“You’re a big girl, now,” her mother admonished. “Don’t cry. I’ll phone the Crandons.”
“They’re having a family dinner, too—in River City.”
“Well, somebody. You can stay with Netta, I’m sure. She’s having a cleaning woman in.”
“She’s totally despicable! I abhor staying there!”
“She’s minded your brothers, often. She’s usually a pretty good neighbor when these problems come up.”
Nora said, “Phooie! Vixen. Shrew. Termignant.”
Henry snorted.
“Termagant,” Beth corrected, absently. “She is not. You can stay with her tomorrow if you’ve still got a raw throat. I’ll give you medicine. My, I hope it isn’t measles.” She moved toward the kitchen phone and presently began to make arrangements for the custody. ‘We’ll shop and hurry home, Netta, so you won’t have her on your hands later than, say, four….”
Nora was folding and unfolding a cloth pot holder. Queenie, the tomcat, at that moment decided to move from the kitchen to the front rooms. Nora flung the pot holder and hit the cat.
Queenie stopped, looked to see who had done him the dirty deed, shrugged and departed. Beth had hung up.