Chapter Text
It’s Friday, the first of June, and Marge can’t believe summer break is already here. Just a few more hours until the final bell, then they’ll be free of Derry High School for three whole months. Her excitement makes itself known in the tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap of her saddle shoes against the dusty classroom floor.
Margaret Truman had always loved summer break. Eating deliciously drippy ice cream on a hot, sunny day. Visiting her aunt in Stockton Springs and running down to the beach, where her bare toes got the luxury of curling into wet clumps of sand. Popping into Freese’s Department Store with Lilly to try on dresses they’d never be able to afford. All had been consistent hallmarks of summer for years and years now. But this break in particular would be the one to take the cake, she’s sure of it.
For the past six years, Marge had only ever had Lilly to spend these long stretches of humid days and breezy nights with. Sure, a few other kids occasionally tagged along for short adventures. There were birthday party invites, rec center visits, bike rides to the Barrens, and walks in the park. But whoever they did those things with always came and went, never staying in contact once the next school year began.
Now, however, Marge has a group of friends to make memories with—even if some of those friends will be leaving at the end of the month. It’s a sad thought that she wishes wasn’t so, but the Hanlons and the Grogans already pushed their moving dates back by a couple of weeks. Marge will take what she can get. They’ll surely make the best of it.
Besides, even after Will and Ronnie leave, life still won’t switch back to the good ol’ Lilly-and-Marge show. Nope! That usual Dynamic Duo will permanently shift into their very own version of The Three Musketeers, on account of their newfound friendship with one and only Ricardo Santos. At least he isn’t going anywhere. Marge has lost count of how many thankful prayers she’s sent God’s way for that.
While Mr. McCracken drones on, Marge imagines all the fun she’ll get up to once they book it out of here. With the horrors of April having felt like an entire year by itself, this vacation is going to be more than a welcome respite; it’ll be rapturous. They could run around Bassey Park all afternoon—perhaps into the evening, if her mother loosens up—laughing at the constant barrage of eggs and toilet paper littering the creepy Paul Bunyan statue. They could splash around in the Kenduskeag Stream, read comics and dance to Top 40 hits up on the Standpipe, peer through the shining windows of every shop on Main and Center. Maybe they could get milkshakes at The Derry Grill every Sunday! Well, probably not. Marge would turn into a Bertha then, and she never has that much pocket change anyhow.
But that was another thing she could do: find more ways to make cash. She never got paid for housework the way Rich and Will seemed to; it was expected that she’d help her mother with what everyone liked to call “women’s work.” Marge didn’t mind cooking and cleaning, but would it be so awful if she were rewarded for it every once in a while? Her meager allowance was mostly tied to how well she did in school, plus whatever else Mr. Truman deemed as extra. Like washing his Studebaker without being asked, or cleaning Mr. Hockstetter’s garage because he could never throw anything away, or babysitting for Mr. and Mrs. Weaver when their usual girl inevitably fell through.
There’d also been that one time last year when Doctor Wagner, the owner of the dental practice currently employing Mr. Truman, gave her a few coins to bake him an array of sugary treats. She recalls wondering if he handed them out as a ploy to get more foot traffic in the office. If that were the case, she hopes he’ll do it again.
While none of those things were fun, they’d at least earn her some spending money, and that was always appreciated. Then she could use it all up on special jaunts around Derry with her friends!
The crackling intercom halts Mr. McCracken’s boring tangent and causes Marge to jump in her seat. It’s only Vice Principal Burton (or Acting Principal Burton, as he’d taken to reminding everyone) announcing the next group set to attend the End of Year assembly. The whole affair had started right after homeroom that morning. Two grades at a time would get sent to the auditorium, where they’d be subjected to speeches tailored specifically for their age and grade, before finally receiving their report card, a yearbook (if ordered), and a chorus of teachers wishing them a fun yet productive summer.
Seniors and Juniors got to go first—privileges of the upperclassmen, Marge supposed. Now, Burton is ordering the Sophomores and Freshmen to ready themselves for their turn once the bell rings.
Aaaaaand there it is.
Marge gathers her supplies quickly, hugging them to her chest as she and Lilly loop arms and glide out of the room. The hallway is as busy and chaotic as ever. Conversations are held at higher volumes. Spitballs and Kick Me signs have at least tripled in frequency. Teachers yell at students to stop running in the halls, and those aforementioned students don’t give a single hoot. Today, being a relatively shorter day, won’t afford anyone the pleasure of lunch, but that doesn’t stop many of their peers from munching between classes. Will and Rich included.
