While Arthur puzzled over his grandfather's forgetfulness, Binky was strolling down the sidewalk toward Molly's house, with a reluctant George in tow.
"The last time Molly and I spoke, she threatened to rip out my antlers and use them as drumsticks on my head," said the moose boy nervously.
"She's cooled off since then," Binky reassured him. "You have nothing to worry about."
The normally unkempt yard in front of theMcDonald house had been cleared of junk and neatly mowed, and a broken window had been patched up. It was almost enough to convince Binky that a new family had moved in.
Mrs. McDonald, who had also spruced up her appearance, welcomed them inside. The house was cleaner and better organized than when Binky had seen it last. George waved his head around, gaping at the paintings of mountains and rivers on the walls, and wondering how soon he would be clobbered.
Molly confronted the two boys as they stepped into the living room. George had never seen her with exposed eyes before--they made her look more like a human (rabbit) girl, as opposed to an unstoppable bullying machine. "Hi, Binky," she said flatly. "Hi, George." She wasn't smiling, but on the positive side, she wasn't scowling menacingly either. She still wore the red dress and white pumps that she had sported at church.
As she led them to the couch, George let his curious mouth get the best of him. "Aren't you gonna beat me up?" he asked innocently.
"No," Molly replied as she flipped up her skirt and seated herself. "I don't do that anymore."
George's tone became hopeful. "Does...does that mean we can be friends?"
"Sure, whatever," said the rabbit girl flippantly.
Mrs.McDonald took a seat opposite the kids, and then several men filed into the room--Ben McDonald, Jack Barnes (Binky's father), and Reverend Mark Fulsome. The camaraderie among them was warm, and the subject of conversation turned to the subject of future hopes.
"Now that I've found the true way, I'll never depart from it," said Mr.McDonald with an air of triumph. "I didn't value my family before, but now I see they're the only thing in the world that matters."
Mrs.McDonald brought out a few plates of finger food, which proved tasty, but other than that the kids found the chatter to be trite and boring. It consisted primarily of Mr.McDonald proclaiming his resolve to make something of his family, and Binky's father and the reverend giving him words of encouragement.
Then a knock came at the door. Mrs.McDonald opened it, and a short but swarthy-looking cat man boldly stepped inside. His black hair was tied in a short ponytail in the back, his face was adorned with a goatee, and he wore a fine gray flannel suit. The color seemed to drain from the faces of Molly and her parents when they laid eyes on him.
Mr.McDonald rose cautiously to his feet. It seemed to Binky and George that he was fighting back a titanic disgust for the visitor. "Outside," he said calmly but authoritatively.
"Very well," responded the cat man in a gravelly voice.
All eyes watched curiously as Mr.McDonald and the unexpected guest exited the house.
Once he had closed the door, Mr.McDonald led the man around the house to the back yard. Concealed behind the wall, they spoke in hushed but urgent tones.
"I won't have you in the same room as my wife and daughter," said Mr.McDonald indignantly. "You and your way of life are an abomination to me now."
The black-haired man glared at him with piercing eyes. "You're throwing away a great opportunity," he insisted. "You have potential. You can go a long way. I urge you to reconsider."
"Not only will I not reconsider," Mr.McDonald replied angrily, "but I'll oppose you any way I can."
Inside the house, Binky and George followed the still-pale Molly to a corner of the room while Mrs. McDonald, Mr. Barnes, and the reverend talked among themselves.
"His name's Ray Mansch," Molly told the boys. "Four years ago, before my dad went to jail, he came to our place all the time. I'm pretty sure they were partners in the heist, but my dad wouldn't implicate him."
"What's implicate?" asked Binky.
"My dad had a partner when he stole the jewels," Molly continued. "He was caught, but his partner got away. He wouldn't say who the partner was, but I just know it was Mansch."
"What does he want now?" George wondered.
"I don't know." Molly's face darkened. "Maybe he wants Dad to do another job."
George and Binky witnessed in amazement as the rabbit girl's eyes turned misty.
"I hope he doesn't," she said morosely. "If Dad turns back to crime, I'll never have a good life. I'd rather have him bossing me around, and making me go to church, and telling me what to wear."
----
Arthur set his alarm clock to go off early the next morning, as he had special plans.
