Maybe if we were very, very good, Aunt Cilla would change her mind about us.

I looked Merry over, making sure she'd stayed clean between leaving Aunt Cilla's and arriving here at the Duffy Home. Then I avoided looking at Uncle Hal by turning to the st.i.tched warnings admonishing me from the wall. I only had time to read "A Joyful And Pleasant Thing It Is To Be Thankful, Bible: Psalm 147" before a woman stepped out from behind the frosted administration door.

The midgety-short woman appeared childish until you saw the scowl embedded in her face. She placed her hands on her thick waist and asked, "Yes?"

Uncle Hal coughed before speaking. "Mrs. Parker?" The woman nodded as though she were a hundred feet taller. "Hal Soloman. We spoke last week?"

She gave another royal nod and crossed her arms over her pigeony chest. "You have Louise and Meredith with you?" she asked.

"Here they are." Uncle Hal pushed us forward, a hand behind each of our backs.

"Louise is the older one, right?" Mrs. Parker tipped her head to the side. "You are eleven?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said. I'd never called anyone ma'am before, but this woman was most definitely a ma'am.

Merry sniffled.

"Merry and Lulu. That's what we call them." Uncle Hal kept a hand on Merry's shoulder.

"Yes. You're not Meredith's and Louise's legal guardian, correct?" she asked. "That would be their grandmother? Zelda Zachariah?"

"I have the papers from her, as you requested." Uncle Hal drew an envelope from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

Mrs. Parker took the gla.s.ses hanging from a chain around her neck and balanced them on her fat nose. She made clucking noises as she looked over the long sheets of paper covered with black type, stopping only when Merry's choking sounds were too loud for any person to ignore. Mrs. Parker took off her gla.s.ses, tipped her head, and took Merry's chin in her hand.

"Meredith, correct? And you'll be seven in December?"

Merry nodded.

Mrs. Parker bent down and patted my sister's shoulder. "You'll be in the Bluebird dorm, dear. You'll have blue blankets and blue nightgowns." She offered this as though Merry would find it comforting. "You'll have a set of drawers and a shelf for books, if you have any."

My sister nodded again.

"Most of the time, we have no one here to hold you when you cry. Sad, but true. The best thing you can do is find ways to comfort yourselves. I advise new girls to take up a hobby as soon as possible. You can pick either cross-st.i.tching or crocheting. The East Side Women's Group donates kits. Your floor mother will show them to you."

4.

Merry.

1974.

I scuffed through dried leaves, hoping I looked like a normal almost-nine-year-old girl shopping with her grandmother instead of what I was, a motherless girl with a father in prison, who lived in a home for girls, which was just a name for orphanage.

"Again your sister's not coming?" Grandma took my hand, waiting for the Flatbush Avenue traffic to slow down.

"She has to study." Every other Sat.u.r.day, Grandma asked the same question, and I gave the same answer, sidestepping Lulu's refusal to see Daddy.

"So how is everything at that place?" Grandma always called the Duffy-Parkman Home for Girls that place.

"Everything's fine." I gave her hand a little tug.

"Fine. Never mind with the fine. You live in an orphanage. So tell me, how is that fine? It's all because of that Cilla. Ptoi. I spit on her and her useless husband." Grandma repeated some version of a spit or curse on Aunt Cilla every Sat.u.r.day. "It's okay to cross now?" she asked.

I checked the road left to right. "It's safe."

We wove around the fruit seller wrapped in two ragged sweaters, Grandma sidestepping his stack of pumpkins.

"You're doing great, Grandma. I think your eyes are getting better."

Grandma shook her head. "Dream on, tatelah. These eyes are shot."

"Think good energy, Grandma. Send good karma to your eyes like Susannah said. Maybe they'll get better. Then Lulu and I can come live with you." I squeezed her hand to show her how much I loved her and what a help I could be. See how strong and dependable I am!

"Enough. Every week it's the same story," Grandma said. "They won't let me take you in. And by the way, your new friend Susannah might look like a Breck girl, but she's still a crazy hippie."

