“Who is she?” Hilly, his savior, asked.
“Melinda Hogarth,” Ptolemy said, uttering one of the few names he could not forget.
“Do you owe her money?”
“No. I don’t owe that woman nuthin’. One day a couple’a years ago she squeezed my arm and said that she needed money for her habit. She just kept on squeezin’ an’ sayin’ that and when I finally gave her ten dollars she squeezed harder and made me say that I’d give her that much money whenevah she needed it. Aftah that she come an’ push in my do’ an’ took my money can. That’s why I nevah go anywhere unless Reggie come. Where is Reggie?”
“Come on, Papa Grey. Let’s go to the store.”
Why you shiverin’, Uncle?” Hilly asked when they were walking down Alameda toward the Big City Food Mart.
“It’s cold out heah. An’ they’s that wind.”
“It’s just a breeze,” Hilly said. “And it’s ovah eighty degrees. I’m sweatin’ like a pig as it is.”
“I’m cold. Where we goin’?”
“To Big City for your groceries. Then aftah that, Mama want me to bring you ovah to her house.”
“You got money?” Grey asked.
“No. I mean maybe five dollars. Don’t you have money for your groceries?”
“I got to go to the place first.”
“The ATM?”
Ptolemy stopped walking and considered the word. It sounded like amen, like maybe the big kid was saying, “Amen to that.” But his face looked confused.
“What’s wrong, Uncle?” Hilly asked.
Ptolemy looked behind to make sure he knew how far he was from his house. He noticed that Melinda Hogarth wasn’t following him like she once did when she knew that he was going to the place.
“You really scared him,” Ptolemy said to Hilly, shifting their conversation in his mind. “He slapped me an’ knocked me down an’ you said, ‘Get outta here,’ an’ he run.” Ptolemy giggled and slapped his hip.