The two boys make their way to Marge and Lilly with bouncing steps, squishing sandwiches in their hands. Peanut butter and jelly, if the smudge on Rich’s chin is any indication. Marge shakes her head fondly.
“Hey, do you guys want some?” Will asks, shaking a brown sack enticingly. “My mom packed enough for all of us.”
“Sure!” Lilly chirps, holding out an open palm. “Thanks.”
“Your mom’s amazing!” Marge gushes, accepting one of her own.
Will procures one last sandwich from the bag, crushing the paper into a ball while his gaze darts around the hall, no doubt searching for Ronnie. Meanwhile, Rich gulps down a final (too-large) bite, wipes his goopy fingers against his jeans, and steps closer to Marge.
“You’re supposed to eat food,” she teases, poking a finger into his cheek, “Not wear it.”
“I’m saving some for later,” he jokes.
Marge crinkles her nose, though she can’t help laughing.
“Gross!”
She sticks her tongue out for emphasis, making Rich grin. Wiping the mess with the back of his hand, he glances at the supplies in her arms.
“Do you want me to carry your stuff?”
How can such a simple request make her heart so fluttery? She should be used to it by now. He’d spent the last couple of weeks doing this exact thing, walking Marge to class (if he wasn’t already late for his own) with her possessions held carefully in his arms, even going so far as to store them in his satchel during the lunch period so she wouldn’t have to stop at her locker. If Lilly or Will didn’t have bags, Rich would no doubt extend the same courtesy to them. But there’s something in the way he looks at her that makes this gesture seem a little more than friendly or chivalrous. It’s personal. And that makes her feel special.
She ignores Lilly’s heavy gaze and smiles, cheeks warming under Rich’s attention, which she finds herself coveting more and more every day. Their fingers brush as she transfers her notebooks and pencils into his waiting grasp. He’d credited his mother’s Noxzema for having such soft hands, but Marge doesn’t think that’s entirely true. His skin must be naturally like velvet.
“Why, thank you, Sir Rich,” she says in a theatrically proper tone, bowing her head for good measure.
His entire face lights up at the title Marge had seen fit to bestow upon him. He has yet to tire of hearing it.
“You’re welcome, Fair Maiden Marge.”
“I think you mean Captain Fair Maiden Marge,” she corrects with a haughty sniff.
Rich laughs. It turns her insides all gooey.
“¡Ay, mi vida! Perdoncito, por favor.”
Is it weird that she likes the way he sounds when he speaks Spanish? Probably, but she can’t help it. There’s something so lovely about the language—especially the way it sounds rolling off Rich’s tongue.
That is a thought she should keep to herself.
“I’m assuming that was an apology.”
Somehow, his expression appears both sheepish and sly.
“Yep.”
“Hey! Ron!”
They turn to look at Will, who shouts and waves high in the air. He hunches in on himself once others take note of him, quite a few offering nasty sneers. Marge flips a middle finger to one glaring girl. She scoffs and spins on her heel with a rude swish of her ponytail. But when Ronnie finally makes her way over, Will stands tall yet again, handing her the last sandwich with extra special care.
“Thanks, Will,” she beams. “You’re sweet.”
“Yeah! You’re—uh… yeah.”
He absorbs Ronnie’s features the way he absorbs information in those science books he loves to read. Immersed and amazed. And yet, his expression twists in a way she’s never seen when he’s lost in the world of knowledge: confusion. A clear conflict of logic and love. After the Sock Hop, Will hasn’t known how to behave.
Marge assumes that’s one of the reasons they skipped the last one, despite Ronnie’s interest in attending. They’d spent time at the Standpipe instead, putting together a puzzle Ronnie found while packing.
Marge bites the inside of her cheek to stop from laughing. It wouldn’t be nice. She’s had her fair share of ineloquence, after all.
“Can you believe it’s already summer?” Rich asks, lending Will a moment to recover.
“Not quite summer,” Lilly corrects.
“Well, summer break,” Rich concedes.
“And it’s almost your birthday,” Marge adds with a nudge.
He ducks his head bashfully at the reminder, but hops excitedly in place.
“Oh, yeah! I forgot I wanted to tell you… my parents are gonna cook Cuban food. Would that be okay? You’ve probably never had it. I said I wasn’t sure, but my mom really wants to.”