Grandma had been calling anyone she didn't approve of a hippie for as long as I could remember. Anyway, Grandma might not appreciate Susannah, but I thought she was practically the nicest person I'd ever met. I'd met her at prison, where she visited her husband every week, and she didn't once ask me about Daddy's reason for being there. That's how nice she was.

I wondered what Mama would have thought of Susannah, who never wore makeup. Mama had worn apple red Snow White lipstick, and she'd drawn perfect black lines around her eyes. A plain Jane, Mama would have called Susannah. I remembered Mama using that expression a lot. Lulu says I've imagined all my memories, but she's wrong. I remember being little.

Most mothers who didn't wear lipstick looked sick, but Susannah without makeup seemed just right, like a character in a Little House on the Prairie book. Susannah gave me advice about life while we waited for visiting hours in the prison to start, especially when Grandma went to the bathroom and Susannah and I were alone.

"You could take an eye test," I said, as Susannah had suggested. "We take them at school. I could memorize it and teach you, and then you'd pa.s.s the test. Then we could come and live with you."

Grandma laughed. "Sweetheart, I can't take care of myself, much less you and Lulu. Any day now, I'll have to go to a home. Between my sugar and my eyes, I can't even walk without my cane anymore. Promise me you'll come visit me when I'm in a home."

I almost hit bone digging my fingernails into the palms of my hands, a trick Lulu had taught me to keep from crying. How would we ever get out of Duffy-Parkman if Grandma went to a home?

"If Lulu and I moved in with you, we'd take care of you, and you'd never have to go to a home."

"Take my advice, Merry." My grandmother gave another of her bottomless sighs. "Don't get old."

We entered Woolworth's, where the saleswomen were setting up their registers and straightening the long counters. The candy counter clerk, who wore a gold kitten pin with diamond eyes like always, gave us a smile as sweet as jelly beans. I loved that she really seemed to look forward to seeing us week after week. Every Sat.u.r.day, Grandma bought me a bag of candy.

I reached out for a multicolored candy necklace, my hand hovering over the pastel disks strung on rubbery string, pleading silently for Grandma's approval.

"Fine. Pick out your chozzerai. I don't pay the dentist bills. Get something Lulu would want, also." Grandma laced her bony fingers and sniffed at the candy she'd called garbage. "You know, I understand more than both of you think."

"Maybe Lulu will come with us next time," I lied. Lulu had vowed she'd never see Daddy again, and anytime I tried to change her mind she'd remind me that he killed our mother, practically spitting in my face as she said it. How can you even look at him? How can you stand to breathe the same air? Look what he did to you.

Then she'd run her hand along my scar. What's wrong with you, anyway? Why do you go?

Because Grandma wants me to.

Because he needs me.

Because what will he do if I don't, Lulu?

I didn't know how to tell her that I was scared that if I didn't go and keep him happy, things could get even worse. Lulu didn't seem to worry about stuff like that.

Grandma shook her head and bent to the candy bins. "Is this the kind Daddy likes?" She pointed to the mound of sugarcoated gumdrops. I smelled the mothb.a.l.l.s in which she packed her sweaters. Cherry scents of the Smith Brothers cough drops she constantly sucked puffed around us, mixed with the tang of the Dippity-Do goo she used to set her thinning hair into tight waves.

On the Sat.u.r.days we didn't visit Daddy, I smelled like Dippity-Do when I went back to Duffy-Parkman. On those Sat.u.r.days, Grandma set me on the bathtub lip and combed the pink, jellylike liquid through my hair while I tried not to squirm. Then she rolled my hair into spongy pink rollers. I'd go back to Duffy-Parkman with hanging sausage curls, the b.u.t.t of all the girls' jokes, since everyone was trying so hard to get their hair straight, straight, straight, but I could never hurt Grandma's feelings. Anyway, feeling Grandma's fingers fussing through my hair made the jokes worth it.

"Circus peanuts are his favorite." I ran my fingers along the wooden bins, looking for the orange marshmallow candies Daddy liked. "I wish we could bring him some."

"Never mind the peanuts. He'll buy candy from the canteen. I have to put money in. I think he needs Right Guard-he wrote me. But he writes too small." Grandma handed me a folded paper. "Here. Read."

