"What are you doing? Go away." Piper's voice comes from the shadowy stairwell where she sits, huddled on a step.

My hand forms a fist around a nickel shoved deep in my pocket. "Why don't you come down to the canteen? I'll buy you a pop," I suggest.

"I heard it's closed."

"It is."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"Bea Trixle will open the canteen."

"Not if it's closed."

"For you she will-"

"Oh," Piper says in a voice so small it sounds like somebody stepped on it.

I don't know what to do with myself or what to say. Maybe I'll just open my mouth and hope the right words come out.

"Piper, what's your, um . . . What are they going to name the baby?"

Piper's eyes are closed and she's leaning back on the steps. I think she isn't going to answer and then her eyelids flutter.

"It," she whispers.

"Your parents are going to name the baby It?"

"I'm going to call him It."

"It Williams. Were you thinking of a middle name?" I ask.

"Ee-It," she says.

"It Ee-It Williams?"

"Yep, Idiot Williams." Piper smiles, which feels to me like a small victory.

But now what do I say? "Mrs. Mattaman had Rocky and it all worked out okay."

"Mrs. Mattaman didn't get sick like this."

"No," I concede, "she didn't."

"I wanted It Ee-it It Ee-it to die. Not my mom." Her voice catches. to die. Not my mom." Her voice catches.

I put my arm around Piper. It feels like there's no place for my arm on her shoulder. Why is it when you see this done in the movies, it looks so natural?

"The best, the very best I could hope for is . . ." Her voice breaks. ". . . a little sister like Theresa Mattaman. That is pretty bad."

"C'mon, Piper. Theresa's okay."

"Theresa's a brat."

"You could do a whole lot worse than Theresa Mattaman."

"Yeah." She glares at me. "I could end up with a Natalie."

"A Natalie?" I take my arm back. My teeth grind so hard I'm pulverizing them to dust in my mouth.

"What gives you the right to say something like that? I'm trying to be nice here and you just turn on me."

Piper snorts. "You can't even say you're looking forward to her going back."

"Because I'm not."

"Yeah, you are. And so is your mom."

"Shut up!" I shout.

"You're not as nice as you pretend to be, you know."

"I'm not pretending." My voice squeezes out of my chest.

Piper is staring off in another direction, oblivious to how much she's hurt me. "My dad wants a son." Her voice is thick. "Why are boys so special anyway?"

"We can do more things."

"Annie plays ball as well as you do."

"No, she doesn't."

"Yes, she does. It's not fair," Piper says.

I snort. "Lots of things aren't fair. Are you just now finding this out?" I ask, still stinging from her comment about Natalie.

"They should be. Everything should be fair," she says, the tears spilling over. Her hands try to push them back, wipe them off, make them go away.

"Come on," I tell her. I want to get away from this dark and silent house, away from the smell of sickness and away from Piper, but I know Mrs. Mattaman will have my head if I leave her here. "Let's go down to the Mattamans'," I suggest.

"They don't like me."

"They shouldn't like you," I say. "After what you did, they should hate your guts. But they don't."

"I don't want to go."

"Too bad," I tell her.

She squints at me. I don't think she's going to move, but she does. She gets up and follows me out the door.

Mr. and Mrs. Mattaman are both in their kitchen doing dishes when Piper and I arrive. I swing through the door first. Piper, a few lengths behind me, walks slower and slower like she hopes never to reach their apartment.

For a second the shadow of something dark crosses Mrs. Mattaman's face, but then it's gone and she dries her hand on her ap.r.o.n and hurries out to where Piper is reluctantly wiping her feet on the Mattamans' doormat.

She gathers Piper into her arms. Piper seems to crumble, like a log burned to the core. She folds into Mrs. Mattaman as if she's been holding herself together until this very moment.

Mrs. Mattaman's lips press together until they are almost purple. She cradles Piper between her two short arms and ushers her into the warm living room with its good baking smells.

On the couch Piper gasps for air. Mrs. Mattaman holds her while she cries.

It's probably only a minute or two, but the sound is like nothing I've ever heard before.

"Now, now." Mrs. Mattaman strokes Piper's head gently and lovingly. Piper Williams, the girl who tried to get her husband fired.

Mr. Mattaman is in the living room now too. Piper's face seems to crumble all over again when she sees him. She buries her head in Mrs. Mattaman's lap. But then something inside of her forces her head up.

She grabs hold of her arms, wraps them around herself. Her eyes dart toward Mr. Mattaman. "You were never drunk," she whispers, the sadness making her tongue too thick for her mouth. "I guess you know that."

"Yes," Mrs. Mattaman says softly. She has hold of Mr. Mattaman's hand now too, as if the three of them are linked in something larger than themselves.

The tears flow across Piper's face like water lapping against the dock. "I'm . . ." Piper is trying to say something else, but she can't get the words out because her chest is heaving too hard. "Sorry," she finally says as Theresa comes in, her hands on her hips, her mouth ready to burst.