“That’s fine by me,” Ronnie answers after a thoughtful chomp of PB&J. “I like trying new things. What’s on the menu?”
“Vaca frita and congri,” he replies. They stare at each other blankly. “Vaca frita’s basically just steak that’s cooked really slow and marinated with lime and onions and stuff. And congri’s rice and beans, but made together. Apparently, that’s really important. And oh, tres leches, which is like… milky cake, with whipped cream and fruit.”
“That sounds good, Rich,” Will says through an encouraging smile.
“I haven’t had steak in a long time.” Lilly sighs. “I can’t wait!”
Marge rubs her hands together gleefully.
“I love cake.”
Rich’s responding smile isn’t just relieved, it’s exuberant. Marge has always felt like a bit of an outsider, but that’s nothing compared to what Rich and Will must experience here in a place as insular as Derry. Marge is only starting to realize that herself.
Food must be important to Rich’s family, and now he has others to share it with. She can feel his joy as if it were her own.
“What kind of presents do you want?” Will asks after a beat. “My dad already gave me some extra money, but I haven’t been able to decide.”
“Yeah, we need ideas,” Ronnie agrees, curling her fingers in a gimme motion. “Chop, chop!”
They’ve started walking now, trying to stay huddled together through the sea of rushing students. It’ll only be a few more minutes before they have to part for their next classes, but they make use of every second possible.
“I don’t need anything, guys. Really.”
“Everyone deserves something on their birthday,” Lilly objects.
“Well, I already got you a gift,” Marge reveals, smiling smugly when the others gasp as if they’ve been betrayed.
In contrast, Rich’s hazel eyes shine through a heavy-lidded gaze, blinking at her slowly. It’s reminiscent of the stray coon cat often found roaming her street, the one she offers food scraps and belly scratches to whenever they cross paths. Somehow, Rich might be cuter than that giant fluffball.
Marge stopped at Secondhand Rose a few days back, browsing shelves full to the brim with trinkets and knick-knacks while her mother searched for a lamp. It was needed to replace the one in the living room that she swore she couldn’t stand to look at any longer. They could’ve gone to Danielle’s Decorating, but Mrs. Truman refused to pass up a good bargain, something Marge became very glad for once she spotted a stack of books. After perusing the selection on display, her stomach twisted in excited knots when she found one called The White Company by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It was bound to be a daring adventure featuring knights, warfare, and romance.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that Rich would love it (she really hoped so, anyhow), but didn’t have enough money to make the purchase herself. Right there, in the middle of the store, she begged her mother for help. Oh, she had to have it, she swore. It was perfect! And barely cost anything at all! Please, please, please? Mrs. Truman had (reluctantly) already agreed to let her go to the Santos residence for Rich’s birthday, and she couldn’t let her daughter show up empty-handed now, could she? That would be incredibly tacky and horribly rude. So with a tired sigh—and an utterance of something that sounded suspiciously like “Honestly, Margaret, don’t be so childish!” under her breath—the book became hers.
Both Truman ladies walked proudly out of the store with their highly sought-after loot.
Marge had also gotten Rich some tin cars from Casek’s Candy Shoppe, with hopes that at least a few of them would be new to his collection. So she was all set for Tuesday, aside from not knowing what to wear. That was a problem she had all weekend to solve.
“You’d better tell me if you don’t like it,” she says, nothing but honesty coloring her tone. “I mean it, Rich.”
Because sure, it would hurt if he hated her gift, but wouldn’t it be more useful to know? So she could get him a better one in the future? Sometimes, screwing up is the only way to learn. Which is, ironically, a lesson she learned by having screwed up royally.
“I know I’ll love it, Marge.”
“You can’t know that. It might be horrible. Terrible. The worst gift ever!”
“I don’t care. I’ll love it anyway.”
She rolls her eye. Bites back a grin.
“Oh, really? What if I gave you some chewed gum?”
“Then I’d keep it and start a collection of chewed gum.”
Marge nearly chokes on a barking laugh. An embarrassing snort forces its way out of her nose. Lilly tries using her hair as a way to block her expression, but those slim, shaking shoulders give her away.
“Oh, boy,” Ronnie huffs, though she can’t quite hide the giggle that follows. “Nasty!”
Will’s eyes crinkle when he says, “I really hope you got him something else, Marge.”
The bell rings as they shuffle along, bringing an end to their little bout of banter. Rich hands over Marge’s supplies when she and Ronnie stop at the door of their next class. Will drags him away by the back of his shirt as Lilly leads the charge to another door just a few feet away.
