are small and perfect.

“Gee, I never met a man who could sew,” I say.

“My daddy taught me. He was an old Conch sailor. He always said you should know how to mend your own sail.” He cocks his head. “You know how to sew?”

“Sure,” I say. “Housekeeper does the mending.”

Uncle Vernon hands me a needle and thread and a pair of Buddy’s pants. There’s a tear in the bottom.

I look at the radio. “Can we listen to Little Orphan Annie?”

He turns it on and we sew and listen to Annie and Sandy.

“That Sandy’s a smart dog,” Uncle Vernon says.

“Not as smart as Smokey,” I say.

“I saw that you brought a cat. What happened to her fur?”

“A bunch of mean kids did it. They tricked her with some ham and then lit her tail on fire.”

“That’s a hard lesson,” he says. “Bet she won’t let that happen again.”

When I’m finished mending the tear, I hold out the pants for Uncle Vernon to see.

“Not bad,” he says.

“Not much point, if you ask me,” I say. “Can hardly keep pants on him.”

“How are you settling in here?” Uncle Vernon asks.

“I’m not used to having cousins,” I admit.

“You’ll get used to them. I see you’ve already acquired a taste for turtle,” he says.

“What?” I ask.

He looks amused. “Dinner. That was three bowls of turtle soup you had, you know.”

“I thought it was beef!” I say, feeling slightly sick. “Seems mean to eat something you’re named after.”

“Nothing mean about filling your belly. And turtle’s cheap meat.” He studies me. “Where’d you get that name of yours?”

“Mama says I’ve got a hard shell.”

And I do. I haven’t cried since I was five years old. I don’t think I have much of a choice, to tell the truth. Who else is going to hold things together when Mama falls apart after some man disappears? Once you get out of the habit of crying, you hardly even miss it.

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