I stalked across the hall and knocked on Risa’s door. I could hear the TV, but no one answered. I knocked again, harder, then I turned the handle and peeked in. Two pairs of sky-blue eyes stared back at me from the couch. One of the little boys mumbled, “Who’re you?”
“Risa’s friend,” I lied. “She here?”
“She took Andrew and went,” said the one who had talked before. He gave me a warning look. “She told us not to let anybody in.”
Who was Andrew? The baby? And where was their mother? She must be working. Risa was supposed to be taking care of these boys. Well, so much for counting on her for anything. “She’s got something of mine,” I said. And that’s when I saw it: the tattered blue book on the couch. I snatched up the book. “Where did you get this book?”
“Miss Benson gave it to me.” I whirled around to see Risa at the door, holding a baby. He was asleep, his fat cheek pressed against her shoulder. Risa seemed small.
“Why did you hide it?” Risa asked me.
The question hung in the air. Why had I hidden the book? Something about not wanting Risa to horn in on my good deed?
I tried another attack. “How come you went off and left your brothers? Something terrible—”
She interrupted. “Andrew is sick. I couldn’t get ahold of my mom, so I took him to the doctor.” As she said it, she staggered like she couldn’t hold up that lump of a baby for another minute.
Suddenly, I could see how scared she’d been, scared for the baby, scared to leave her brothers, probably scared to walk into some doctor’s office alone.
“Here,” I said. “Let me take him.” I lifted the baby away from her. He felt very hot.
Risa rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. Had she been crying?
“The doctor gave him a shot. He called my mom. Her boss let the doctor talk to her. She’s coming home soon.”
I laid the sleeping baby on the couch, took a tissue out of my pocket, and wiped his nose.
Risa lifted her chin and said, “I found Miss Benson’s book in the wastebasket.”
She tossed her head. Her chestnut hair had been brushed that morning, and it flowed like a horse’s tail. “She said if I read aloud to my brothers, it would help me get better.” I knew she was telling the truth about Miss Benson giving her the book. “I’m going to read to her sometimes too,” she added.
“That’s—that’s really great,” I stammered. And I knew it was. “You’ll be helping her, and she’ll be helping you. Kind of a good deed both ways.”
“A good deed?” Risa laughed. “Is that what you call it?”
“Risa,” one of the boys blurted, “would you read to us some more?”
She looked sideways at me, and I knew that it was me—snotty me—who’d kept her from reading out loud before. “Why don’t we take turns reading to them?” I said. “That would be fun.”
Risa considered my offer.
“OK,” she said at last. “Just so it isn’t a good deed.”
“It isn’t,” I said. “I promise.