As soon as her butt hits the seat, Marge’s mind wanders back to her daydream. She’s itching to bring fantasy to life.
☀
☀
The assembly for sixth and seventh graders is the last of the day, but doesn’t take as long as Marge had been dreading. There isn’t much for Burton to say, really. Old students will be leaving, new students will be coming in, and everyone else will be shifting up a year.
He encourages all kids to have a fun and safe summer—then reads off a list of things they should do to prepare for their return. Will might be the only one in their group to take that advice to heart. Marge sure as hell hadn’t been listening. She’s pretty sure Rich fell asleep. His chin glistened with drool.
Rows of folding tables line the back wall, each one labeled with a homeroom teacher’s name that they’re told to stand in front of. Ronnie is forced to separate from the group, leaving Lilly, Will, Marge, and Rich in a single line together. The room is loud and hot. Too many bodies clumped together, shouting and shifting and all too eager to flee.
After a slow shuffle, it’s their turn to receive their final items: a report card, a yearbook, a pamphlet providing information about summer school opportunities, and the list of reading recommendations Burton recited just moments ago.
They take turns grabbing their boring goods, then make a mad dash for the exit, where they reconvene with Ronnie before spilling into the hall. It’s much emptier now. Less lively. Easier to navigate. All that’s left to do is clean out their lockers.
They start with Ronnie’s first, the front of which still holds a tinted hue thanks to the cruel words that had once been painted over its surface. There’s not much inside; just some candy wrappers, old tests, and a few mangled magazines. Lilly’s is next, with no one commenting on the faint aroma of pickles clinging to the books and folders lodged within. And then, before Marge knows it, it’s her turn. She stops in her tracks upon noticing a few jagged pieces of paper taped across the door, none of which had been there that morning. Spaz. Square. Freak. It’s not hard to guess who their authors could be.
Without missing a beat, Lilly and Ronnie rip them off the locker and toss them to the scuffed floor, adding to the last-day-of-school-mess already awaiting the perpetually disgruntled janitor. Marge smiles and gets to work. She pulls out stacks of assignments, a handful of notebooks (all of which are only partially used), plastic cigarette lighters she’d been obsessed with all the way back in November, and a cardigan she hadn’t even realized was missing. She can tell, with a quick once-over, that it’s too small.
With careful fingers, she peels pictures of Paul Anka and Doris Day from the interior and stores them in Rich’s satchel for safekeeping. Already understanding her love for Paul, Rich asks about the wonderful Miss Day.
“She’s amazing!” Marge declares with a wistful sigh. “I wish I could be just like her.”
Rich looks as if he has something he wants to say, but he chooses not to. Nods and smiles instead.
Marge sighs. Becoming an entertainer, just like Doris, had been a fanciful vision from those carefree years of single-digit childhood. That dream is no longer fun to imagine, not since her future had been so unceremoniously spoiled. Some of it, at least. Fame wasn’t in the cards for her. It had never been.
What about happiness? An underrated goal to strive for, but one she’d be happy to achieve. Nothing like a near-death experience to throw things into perspective.
They assist Will last, finishing in mere minutes due to the short amount of time he’s actually used it, and then turn to Rich. The space he’d had all year is surprisingly tidy. He’s got folders and spare pencils on one shelf, a couple of books collecting dust on another. Will grabs those for him, as they’re too high for Rich to reach. Crumpled sheets of paper litter the locker’s floor, alongside greasy napkins. He, too, saves the photos he’d used as decoration. Marge recognizes one figure as Hercules himself, Mr. Steve Reeves, but no one can identify the second man.
“That’s Minnie Miñoso!” Rich proudly declares. “He’s the Cuban Comet!”
“Wait, I know him!” Will says. “My dad likes baseball. I remember him saying Minnie was the first black player for the White Sox.”
“Yeah! He’s with the Cardinals now, but he’s played for the White Sox, the Indians, and the New York Cubans. Did you hear how he fractured his skull last month? Crazy stuff.”
Marge hadn’t known he liked baseball. She supposed there was a lot about Rich she didn’t know. Part of her felt guilty about that, as if she was at fault in some way. Maybe she should be a better listener. Maybe she should ask more questions.
But another part of her is excited. There’s still so much to share and learn about each other; she can’t wait to get started.
