With her pinched-in mouth, she looks like a buttercup about to bloom. Even though Dave bought her a new dryer to replace her old wringer, she still hangs sheets on the line in the summer, thank goodness. When I put my head down on them in the dark, the smell of sun and sweet-smelling clover reminds me that the night won’t last long; tomorrow is another day. Troo and me are down on our hands and knees weeding the vegetable garden, which has always been one of our chores even out on the farm. Mother slips the last clothespin into place, glances over at Mrs. Galecki’s house and says, “O’Malley sisters, I need to talk to you.” Troo gets up to her feet and grumbles to me, “She’s got on her dog butt look. She’s probably gonna start complainin’ about the bench again.” Mother wasn’t happy about Troo lugging Daddy’s and my bench over here from the zoo. It’s not new enough for her taste. Troo told me she almost didn’t let her hide it in the garage. That’s why our mother sits down on the white glider with the hearts cut out on the back.
