The Good Deed

Miss Benson was my good deed for the summer. Every girl in my scout troop was assigned someone. My friend Melody got Mr. Stengle, the oldest resident of the River Nursing Home. Anne got Mrs. Muhlenberg, who has four children and always seems overwhelmed.

I was assigned Miss Benson. Miss Benson is blind.

I’d never met a blind person before. The thought of talking to Miss Benson scared me. But I couldn’t let Melody and Anne get more badges than me.

“She’s a retired teacher,” our scout leader said. “I’ll bet she’d just love it if you’d read to her.”

So the next day I called Miss Benson, and then I set out to meet her.

As I stood in front of her apartment door, pausing before I knocked, this girl stuck her head out of the door across the hall.

“What do you want?” she said.

“I’m visiting Miss Benson,” I told her, which was perfectly obvious.

The girl had long reddish-brown hair. It was a tangled mess.

“Why are you visiting her?” she wanted to know.

It would have sounded dumb to say, “I’m a Girl Scout, and she’s my good deed for the summer.” So I said, “To read to her.”

Behind the girl, from inside her apartment, a whole lot of noise was going on. Two little boys ran behind her. Their hair wasn’t combed either, and their noses were snotty.

“I’ll come with you,” the girl said.

I didn’t know whether to be annoyed at her for being so pushy or relieved that I didn’t have to go in alone.

Did a good deed count if you had help?

Miss Benson led the way to the kitchen. On the table sat a pitcher of lemonade and a big blue plate heaped with oatmeal-raisin cookies.

“Tell me about yourselves, girls,” Miss Benson said, pouring lemonade and pushing the plate of cookies toward us. Before I could open my mouth, Risa was off and running. She told about her three little brothers—there was a baby I hadn’t seen—and how her mom had moved here for a better job. Risa didn’t like her mom’s job because the boss wouldn’t let her take calls from her children.

I told Miss Benson how my parents and I had gone to Disney World over spring break. I could tell by how Risa looked at me that she’d never been near a place like Disney World and that she hated me for saying I’d been there.

I offered to read, so Miss Benson sent me to her bedroom to check out her bookshelf. I found a tall, frayed blue book called Stories That Never Grow Old.

When I came back with the book, Risa said under her breath, “That one’s for little kids.” I shrugged, but she was right. It was a lot of old-timey stories like “The Little Engine That Could.”

Miss Benson asked, “What book did you get?” When I told her, she clapped her hands and said, “Perfect!” So I shot Risa a look and started to read.

Risa leaned across the table and started silently shaping the words with her mouth as I read, like she was tasting each one. I figured she must not be a very good reader. I’d given up reading with my lips in first grade.

As soon as I’d finished, I knew I was right, because Miss Benson said, “Risa, why don’t you read the next one?”

“Oh no!” she said. “I have to get home to help my mom with dinner.” She hurried out like her feet were on fire.

“Well,” I said, standing up, “I’ll come again on Monday.” By myself, I wanted to add, but I said instead, “I’ll put your book away before I go.”

When I got to the bookshelf, I found myself wondering: What if Risa comes back on her own? Maybe she’ll read to Miss Benson, and she’ll want this book with easy words. I looked around for a place to hide it. The wastebasket was just the right size. I slipped the book inside.

I said a polite goodbye. My good deed was done for the day.

A few days later, I visited Miss Benson again. This time the blue plate on the table held sugar cookies, creamy white, just beginning to brown at the edges.

“I’ll get a book,” I said, after we each ate a cookie. I hurried off to the bedroom to get Stories That Never Grow Old.

Only the book wasn’t in the wastebasket or on the shelf.

My heart beat faster. But there was nothing to do, so I picked out a collection of poems.

While I read a few poems, a weight gathered in my stomach. The next thing I knew, Miss Benson was saying, “Risa tells me you have freckles, and hair the color of pulled taffy. Green eyes, a misty green like the sea.”

For a moment I sat there, dumbfounded. My hair, well, it is the color people like to call “dirty blond.” But if you were being really nice, you could say it’s the color of pulled taffy. And my eyes? Were they green like the sea? I could hardly believe that Risa, who read with her lips, came up with those words that sounded like a poem.

“Risa was here?” I said.

“She came Sunday afternoon. She’s a nice girl. I’m sure the two of you are going to be great friends.”

I ignored that, because an idea was rising in me. Risa had stolen the book!

“Sorry,” I said, standing suddenly. “I’ve got to go. But I’ll be back. Tomorrow.”

“Come back anytime, dear. I like having you here.”

Would she say that when she found out her book was missing? She might think I had taken it.

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.