When the very last bell rings, it’s shrill and lingering, signaling an early release. Students whoop and holler as they stampede out the front doors, straight to their hard-earned freedom.
The sun is high and bright when their group exit. Barely any clouds hover in the beautiful blue sky. Even the air, though still clogged with spring pollen, smells crisp and fresh. Marge twirls Lilly across the grass, both girls giggling as they stumble. Ronnie and Rich race toward the bike racks. She puts up a good challenge, but Rich’s shorter legs outpace her in a short burst. Will stares down at the summer school pamphlet as he walks.
Marge has an amazing idea.
“Hey!” she shouts, gaining everyone’s attention. The pencil skirt she’s currently wearing makes it a little difficult to move as swiftly as she’d like. “We should sign each other’s yearbooks, right? I mean, we have to.”
“We can’t end the school year otherwise,” Lilly agrees, already pulling hers out of her bag.
Rich does the same, handing one of the two books in his possession over to Marge. Will and Ronnie follow suit.
“Don’t write anything too crazy,” Will says with a laugh. “I know my mom will want to read it.”
They stand in a circle and pass each book around in rotation, scribbling carefully crafted words above perfectly printed signatures. Marge tells Ronnie she’s glad they got to know each other and that she hopes she’ll get to read all about the new adventures she’s bound to have in Canada. She praises Will for his intelligence and waxes poetic about his amazing parents. For Lilly, Marge becomes more vulnerable, apologizing yet again for her poor judgment and thanking her for another chance. She says she loves her, that this summer will be better with them together, and that she’s looking forward to spending eighth grade at her side.
When it comes to Rich, there’s a struggle. Not because she can’t find the words, but because there are too many—most of which deserve to be spoken first. She takes a deep breath, cheeks puffing as she holds it, deflating on a slow release. The pen taps thoughtfully against his book, funneling words from her brain down to her hand as ink finally marks the page.
To Sir Rich of Derry, the ginchiest guy around:
Thanks for being so brave, loyal, and sweet. With you by my side, some of the worst moments of my life have also been some of the best. Maybe it’s too soon to say this, but I don’t care—I hope we’ll stay friends forever. Here’s to a boss summer!
With lots of love,
your Fair Maiden
She bites her tongue, wincing at the sharp shot of pain. Shit! Why did she say that? It’s too much, isn’t it? Too weird? With heated cheeks, she strikes several quick lines through those revealing words, hoping to turn them illegible. The ‘with lots of love’ also gives her pause; it’s nerve-wracking and too big, but not untrue. She can (and does) love her friends. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than that.
Unless Rich wants to think it does. He wouldn’t be wrong to.
Why does everything have to be so complicated?
Swallowing hard, she chooses something easy but still personal. Fun.
With lots of love, Captain Marge Truman
She takes a calming breath, then shuts the book, setting it atop the bag resting on his bike. Lilly, Ronnie, and Will eagerly scan the sentiments now decorating their own front pages, all wearing smiles that are sweet and heartfelt. Normally, Marge would try to sneak a peek, but she’s far too preoccupied with watching Rich continue marking her book with slow, careful strokes.
“Geez, are you writing a novel over there?”
The smaller boy pokes a tongue out through his teeth—in response to Will’s teasing or as a sign of concentration, Marge isn’t sure—but he remains utterly focused. Several more seconds tick by (with Marge shifting from foot to foot) before he finishes, handing the book back to her with a tiny smile and downcast eyes.
Marge immediately flips the cover open, greedily soaking in the words of her friends.
____
Marge—I’m glad we had you on our side. You’re one tough cookie! And you’re way better than those stupid Patty Cakes could even dream of being. Don’t forget that! Be happy and safe.
Your Friend, Ronnie Grogan
P.S. All of you better send me lots of pictures. If I can find my grandma’s camera, I’ll do the same.
____
It’s been fun getting to know you, Marge. If you ever want to talk about cartoons, I’m happy to listen… but I hope we can talk about science too! I’ll make it really interesting, I promise. Take care of Rich for me, okay? I know I don’t have to worry. It just makes me feel better.
No matter what else happens, we made it. Remember that.
I’ll miss y’all.
Sincerely, Will Hanlon
____
Dear Marge,
I’m forever grateful to call you my best friend. After EVERYTHING we’ve been through, you’re still the Lucy to my Ethel. Let’s make this summer a real blast. We deserve it! Can you believe I’m looking forward to 8th grade now? So much has changed, but I know nothing will tear us apart again.
