"Do you think we should have Molly examine Olive?"
"Why? What for?" I was shouting. My voice was so sharp. I wanted to cut
all of this away. "There's nothing wrong with her! Do you see anything
wrong with her?"
Adonie shook her head. "No."
"Maybe we should let Molly check Olive out."
I kept sanding.
Adonie stood waiting.
I expected she could stand there waiting forever. I straightened. "Why? Is
there something wrong with her?"
Adonie turned her gaze to watch Olive. She was intently digging some
secret little hole at the edge of the back porch. Her blue shorts had a
hole in the seat. They looked about forty-five years old. "She's thin."
"Some kids are."
Adonie nodded. "Still," she said, after a time, after I had begun sanding
again, "it wouldn't hurt. Molly wouldn't mind, would she?"
"She never does."
"I thought so, too. I'd pay for it," she added.
My mouth twitched at that. But I said, "Molly wouldn't allow it."
"She ought to. Shall I take Olive? I have to go into town this evening for
groceries anyway. I could get her some clothes."
"I washed her clothes."
"I noticed. But they're rags. They don't fit. Olive probably hasn't had
clothes that were new, just hers."
I straightened again. "Does it matter?"
"I think it does."
I shrugged, as though I could shrug off her eyes. With whatever finesse
they still demanded of me what I did not want to give. They expected,
applying standards I no longer wished to acknowledge.
"I'll take her, then. If you change your mind, just let me know. I don't
want to intrude."
"You can't intrude between Olive and me. There is no Olive and me."
"Olive thinks there is."
I sanded up a cloud. So did Andrew think. Damn them.