for such a tired-looking place, with its weathered, peeling paint and the porch sagging under its own weight. Still, the house had a kind of weary dignity, with its gabled windows and turrets and little balconies. There was even a widow’s walk on the roof. The place sure had more character than her house, a boring modern little bungalow. She longed for a widow’s walk. If they had one she’d be up there all day. She’d stare out toward the ocean and pace tragically. She’d pretend she was waiting for someone to return after years and years of agonizing separation. It would sure beat selling newspapers.
She climbed the front steps to the porch where two old ladies were snoozing in the sunshine. One was lying on a sofa, her round, smiling face tilted toward the sun and one short leg dangling. She was rather rotund and didn’t so much lie on the sofa as flow across it, like she had no bones. An empty cat food tin was balanced on the arm of the sofa, which was scratched to ribbons, but there were no cats in sight.
The second lady sat in a wheelchair with a blanket covering her legs. Her beautiful silvery hair fell all the way to the floor behind her, glinting in the sunshine like tinsel. She too was a little large and fleshy, but her hands in her lap were long and narrow, and her face was thin and delicate. She would have been positively elegant had it not been for the snuffling, snorting, and wheezing issuing from her open mouth as she slept. Willa paused on the top step and cleared her throat. No one stirred. She tried again. “Excuse me? Hello?”
The round lady on the sofa opened one eye and squinted at her. “Hmmm?” she purred. Willa nervously started her pitch. “I’m here ... the Trilby Tribune ... you don’t ... would you like ... I’m selling subscriptions....”
The lady didn’t speak or even move, she just watched Willa with that one open eye, which made Willa even more nervous. She took a deep breath and started again.
“I’m selling subscriptions to the Trilby Tribune, would you like to subscribe?”
She held out a sample paper. The lady slowly closed the one eye and began to stretch, first one arm then the other, then a leg then the other leg ... all the while yawning great gaping yawns without even covering her mouth. Willa waited — what else could she do? Finally the old lady sat up straight and opened her eyes, both of them this time. She reached over and poked the lady in the wheelchair with one long, curved nail.
“Belle! Wake up! You’re snoring again!”
Belle started awake, snorting a little. She scowled. “I do NOT snore, you mangy old beast!” Then she noticed Willa. Her face rolled back into a big smile and her voice smoothed into honey.
“A visitor. How lovely. Why didn’t you wake me, Baz?” Baz snorted and rolled her eyes as she settled back onto the sofa. Belle gestured for Willa to come closer.
“I’m selling newspaper subscriptions, ma’am.”
Belle didn’t seem to hear her. She was too busy looking her up and down. Her stare grew more and more intense, and Willa felt a sudden chill. Belle’s eyes were like marbles, all swirly blue and green. And Willa suddenly noticed how pale she was — white as a sheet, practically.
“I know you,” the old lady finally announced, sitting back serenely. “I know you better than you know yourself.” Great, thought Willa, crazy lady alert. She tried again. “Would you be interested in sub —”
“Tell me something, dearie,” Belle interrupted, taking Willa’s hand in her own, which was cool and smooth as a stone. She smiled sweetly. “Do you have a car?”
Eyes closed, Baz cautioned in a singsong tone, “Miss Trang will heeear youuuu.”
Belle waved her off, but her voice dropped to a whisper as she leaned closer, fixing Willa with her watery eyes. “Do you have a car, sweetie? Could you take a helpless little old lady to the seashore?” She batted her long lashes.
Willa shook her head. “I don’t — I can’t drive. I’m only twelve.”
Belle’s mood changed once more. “Well, that’s just great!” she snapped, dropping Willa’s hand, her eyes now icy. Baz had leaned over and was sniffing at Belle’s sleeve. Belle shook her off. “Stop it! For goodness sake!”
Baz curled up on the sofa again, smiling dreamily. “I can’t help it. You smell so nice ... like tuna.”
It was true, but Belle was outraged. “I do not, you fool!” she shot back.
“Do too!”
“Do not!”
“Do too!”
“Liar!”
“Fishy smelling fishy fish!”
“Fleabag!”
“LADIES!”
Willa jumped. A woman stood in the doorway, looking at them sternly. She was ... smooth. General impression, smooth. Willa couldn’t tell how old she was — she seemed much older than Willa’s mom but her skin was smooth, no wrinkles at all. Her hair was smoothed back into a bun. Her clothes, a very simple skirt and shirt, were dark grey, boring, and smooth.
“She started it,” growled Belle, crossing her arms sulkily.
“I didn’t. She called me a fleabag, Miss Trang.” Baz gave Belle a smug smile. Belle stuck out her tongue. Miss Trang ignored them and turned to Willa.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Her voice rolled out effortlessly, like oil. Smooth. Willa couldn’t even tell if she was being friendly or unfriendly.
“I’m ... um, selling ...”
Miss Trang cut her off brusquely. “We’re not interested, but thank you for dropping by.”
Willa looked back at the ladies. Belle was sulking. Baz seemed to be asleep.
“Goodbye,” prompted Miss Trang. Definitely unfriendly now. Willa mumbled an awkward goodbye and hurried down the steps, just glad to be leaving. She picked up her bike and put the sample paper in the carrier. Zero sales. She was officially the worst salesperson in the world.
“Psst!”
Willa turned to see Belle waving her back, her bony fingers rippling through the porch railing. Miss Trang had disappeared inside, so Willa tiptoed through the flowerbed until she was directly below the old lady, who was smiling again.
“Darling child, do see if you can get me a ride to the seashore, will you please?”
“But I told you I —”
“Just try. I’m sure you can manage something. Give me your hand.”
Willa held up her hand. Belle flicked her long white fingers and a stream of coins suddenly appeared, dribbling from her hand into Willa’s. Neat trick, she thought.
“I can’t take this,” she protested, but Belle cut her off. “It’s for that, whatever you’re selling....”
“Newspapers.”
“Yes, whatever. Now go on, before she sees you.”
Willa needed no more prompting. She made a
