Vivian Untangled. Sarah Hartt-Snowbell

carefully leaned the tiles against the side of the tub. “You’ll find one of those new-fangled clip-on lamps in the dining room. Probably on the shelf beside the window. We can use the lamp’s heat to dry all this out before goin’ on to the next step. Get the picture, Miss Fix-It?”

      “Sure do,” I said. “I’ll go get it.”

      The shelf was jammed with stuff. A stack of old phone books with curly pages, April’s Collier’s magazine—all about life on Mars—a seashell collection, and plenty of dust. But no clip-on lamp. “It’s not here,” I shouted.

      He called back. “Go ahead then. Try the china cabinet.”

      “Okay, Grandpa.” I opened the glass door of the china cabinet. What a jumble of stuff! There was an ashtray full of fishing lures, with dust clinging to their once brightly coloured feathers. Off to the side, I saw a sad-looking old radio with all its knobs missing, a sprinkling of dominos that had tumbled from a broken box and a few old prayer books. Ha, I thought. This ain’t no regular mess. This is a holy mess! On top of one of the prayer books, I saw a gold fountain pen and a silver bookmark that had gone all black from sitting around too long.

      Grandpa shouted, “Hey! What’s takin’ so long? Y’ buildin’ the lamp from scratch?”

      “I can’t find it,” I called.

      “Dang! I’ll go check the front parlour,” he said. That’s what Grandpa calls his living room. I’ll bet his mom and dad must have called it that too.

      While Grandpa was in the front parlour, looking for the lamp, I went back to the china cabinet to take a better look at the gold pen. I picked it up and took off the cap. Then I replaced the cap and set the pen back on the shelf. I began to walk away . . . but slowly turned back. What the heck am I doing? I picked up Grandpa’s gold pen once more, hesitated a bit, and then slipped it into the pocket of my dungarees. He won’t miss it. He probably didn’t even know that it was sitting there in his holy-mess-cabinet.