Pictures of Hollis Wood: List 1

This picture has a dollop of peanut butter on one edge, a smear of grape jelly on the other, and an X across the whole thing.

There was the green house where the door didn’t quite close; the wind blew in and up the stairs, rattling the window panes. The white house: crumbs on the table, kids fighting over a bag of Wonder bread. The yellow house: sooty, a long-haired woman with braids, no rugs on the stairs, the loud sound of feet going up and down.

The driver turned off the motor. For a moment we looked out at the trees, the leaves with just a tinge of red this October afternoon.

Maybe she gave that speech to every foster kid in every driveway as she dumped them off like the UPS guy dumping off packages on a busy day, but I didn’t think so.

I tried to yawn, but then the front door opened, and a woman came out on the porch with a mangy orange cat one step behind her.

Anyone getting a first look at Josie Cahill would do the same. It wasn’t just that she was movie-star beautiful, or that she was wearing a blue dress made of filmy stuff that floated around her, and rings on eight of her fingers. It was this: She had a knife in one hand. She held it in front of her so it caught the glint of late-afternoon sunshine and became a silvery light itself.

Anyone getting a first look at Josie Cahill would do the same. It wasn’t just that she was movie-star beautiful, or that she was wearing a blue dress made of filmy stuff that floated around her, and rings on eight of her fingers. It was this: She had a knife in one hand. She held it in front of her so it caught the glint of late-afternoon sunshine and became a silvery light itself.

The mustard woman shook her head. She was still thinking about the knife. “I just want to get Hollis settled,” she said uneasily.

She jerked her head toward the cat. “That’s Henry. He’s a little irritable sometimes.”

I skittered into the diner, straight to the rest room, and then sat with them at their table drinking root beer floats, cold and sweet, with wet napkins underneath the glasses.

One morning when I awoke, I realized my thumb was blistered, but I didn’t mind. We’d been cleaning up the grove of trees. I liked the feeling of hacking and slashing and getting things done.

One morning when I awoke, I realized my thumb was blistered, but I didn’t mind. We’d been cleaning up the grove of trees. I liked the feeling of hacking and slashing and getting things done.

A pile of wood rested under Josie’s back table now. “Not all of it is for whittling,” she had told me.

From the hall I could see her reflection in the kitchen window. She knew I was there but she just cut another sliver off the wood and blew it away.

Still, it was a terrific breakfast, with Rice Krispies crackling in the speckled bowl.

A couch sat under the window, piled high with embroidered pillows that said things like HENRY'S HOME, V FOR VICTORY, SAVE THE SARGASSO SEA.

She watched me sometimes as I drew Henry sitting on top of the old-fashioned radio, and the pelican with beady eyes.

She brushed a few shavings off the front of her dress onto the faded linoleum floor. “I have things to show you, Hollis.”

It moved and rolled, it shimmered, it glowed iridescent silver.

I wanted to sit in the Old Man’s rowboat, to lean over and put my hands into that clear water, to watch the catfish riding along on the bottom, the schools of pickerel lazing in the warm sun.

The river meandered along in front of the Regans ’ summer house, and on the opposite side was the Old Man’s mountain.

“We shouldn’t do this,” I told her as we trundled home a cartload of donuts, a case of cat food, and our check-day treat: a gallon of cherry vanilla ice cream and enough Snickers bars to keep us chewing for a week of television nights.

Behind us a horn blared, a loud, frightening sound. Josie grabbed my hand and we darted out of the street.

Then in front of us was the Island Theater, with small lights, blurred in the mist, that ran around the marquee.

Steven lurched along. At one turn in the road he was all speed; the next he’d stop short, bent over, nose almost touching the ground.