At five, when it was time for me to go, Izzy and I wandered around the house, looking for her parents.
“Mom! Dad!” Izzy yelled.
I was growing accustomed to the yelling but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I quietly sang out, “Mrs. Cone? Dr. Cone?”
On the second floor, the doors except for Izzy’s were open.
“Why is your door the only one that’s ever shut?” I asked her.
“To keep the witch out,” Izzy said. “Mom! Dad!”
“What witch?”
“The one that haunts the house. If I shut my door, she doesn’t go in when I’m not there.” Izzy walked straight into her parents’ bedroom. I stood in the hallway and waited.
Izzy came out a minute later. “They’re not in there. I’m hungry.”
We went downstairs, through the living and dining rooms, and back through the swinging door into the kitchen. In my own house, the kitchen belonged to my mother and it was up to her if it was “open” or “closed.” Most days, it closed at two p.m., as she didn’t want anyone to lose their appetite before supper. Though sometimes it closed right after lunch.
I wondered if Mrs. Cone planned to make dinner that night. There was nothing in the Cones’ oven, nothing defrosting in the sink, nothing in a saucepan on the stove. There was no indication that plans had been made to feed the family.
I had a feeling that Dr. and Mrs. Cone wouldn’t be angry if I made dinner for Izzy. “Lemme call my house,” I said. I looked around the kitchen for the phone. I’d seen one somewhere earlier but couldn’t remember where. “Where’s the phone?”
Izzy found the cable plugged into the wall below the counter and followed it with her hands as high as she could reach. “It’s here somewhere!”
I pushed aside the bathrobe that was on the counter, and found the phone.
“Can I dial?” Izzy climbed up onto the orange wooden stool and balanced on her knees. She removed the handset from its cradle and rested it on the counter.
“Four.” I watched as Izzy carefully examined the holes in the number dial, found the four, and inserted her chubby little finger. There was a line of black dirt under her nail and I made a note to myself that I’d give her a bath after dinner, if I ended up staying that long.
“Four!” Izzy rotated the dial until it hit the silver comma-looking thing, then released her finger as the dial clicked around back to the start. We went on like this for six numbers. On the seventh number, I glanced away and looked back, only to see Izzy had inserted her finger into the 9 instead of the 8. When the dial finished its slow click-click-click, I picked up the handset, placed it back in its spot to disconnect the call, then took it out again so we could start once more.
When we finally got the numbers dialed, I put the phone to my ear. Izzy leaned in and I tilted the receiver toward her.
“Dillard residence,” my mother said.
“Hey, Mom, I need to stay and feed Izzy dinner.”
“Oh?” Mom’s voice screeched up.
“She needs to feed me dinner!” Izzy shouted. I stood up straight and pulled the handset from Izzy’s ear.
“Is that Izzy?”
“Yes,” I said. “She’s a goofball.”
“Sounds like it. Why do you need to feed her dinner? Where is her mother?”
I didn’t want to admit that I couldn’t find Dr. or Mrs. Cone. I turned away from Izzy so she wouldn’t hear, and whispered, “Her father is stuck with a patient and her mother is sick in bed.” It was, as far as I could remember, the first time I had lied to my mother.
“Oh,” my mother said. “Oh no. Okay. Well, maybe I should come down there and help.”
“No, it’s okay,” I whispered. “Everything Mrs. Cone was going to make is out on the counter. The oven’s already turned on too. I just need to stick the casserole in the oven and then—”
“Cereal!” Izzy shouted. I turned and saw she had opened a cupboard and pulled out four different boxes of cereal.
“I’ll call after dinner to let you know what time I’ll be home,” I said.
“You have Dr. Cone walk you or drive you if it’s after dark,” my mother said.
“Okay, Mom. Bye!” I hung up quickly before Izzy could shout again.
“I want cereal for dinner,” Izzy said.
“Have you ever had cereal for dinner?” I asked cautiously. It seemed as unimaginable as using a banana for a telephone.
“Yes.”