Protecting Marie
““Do you know anything about Dad going to Stuart Walker’s house?” she asked.
“No,” said Ellen. “He didn’t mention it to me this morning. He was in his studio when I left. I heard him humming behind the closed door, so maybe, just maybe, he’s gotten over this block.”
Fanny was using the stationary phone in the kitchen. She wove the cord through her fingers, then poked her pinkie through the coils. “Where was Dinner?”
“This morning?”
“Yeah.”
“Following me around, as usual, while I was getting dressed. She was lying on her afghan when I left. Why?”
“Dunno.”
“Fanny, you sound funny. Are you all right?”
Sniffle.
“Fanny,” said Ellen, “are you crying?”
“Kind of.”
“What’s wrong?”
As clearly and slowly as she could, Fanny told her mother what she had discovered when she had arrived home from school.
“Did you call Stuart?” asked Ellen, her voice steady.
“I thought I’d call you first. I thought maybe you’d know something.”
“Sit tight,”
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