Anastasia Has the Answers Read Online Free PDF Page A

alias Aunt Rose, had been returned to the toy box, and all of the Matchbox cars were back on the windowsills in Sam's bedroom, where they usually stayed.
    Whew.
    "Anastasia? Hi, sweetie, we're home!" It was her mother's voice. Anastasia ran to the front door and greeted both of her parents.
    "Dinner smells terrific," her father said as he took off his coat. "It's good to be back. Anastasia, do you remember my brother? This is your Uncle George."
    Anastasia turned to shake hands with her uncle, and she said the words that she had carefully prepared in her head.
    "I'm glad you came, Uncle George," she said politely, "and I'm really sorry about Aunt Ro-"
    But then she stopped. She stared at him. She could hardly believe it.
    "Holy—" Anastasia murmured. Then she caught herself. "I'm really sorry about Aunt Rose," she said again, since the words had trailed off the first time.
    "Thank you," Uncle George replied, and smiled at her. He turned to hang up his coat, and Anastasia watched intently. Was it
really
Uncle George? She hadn't seen him since she was two, and she couldn't remember that. Had her parents maybe played a trick? They had had that conversation about Rhett Butler just the other night.
    Had they brought Rhett Butler home to meet her?
    Well, that was a stupid thought, Anastasia realized. Rhett Butler was a fictional character.
    But had they—maybe—brought
Clark Gable
home from California?
    That was even more stupid. Clark Gable had been dead for years.
    It
was
Uncle George. It had to be. But he looked exactly like Clark Gable.
    He's tall, thought Anastasia.
    He's handsome.
    He has a mustache.
    He's—Anastasia remembered her parents saying this—
rich.
    And he is—well, maybe it was gross even to think this, since it was so recent that Sal Monella had done away with Aunt Rose, but let's face it, Anastasia thought; let's be honest—Uncle George is a bachelor.
    And Anastasia knew a couple of women who would be thrilled to meet him.

5

    "Anastasia," Gertrude Stein whispered at the Krupniks' back door as she buttoned her sweater and prepared to walk across the yard to her own house, "I'm going to make a very noble gesture. I'm going to relinquish any claims I might have."
    "Are you
sure?
" Anastasia asked. "Because I really wanted you to have first shot at him. And I could tell at dinner that you liked him."
    Gertrude chuckled. "Where's my bag? Oh, there—on the table. Would you hand it to me, Anastasia?" She took the little overnight bag that she'd been using and turned to leave. "I
do
like him,"
she said. "He's a very charming man. And you're right—he looks exactly like Clark Gable.
    "But I'm afraid he's too young for me, Anastasia," she said. "Now, let's see: toothbrush, nightgown, slippers — I think I've got everything. Goodnight, Anastasia. Tell your mother I'll talk to her tomorrow."
    She gave Anastasia a kiss on the cheek and headed down the porch steps and across the lawn toward her own house next door. Anastasia watched her. Gertrude walked very carefully and slowly because of her arthritis and because her eyesight wasn't what it once had been. She was a little stooped, and her hair was gray and wispy. Still, she was one of Anastasia's very favorite people, and Anastasia wanted Gertrude's life to be happier and less lonely.
    "Gertrude!" she called in a loud whisper across the yard.
    Mrs. Stein stopped and looked back. "What?"
    "
Cosmopolitan
magazine had an article about it and they said it was not only okay but sometimes very desirable!" Anastasia called, trying to keep her voice down so that her parents, in the living room with Uncle George, wouldn't hear.
    "
What
was okay? I can't quite hear you!" Gertrude cupped one hand behind her ear.
    Anastasia ran down the steps and across the lawn. "Older women and younger men," she explained breathlessly to Gertrude. "
Cosmopolitan
says that sometimes it's the best combination of all, and you shouldn't back off from it out of fear for what people might say.