The first rays of the sun had just squeezed through the blinds in D.W.'s room when the sleeping girl heard a voice call to her. "Dooorrraaa..."
Dragging open her eyelids, she beheld the familiar sight of Arthur's face in the dim light. Her older brother was dressed for school, but for some reason had neglected to put on his glasses.
"Wake up, Dora," he called softly.
"Ugh...ergh..." D.W. pushed herself up and hopped out of the bed while Arthur reached over and flipped on the light.
"Why aren't you wearing your glasses?" D.W. asked as she straightened her pajama top.
"I got cataract surgery a year ago," Arthur explained. "I don't need glasses anymore."
D.W. became confused. "Huh?"
"Oh, I forgot," said Arthur, smirking. "The disease."
"What disease?"
Arthur knelt down and looked D.W. straight in the eyes. "How old are you?" he inquired.
"Five," his sister answered. "Almost six."
"Wrong," said Arthur firmly. "You're seven. Almost eight."
D.W. turned around and compared her height to that of her mattress. "But I'm too small to be seven," she said matter-of-factly.
"No, you're not. All seven-year-olds are the same size as you."
D.W. shook her head incredulously. "You're being silly, Arthur."
"And all twelve-year-olds are the same size as me," said Arthur, straightening his legs. "You caught Alzheimer's disease from Grandpa Dave. It made you forget everything for the past two years. You're in third grade, and I'm in seventh grade. Mr. Ratburn is your teacher."
Fear seized upon D.W.'s impressionable mind. "B-but I can't go to th-third grade," she sputtered. "I don't know how to read yet."
"Then I'll teach you before we go to school." He gestured toward the opened door. "Come on, Dora."
"Don't call me Dora," D.W. complained.
"But that's your name," said Arthur. "We all stopped calling you D.W. when you were six."
"Oh, man," groaned D.W. as she followed Arthur along the hallway and into his bedroom.
To her surprise, a girl in a blue dress and hair bow was standing in the middle of the room, whistling carelessly. "Fern?" gasped D.W. "What are you..."
The poodle girl leaned over and kissed Arthur on the cheek. "Good morning, dear," she said sweetly.
Arthur grinned at the sight of D.W.'s blank, confused stare. "Fern and I are married now," he explained.
"M-m-married?" his sister stammered.
Arthur waved his hand in the direction of the closet. D.W. turned her head and cried out in shock when she saw a row of blue dresses hanging next to Arthur's sweaters and shirts.
Fern placed her arm around Arthur's shoulders. "I love Arthur so much," she said dreamily. "It was hard for me to wait until I was twelve, but I did."
Dumbfounded, D.W. clutched her ears and waved her head to and fro, muttering, "Omigoshomigoshomigosh..."
"Fern and I will teach you to read so you'll be ready for Mr. Ratburn's class," Arthur said to her. "He's really tough."
"But...there isn't time," D.W. protested. "Learning to read takes a hundred years."
Fern looked over at Arthur. "She's got a point there."
Arthur nodded. "Don't worry, Dora. If there's not enough time before school, we'll keep teaching you during the class breaks, and recess, and lunch hour."
As D.W. pondered the Herculean task of relearning two years of school in one morning, a thought occurred to her. "Hey, wait a minute," she blurted out, folding her arms. "You two are seventh graders now, right?"
"Yeah," replied Fern.
"Then you should go to the middle school."
Arthur reached up to fidget with his glasses, but remembered he hadn't put them on. "Uh, they put the elementary school and the middle school together," was his lame explanation.
D.W. pointed. "And aren't those your glasses on the nightstand?"
Arthur looked over his shoulder. There, indeed, were his spectacles, sitting where he had left them.
He grinned sheepishly. "Uh, yeah. I keep those around to remind me of how fortunate I am to not have to wear them anymore. Yeah, that's it."
Arthur and Fern watched anxiously as D.W.'s once-panicked expression transformed into a blood-boiling scowl.
They were rescued from her wrath when Mrs. Read pushed the door open wider. She wore a nightgown and clutched a steaming coffee mug in one hand. "Ready for breakfast, kids?" she summoned them.
"Yes, Mrs. Read," Fern answered.
"I sure am hungry," Arthur added.
As D.W. followed the pair toward the kitchen, she grumbled softly enough that only they two could hear, "Enjoy your last meal."
