thought.
"What's your name?" Mae Betty demanded as
she turned to me from the laundry- room doorway. "Jordan March," I said.
"I knew you was a March," she said, twisting
her lips. "Why you come living here?"
"My parents were in a bad car accident and my
grandmother had a stroke."
"They all dead?"
"No." I said emphatically.
"So? Why you here?"
"My grandmother is in the hospital. My father
is in a wheelchair."
"What about your mother?"
"She's in a coma in a hospital, but she'll get
better," I added.
"Right. And I'll be the queen of England
someday," she muttered, picked up the pail and started
out. "You'll see," she said after she passed me and
stopped in the hallway. "I'll get this place looking
decent and shell turn it back to a pigsty."
"Why are the dishes piled up in the sink? Isn't
there a dishwasher?'" I asked.
"Dishwasher? You're looking at the
dishwasher," she said. "but she don't make it easy.
She'll use a new dish and a new glass every five
minutes. I tried to get her to use paper plates and
plastic forks once and she threw it all in the garbage,
telling me her sister would be furious. What sister? I
asked. I ain't seen a sister here since I come, but you'd
think she visits her every day the way she carries on