Gingersnap by Patricia Reilly Giff

Author:Patricia Reilly Giff
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Juvenile Fiction, Historical, General
ISBN: 9780307980298
Publisher: Wendy Lamb Books
Published: 2013-01-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Elise led the way across the street.

“Could I use the phone?” I asked the man behind the counter.

“If you have a nickel.” He grinned at Elise. He was an old man with crinkly gray hair and a mustache that moved up and down when he spoke. “On the side wall,” he said.

Elise reached into her pocket, but I shook my head. “I have it.”

I picked up the receiver. My hands were damp. Suppose Celine said no? Suppose she wanted me back right away?

“Number, please,” the operator said.

The old man stacked bundles of newspapers against the other wall, talking to Elise as I waited for the operator to find Celine in North River.

I heard Celine’s voice, almost as if she were standing next to me. “Wait, I have to sit down. I’ve been frantic. Jayna? Is that you? How could you run away like that?”

“I’m all right.” I looked over my shoulder. Elise was still talking to the man. “I’m fine, really fine.” I lowered my voice. “I’m with my grandmother.”

“A grandmother?” Her voice rose in surprise. “How can that be? Why didn’t I ever hear …” She was silent for a moment. “I’m glad you have someone.”

It was my turn to be silent. I’d forgotten she could be that kind. But hadn’t she reached out to me after I’d read the telegram? “I’m in Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn? How did you possibly—”

“A bus,” I cut in. “Then I took the subway.”

“Exactly where in Brooklyn?”

I ran the phone cord through my fingers. There was no help for it; I had to tell her. She’d be the one to get the news about Rob or his letters if they came. “She has a bakery. It’s on Carey Street.”

Elise was next to me now, her hand out.

“Listen, Celine,” I said, “I’ll let you talk to her.”

I stood there, eyes closed. Please don’t let Celine mention grandmother.

“Jayna’s here,” Elise said. “I’m not sure how you feel about her staying.”

I stepped closer, trying to hear what she’d say. Whatever it was seemed fine.

“I’ll take care of her,” Elise said. “You can be sure of that.”

Celine said something else.

“For a few weeks?” Elise said. “Yes, that’s what we’ll do.” She handed the phone back to me.

“I don’t know about all this.” Celine sounded uneasy, worried. “Your brother’s sent money.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “He’d want you to have it.”

“Will you call me?”

“Yes, all the time,” I promised. I gave her the number of the stationery store phone. “If you hear from Rob, call. Call right way.”

“Of course I will. But the money …”

“It’s yours, Celine. Rob wanted you to have it.”

She hesitated. “We’ll talk about it when he’s home.”

When he’s home.

I put the receiver down gently.

What did I care about money?

I cared about Rob. I cared about that bedroom with the roses. I cared about that kitchen, the pots hanging on one wall. Already I cared about Elise.

I pulled my hair back with one hand, my unruly ginger hair, curly hair. I’d wet it down, tie it back.

Mrs. Murtha’s voice: “You’re as organized as your hair.

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