Being Neighborly, Part 2

I ended up working through dinner. Mom came and told me — I must have forgotten — that she was going out to meet Dad for a cocktail party that his boss was holding. “Dad called me to say he’s going to have to go straight from work,” she said, looking harassed.

            “I don’t see why you guys have to spend your evenings this way.”  I twisted away from my desk, popping my neck joints audibly. “You both hate socializing with all those people. When do you get any time to yourselves?”

            Mom winced at the sound, but she reached out and smoothed my hair. “Evening schmoozing comes with the territory, sweetheart. It’s one of the prices of success.” She grimaced. “Would you check in on Elle in an hour or two, and make sure she goes to bed at a decent time? We’ll be back late.”

No surprises there, I wanted to say. But I saw the tired expression on her face, and I just nodded.

After Mom left, I finished my write-up and started plowing through history reading. I didn’t realize how much time had passed until I looked up at the battered alarm clock and realized it was almost ten, which meant Elle had been reading on her own for nearly two hours. Usually, if left alone for that length of time she would come around to bug me at least once. She should have dropped in ask if I wanted ice cream (decoded: “can I have some?”) by now.

I got stiffly up from my desk and padded out to the living room. Elle sat under the glow of a single lamp. Her book was spread open on the arm of the couch and she only looked up when I plopped down next to her.

“Hey, Earth to Scout — do you read me?”

She looked up, frowning. Her eyes were wide and full of story.

“Tom dies. He was innocent, and Atticus did everything right, and they still found him guilty. It’s not fair. I don’t know why this woman even wrote the book.”

Oh Lord. “Hey,” I said, “I thought you weren’t even supposed to read that far tonight.”

She squirmed a bit. “I know, I just got started and then I couldn’t stop. I wanted to see how the trial would end, and then it was so sad I couldn’t bear to stop...”

I looked at her for a while, thinking about what I could say. She was right. Finally I said, “It is sad. It’s unjust. But it’s a picture of an unjust world, and you have to remember that’s what it is. Tom’s not real. He doesn’t die; you just feel that he does. But maybe, when you’re older, you won’t feel it so much—”

Elle interrupted me. “Don’t say, ‘when you’re older;’ that’s so stupid. And, anyway, what difference does it make? It’s already been written, so it can’t change.”

“The way you see it might,” I felt like the old man of the mountain, dispensing pearls of wisdom, and I could see that her brow was still furrowed, and her eyes looked suspiciously shiny. So I changed my tactic. “But the trial isn’t the only thing in the story, right?  What about all that stuff about Scout and her brother and that other boy, what’s his name?”

“Dill.” Elle scrubbed at her face. “They found treasures hidden in the tree in Mr. Radley’s yard, from Boo. I wish I could find stuff hidden outside somebody’s house. I still think they’re going to meet him. I just need to finish.”

            “Uh-cha-cha-cha!” I cut in, “Haven’t you read enough for one night?”

            “But I want to know what happens in the end!”  Elle wailed, “Besides, what else am I supposed to do?  It’s not like you ever do anything with me anymore. Not like Jem and Scout.”

            I exerted my will, and sacrificed myself on the altar of good older sibling-hood. “Tell you what, Elle. Tomorrow’s Friday, so I’ll do something with you after school. We can do some of our own exploring, even if we can’t sneak into our neighbors’ houses.”

            Elle sniffed, “It’s ‘Scout.’”

            “Oh, honestly! Scout,” I poked her.