"Okay, Cal, I'm ready," I say dunking my head under the kitchen sink.
"Well, hold on Miss Scout, I got to go get the shampoo."
I am almost afraid of letting Cal wash my hair. The way she's been on me lately this is probably her dream come true, dunking my head under water for a long period of time. I don't understand why she needs to help me with this anyway. I am eight years old and I'm pretty sure I can wash my own hair by now.
I turn the water on warm as soon as she walks in the shampoo she bought from Main St. Drugstore. I helped her pick it out; I loved the lavender fragrance. I wince through the hard massage as suds form from my head and drip into the fawcet. Nothing new here as this is the treatment I always got from her washing my hair. I always breathed a sigh of relief when it was time to rinse.
"There you are, Scout," she wraps the towel over my head and she gives me a kiss on the cheek. Another thing she has always done, giving me a kiss after a wash or bath.
"Now, I already done got the bathtub ready for you. You can wash your body on your own," Cal says escorting me to the bathroom anyway.
"Thanks, Cal," I say almost ecstatic about having some privacy. I need to relax. I take off my newly soaked clothes and hop into the warm water which feels like heaven to me. I reach over agrab the honey scented bar soap and lather my whole body with it. As suds form all around me, I feel the day wash off me too.
"Well, that Miss Jean Louise, she's just jealous of me, you know!"
'Oh, shut up Pumpkin!' I think to myself. The scenes of the day keep flashing through my mind.
"At least your daddy knows his place unlike hers!"
And believe it or not, that did not come out of Cecil Jacob's mouth. Mary Peterson is Pumpkin's best friend and she did not care if I overheard her rude comments about Atticus. She is a nasty little thing and so isn't Elizabeth Jenkins who just sits there and nods with everything Pumpkin and Mary say. I have another Mary in my class but she's like Agnes Boone, they just get quiet and look at me with apathetic eyes. Tears are falling down from mine, speaking of eyes.
"Scout, you almost out?"
"Yes, Atticus," I let the water drain out as I wrap the towel around me. A brush through my hair, a night shirt over my head, I'm rolling. Atticus is in the living room reading the paper as usual. I go over to him and give him a hug.
"I love you, Atticus."
"I love you, too, sweetheart," he says looking up from the paper and kisses my cheek. "You're a good girl."