I unfolded the cheap white stationery, hating the blurry blue stamp informing the world that this paper came from the Richmond County Prison. Because of that stamp, I folded Daddy's letters into the tiniest of squares and hid them inside a toothbrush holder to keep them from Enid and scaly-faced Reetha. My enemies. They called me Prison Girl.

Enid and Reetha were the ickiest girls at Duffy, with twisted teeth, burn marks, and scabs from I didn't know what. They tortured me. My few friends and I were the cute ones. We stuck together in the upside-down world of Duffy-Parkman, where ugly reigned.

I unfolded the paper and read my father's words in a whisper.

Ma, here's what I need. Toothpaste. Candy. Deodorant. Put as much as you can afford in my account, but don't leave yourself short! Books-Ian Fleming or Len Deighton if you find any I don't already have. Whatever you find is good, Ma. Thanks. I sure hope you and my little Sugar Pop can come next Sat.u.r.day. Are your legs okay? Have you gone to the doctor to get pills for the pain? Maybe if you went to Florida for a week or two, the heat would help. The ocean water would be good for your arthritis, right? Love, Joey "Florida. Hah!" Grandma snorted. Then she smiled. "Joey has a good heart."

"Did you get the books?" I asked.

"I went in and out of every store in Brooklyn."

"Did they have them?" I snuck a finger to my scar; Grandma swatted my hand away from my chest.

"I got them, I got them. Don't be such a worrywart!" Grandma leaned on my shoulder as she straightened up from inspecting a candy bin. "Let's go or we'll be late."

A cool wind blew across the crowded Staten Island Ferry deck. The water was choppy, and I hoped I wouldn't get sick. Every time we rode the ferry, Grandma called it the cheapest date in town.

"See, just like I say, for a nickel, they get a place to kiss." Grandma pointed her chin toward a couple kissing. "Cheaper than a movie and a restaurant, huh? The cheapest date in town. Though maybe he should save up for a barber to take care of all that hoo-ha hippie hair."

I stared at the man and woman in question. His hair fell down his back in thick, curly ropes. He wrapped his delicate-looking companion's black velvet cape tighter as he hugged her.

"Why did people start being hippies?" I asked Grandma. Lulu says I couldn't remember because I was too little, but I know Mama talked about maybe she missed her chance. If she hadn't married Daddy, she'd said, she could be free also. She'd have gone to Woodstock. I knew this was true, even if Lulu didn't think I understood anything.

"To be able to do whatever they want and not have to pay attention to what anyone thinks." Grandma sniffed as she said this, as though she feared I'd run off and become a hippie. Well, if I did, then maybe I wouldn't care when people called me Prison Girl. I'd swirl my cape around and make them disappear.

The ferry reached the dock. The sc.r.a.ping and squealing noises it made as it parked forced my shoulders around my ears. Now we'd take a long cab ride, with Grandma watching the clicking cab fare numbers every second. Grandma refused to take the bus. "I'm not riding with that dreck going to the prison," she'd say each time, as though we were better than the rest of the sad people we saw every other Sat.u.r.day.

Once we were safely sealed into the cab, I leaned my forehead on the dirty window and watched Staten Island silently roll by. These visits were the only times I rode in a car. Single-family homes lined the street; small, skinny trees dotted the square patches of lawn. More sun shone on Staten Island than on Brooklyn. I was positive.

As we got closer to the prison, the neighborhood changed. Ranch houses became big, crumbling homes, trailers, and then stores. Diners and shoe stores b.u.t.ted up to sad-looking buildings with signs announcing LAWYER/ABOGADO. The world became grayer.

Richmond County Prison loomed like Dracula's castle. Each visit I expected the wide wooden door to fall open like a drawbridge. Wire wrapped the building like a spider's web. The cab stopped outside the fence by the main entrance, the barbed enclosure keeping us a long distance from the door.