Love, Lilly
____
To Margaret Truman, the toughest Capitana of the sea and the loveliest Fair Maiden in the land:
Getting to know you has made me feel like the luckiest guy in Derry. When I first moved here, my dad told me to be patient and proud. That it might take time to make friends, but when that time finally came it’d be worth it because I would’ve waited for the right people and the right people would’ve waited for me. I hate to admit this, but I was starting to lose hope before Will showed up. Now he’s my best friend! Then I met Ronnie and Lilly, and THEN I met you. Even though we had some tough times, I wouldn’t change anything. I still can’t believe the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen actually likes having me around! It’s an honor to call you my friend.
Sincerely Yours,
Ricardo Santos
(Sir Rich)
____
Marge sniffles by the end, a tear splattering onto the page when she blinks, creating a wet spot that spreads through the porous surface just as Rich’s words spread through her heart. Regret washes over her, settling like a bouncing ball in the center of her stomach.
Why hadn’t she let herself write more? Trying to keep it short and sweet seemed like a good idea. Now, after reading his thoughts, it’s so obviously inadequate. Those few lines of poetry Rich had tucked away in his shoe hadn’t clued her in to just how eloquent he could be.
Rich certainly didn’t talk this way, and yet… it felt entirely natural to who she knew him to be.
“Are you crying?” Ronnie asks, shocked by Marge’s sudden onset of emotion.
“No,” she lies, rubbing an arm against her nose. “Don’t be silly. It’s my allergies.”
“Since when do you have allergies?” Lilly murmurs.
Marge whips her head around, glaring until Lilly decides her nails have become incredibly fascinating. Sighing (and rubbing her nose), she tucks the yearbook under her arm, then makes a grab for Rich’s. He snatches it away just as her fingertips graze the shiny cover.
“Let me have it,” she demands. “I thought of more things to say.”
“No, it’s fine the way it is.”
“Like hell! Hand it over.”
“No!”
“Rich!”
“Whatever you wrote is what you wanted to say,” Rich explains, shoving the book into his bag when she makes another swipe at it. “Don’t add more just because I did.”
“But—”
“Just write the rest down and give it to him later,” Will suggests.
“Or you can keep fighting like an old married couple. It’s entertaining,” Ronnie teases, a wicked grin stretching across her face.
Lilly nudges Marge.
“Let’s get going.”
The school’s front courtyard has thinned out to almost nothing, with just a few stragglers mingling or goofing off. Marge already missed the bus, but happily so. She’s looking forward to enjoying such a clear sky beside her best friend on their walk home.
“Are we still meeting up after lunch?” Rich wonders. “At the Standpipe?”
“Around three,” Will confirms, already setting one foot on a pedal.
“Maybe we can visit Rose’s farm after.” Ronnie looks at each of them with a raised brow, her intention obvious.
Marge wouldn’t mind seeing Mr. Grogan again. He had a nice aura about him. Caring and calm. She remembers the few times she’d caught him at The Capitol Theater, before all this mess began. He smiled with true happiness. Marge could only hope he and his family found that again.
“See you soon!” Rich calls, riding away before Marge could try to needle him some more. She clucks her tongue.
Ronnie and Will cruise off soon after. It isn’t until she and Lilly head in the opposite direction that she realizes Rich still has her school supplies. Oh well. They’ll meet again in a few hours—and what does she need them for, anyway? She’s got half a mind to toss them in the trash.
Her shoes slap against the asphalt as they rush across the street. Sunshine kisses her pale skin. The trees sway with a gentle wind. A nearby screech startles her, but only for a moment. When Marge turns, she sees a couple of kids chasing each other with sticks across a pristinely maintained lawn.
“Why were you crying?”
Marge turns back around at the sound of Lilly’s question. It’s soft and curious, not at all judgmental. Marge closes her eye. Swipes a strand of hair away from her face.
“I wasn’t,” she insists. “I was just… overcome. With emotion.”
“People usually call that crying.”
Marge waves that clarification away.
“Rich wrote something really nice. That’s all.”
“Yeah? Did he confess his loooooove?”
Marge flushes. She twists her mouth to the side and adopts an exaggerated voice to croak:
“Why I oughta…”
Lilly giggles and skips away from the fist being shaken in her direction.
But when the joking subsides, Marge is left feeling breathless and off-kilter. It’s become a common occurrence whenever Rich is involved.
She’s not bothered by it. Not at all.