"Theresa." Mrs. Mattaman lets go of Piper and holds a hand out to Theresa. "Piper has apologized. We've forgiven her, haven't we?"

Theresa looks from her mother to her father, both of whom are directing their chins up and down as if they are nodding for her. Theresa's mouth opens to object, but the force of her parents' will carries her head along. She nods in the same beat and time as they do.

Piper is curled up next to Mrs. Mattaman on the couch with Theresa on her other side. Piper puts her head on Mrs. Mattaman's lap and falls fast asleep with Mrs. Mattaman's hand on her hair.

THE WARDEN'S PARTY Friday, September 13, 1935

It's tense this week on the island. No one knows what's happening with Piper's mom, and the warden spends all of his time at the hospital. With Warden Williams gone, a.s.sociate Warden Chudley is in charge. But the warden has never left his post before, so Chudley has no idea how to handle the island without him. In the kitchen, I hear my dad and mom discussing this. "Can't make a decision which shoe to put on first," my dad tells my mom. "He shouldn't be in charge. Let's just hope nothing happens . . . "

Luckily on Friday, when Jimmy and I get back from school, the warden is down at the dock. "A boy! It's a boy!" he crows, handing out cigars to every man getting off the boat, no matter his rank. "I have a son! Walter, his name is Walter William Williams." His voice full of joy, his big face beaming with delight, he looks like another person entirely.

"What happened with Piper's mom?" Jimmy whispers.

"Beats me," I say.

It's not until Jimmy and I get to the Mattamans' apartment that we find out the full story.

"It was touch and go, but it looks like Mrs. Williams is gonna make it," Mrs. Mattaman tells us from the kitchen, where she is cleaning celery. "That got lost in the warden's report, did it?" Mrs. Mattaman lays the celery out and works her knife across it with a rising vengeance.

"Was Piper at school, Moose?" Mrs. Mattaman asks without looking up from her work. "Because I didn't see her with the warden."

I nod. "She was, but she didn't come home with us."

"Course it's none of my business . . . but why the warden felt the need to bring his son home last night with his wife still in the hospital"-chop, chop, chop-"I will never understand. You'd think he gave birth to that baby by himself."

"Where's the baby now?" Jimmy asks.

"Mrs. Caconi is watching him. But all this morning the warden was parading him up one side of the island and down the other." Mrs. Mattaman shakes her head. "And now he's throwing a party. Why he couldn't wait until June got home I will never understand." Mrs. Mattaman points her knife at us. "You didn't hear that . . . either one of you."

"Yes, ma'am," we tell her as she dumps the celery into a giant burbling pot that smells like garlic and tomato sauce.

Outside we see Bea Trixle hauling out cartons of beer for the grown-ups and root beer for the kids. Mrs. Chudley has her accordion and begins to play.

Soon, Mr. and Mrs. Bomini are dancing on the balcony of 64 building and even my mom goes up to the Officers' Club and plays requests for the warden, who is giddy with happiness. His son in his arms, he waltzes around the Officers' Club, until Mrs. Caconi s.n.a.t.c.hes the newborn back, insisting he needs a bottle and a diaper change.

It's Mrs. Mattaman who notices Piper is nowhere to be found.

"Maybe she's still in the city," I suggest as Annie, Theresa, Natalie, and I sweep through the food line filling our napkins with cannolis, cookies, brownies, and cake.

"Go up to her house. All of you," Mrs. Mattaman insists, pushing us out into the foggy afternoon. "Make sure she's not holed up there all by her lonesome. Go on, you've got your marching orders, you hear?"

I'm not wild about this idea. Dealing with Piper these days is like picking up black widow spiders with my bare hands. But there's nothing else to do. Mrs. Mattaman is at the Officers' Club door, herding us up the hill. And Natalie is already ahead of us. I hurry and catch up.

The warden's house is dark and silent. It's as if the good news hasn't reached the top tier of the island yet. Not even Buddy and w.i.l.l.y One Arm are visible, though I can hear them working in the kitchen. The front door is partly open.

"Piper!" we call as Annie and I, Theresa and Natalie climb the stairs to Piper's room. Piper doesn't answer. The door to her room is closed. Annie knocks.

"What?" Piper barks.

"We brought you cookies," Annie tells her.

"I'm not hungry," Piper declares, opening the door. As we troop in, she s.n.a.t.c.hes a cannoli out of my hand. For a second, I think she's going to toss it in the trash. Throwing away a Mattaman cannoli is like burning the American flag as far as I'm concerned. But no, she stuffs it in her mouth, squishing the cream out the back side.

"I'm not not hungry," she mumbles, her mouth full of cream. hungry," she mumbles, her mouth full of cream.

Theresa squints at her. "You should be happy now. Your mom is okay."

"What do you know about it?" she snaps, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"My mom said she was better."

Piper nods. "She is better. I wish she'd come home," she admits as we hear Jimmy outside.

"Go get the door. It's Jimmy," Theresa commands.

"Why don't you get it?" Annie asks.