Grandma counted the fare out carefully, peering at the meter as though fearing the bill might rise even as she gathered her quarters. I got out first, offering my hand to help her from the cab. I held her cane. She grunted and rubbed her back before taking it. She stumbled a bit as she closed the cab door. I gasped, picturing her tumbling into the street.

"Are you okay?" I asked. A frantic breathlessness grabbed me. If anything happened to Grandma, what would I do all alone on Staten Island? If anything happened to Grandma or Lulu, I'd be alone in the world.

Grandma held up a hand and waved at me. "Don't worry. Today's not the day I'm dying."

"Grandma, please don't talk like that."

"Fine. I promise I won't die when we're together. Okay?"

Could Grandma read my mind? Did she know that I went from worrying about her dying in front of me, to crying as silently as I could in my bed at Duffy, imagining her dying alone, her corpse rotting away through the week until Sat.u.r.day, when I came with my key and opened the apartment?

Please, G.o.d, let it be one of the Sat.u.r.days when Lulu is with me, not a visiting-Daddy Sat.u.r.day.

Grandma brushed dust off her dotted navy dress and stood straight. "Come. Your father's waiting."

We walked through the gates holding hands. Once again, I patted my jumper pockets, checking for the hundredth time that I didn't have any forbidden items. Grandma kept a list of rules on top of her coffee table. I'd memorized them the way my teacher said to remember history dates: Say it in your head, say it aloud, and repeat it five times.

Rule: Children under eighteen must have a birth certificate. A parent or legal guardian must accompany children.

Prison was the reason Grandma Zelda had ended up as our legal guardian, even before Mimi Rubee died. Mimi Rubee wouldn't take me to visit Daddy, but after I begged and begged, she finally agreed to let Grandma Zelda take me, making Grandma the guardian, even though Aunt Cilla screamed at her for it. Now there was no way for me to stop. Grandma expected it, and Daddy, well, I didn't know what Daddy would do if he didn't see me anymore.

Rule: No hats, food, jackets, drinks, gum, or candy. No provocative clothing. Nothing in your pockets.

The skinny lockers where we had to place everything smelled like dirty coats and rotten food, probably stuff people tried to smuggle past the guards.

Rule: You may embrace the inmate briefly at the beginning and end of each visit.

I dreaded and waited for those hugs.

Rule: Inmates may receive, in total, five small soft-covered books, except for those deemed inappropriate by the Officer in Charge.

As we walked down the long, dingy hall toward the check-in place, I prayed for Officer McNulty to be the officer in charge. He'd smile and barely glance at whatever books we'd bring. The worst one, Officer Rogers, always threw away at least one book a visit for being what he called racy. When I asked Grandma what racy meant, she shook her head and said, "None of your beeswax." Susannah said it meant s.e.x. I knew about s.e.x. Nothing was secret at Duffy.

Rule: Inmates may receive, in total, five family photos. No portrait photos may be larger than 4 6.

I had two dollars saved toward a camera from the quarters Grandma sometimes slipped me. Lulu, knowing about my plan to give Daddy pictures, warned me not to ever take her picture. Not to give to him, she'd say.

Grandma touched my jumper pockets. "Empty?"

I nodded and followed Grandma down the hall. Women, children, and a few men lined up in front of the guards. I stretched up on my toes to check the guard on duty. McNulty! Still, even with him in charge, little bubbles of dread filled my throat. I clenched and unclenched my fists. I didn't see Susannah.

A pale, mushy woman stood in front of me, her scalp showing through thin red hair. Behind Grandma, a short woman wearing giant silver hoop earrings muttered "d.a.m.n" every other second. Her Afro looked even bigger than her head.

"Think they'll let Angela Davis through with those c.o.c.kamamie earrings?" Grandma whispered, tilting her head back.

"Shush." I wasn't sure who Angela Davis was, but I didn't think Grandma meant it as a compliment. I tried not to peek to see if the woman had heard. My stomach growled. I wished I'd eaten more candy on the ferry.

When we got to the front of the line, Officer McNulty smiled at me. He was tall and straight, like the soldiers guarding the palace in England. "Back again?"

I grinned back big and lifted my arm, waiting for him to pat me. He did it fast, not like some of the others. I hated them.