Bittersweet Summer (10 page)

“I had a cat,” Mr. Plummer said.

Claire stopped whooshing away a pesky fly and turned to stare at him. “How come we don’t have a cat?”

“I thought you were going to get fish,” I said. We told everyone about the fish we took care of during spring vacation.

Ms. Morgan poured more lemonade for Alex, Tyler, Claire, and me. “Did you see your paper plate picture?” she asked as she poured mine. “I put it on the mantel. The place of honor.”

“Katie is quite an artist,” Dad said.

“Both your children are very special,” Ms. Morgan said. She touched Dad’s shoulder and smiled at him.

“Thank you,” Dad said, but right away, he dropped his fork and disappeared under the table to get it.

“I’m going to learn to draw a duck next,” I said.

Tyler nodded at me. “A duck will be good, Katie,” he said.

Oh no! I thought. Why on earth had I mentioned a duck? Now he would start again on poor baby ducklings looking for their mothers.

But Tyler was sliding his spoon around his plate, chasing a piece of strawberry from the fruit salad. He looked up. “Do a daddy duck. And two little ducks. Just like us.”

Dad wiped his fork with a paper napkin and grinned at me. “Whew,” he said. He gave me a relieved wink.

W
HEN WE GOT HOME
from Ms. Morgan’s, Dad hurried into the house. “I want to check my voice mail,” he said. He went into his office and I heard him dialing. A minute later, he shouted something that I couldn’t hear.

It was about the job. I knew it. We were going to have to move.

I looked around our dear family room. The wall by the door had a streak that looked like blue lightning, left from when I tried out my new bike when I was eight. In the backyard, Tyler had a hidey bush. He hid there once for hours while Dad and I looked everywhere for him. A new house wouldn’t have our special marks on the walls. It wouldn’t have our special places.

“Listen to this.” Dad came running out of his office. “I’m turning on the speakerphone so you can hear.”

Tyler ran past me to Dad’s office. “I don’t want to,” I said.

“Come on, Katie,” Dad said.

I covered my ears and walked toward my room.

In Dad’s office, a voice started to speak.

“Flagstaff here. Bill, old buddy, what’s going on? Here I am in Germany, talking to folks in the solar industry. The main company I’m talking to is Solacom. They have offices in Portland. Those guys tell me you want to do projects for them, not me.”

I stopped next to Dad’s office door.

The voice started again. “I want you to keep working for me. I’ll give you a raise. A longer vacation. Anything! Don’t . . . tell . . . them . . .yes.”

Another pause. “I’ll call you Tuesday. Goodbye.”

Dad pushed some buttons on the phone and held his finger in the air over the play button. “He’s cut back on the old companies,” he said slowly, “because he’s more interested in solar energy. That makes perfect sense.” He pushed the button. Mr. Flagstaff said everything again.

“That’s Mr. Friend talking to us,” Tyler said. “I need to get my trucks out so he can play with me.” He ran down the hall to his room.

I stood very still. “Does this mean . . . ?” I asked. But my throat closed up. I couldn’t say another word.

Dad held his arms out to me. He folded me close and rocked me back and forth. At last, his voice rumbled against my ear. “No Portland. We’re staying right here.”

I listened to him breathing, slow and deep as the confusions of the whole week began to sort themselves out. No more thinking about whether our house had lines. No more cleaning up my closet and giving things away.

“I should call Janna,” Dad said. “Tell her.”

I pulled away from him. “Too much is happening. I have to talk to Sierra right this minute.”

“She doesn’t even know about it,” Dad said. “Does she?”

“I have to tell her anyway,” I said. “She needs to know we almost lost each other forever!”

At that moment the phone rang. “Why hello!” Dad said. “We were just talking about you.” He grinned as he handed me the phone.

“Hi, Katie,” Sierra’s voice said. “We’re standing in a long line at this restaurant Grandma likes. Dad said since I was driving him crazy, I could call you on his cell phone.”

“I have to tell you important things,” I told her. “Dad and Tyler and I almost had to move to Portland. I wasn’t going to see you anymore.”

“You can’t move away,” Sierra yelled, and I heard someone hush her. Her voice got a little softer. “You can’t move away. We’ve got plans! I just talked Mom into letting me ride my bike to your house.”

“We’re not moving,” I told her. “We just found out we’re not moving.”

I heard Sierra’s voice telling her family the news. As she talked to them, I watched Dad, sorting papers on his desk. He threw Real Estate Sadie’s card into the wastebasket, and a huge weight lifted out of my stomach. Then, he got the card back out. “Have to let her know,” he muttered to me. “Tell her we’re not selling.”

“My whole family says you cannot move to Portland,” Sierra said. “But if you do, you can live with me. Mom said you can have the bedroom with the green stripes.”

My eyes filled with happy tears. Sierra was better than a best friend. She was like a sister. “Tell your mom thanks,” I said, but then I looked at Dad’s face as he sorted through his papers. “But if I lived with you, I would miss Tyler and Dad.” I sighed. Things were never simple.

“We went up the Space Needle,” Sierra said. “And we went to a market where they throw huge fish around in the air.”

“We went to Mom’s concert last night,” I told her. I took a deep breath and rushed on. “And today, we went to Ms. Morgan’s house for a barbecue.”

“Oh my gosh! Ms. Morgan’s?”

“In her backyard.”

“Oopsie, the line is moving,” Sierra said. “Dad wants his phone back. I have to say good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” I said. “See you next week.”

As I put down the phone, I hit myself on the head. “I forgot to tell her about Lucy! But Dad! You still haven’t said . . .”

Dad touched my arm. “Yes. Lucy will be our dog. I’m sure we’ll have her by the time Sierra gets home.” He smiled at me. “Any chance I could use the phone now?”

I was still clutching it. “It’s sort of hot and wet,” I said, handing it to him, “from talking to Sierra.”

“I’m going to call Janna,” he said.

“And the next question is . . .” I drew in a breath, all at once, scared to even think about Ms. Morgan and Dad.

“Will she . . . ?” I stopped and rubbed my damp hands on my shorts. “Be our new mother?”

He stopped dialing and put the phone down. “Katie,” he said. “New mothers take time. Months. Sometimes, years!”

“Years?” I stared at him.

“First, you get to be good friends,” Dad said.

“But you really like her, don’t you, Dad?”

“She is special,” he said. “I was glad to find out that Eric is only her brother.” He stood up. “I wonder if I might have my office to myself for this call.”

“Years?” I repeated.

“In the meantime, there’s the dog,” Dad said, whooshing me toward the door.

“The dog!” I rushed out of his office and down the hall to Tyler’s room. “Tyler, Tyler, Tyler,” I yelled. “We’re not moving! We’re staying here! We’re getting Lucy!”

As Dad closed his office door, Tyler ran into the hall and stared at me with wide, blue eyes.

“Uh-oh,” he said as he scooted back into his room and leaped into Lucy’s box. “She’s going to sleep right here,” he yelled. “You can’t have her.”

“No way, Tyler. We have to share!” I rushed into his room and leaned over him. “That’s what families do.”

His eyes peeked over the top of the box. “Okay,” he said in a softer voice. “Come in here. Maybe we can all fit.”

“It’s too crowded.” I watched him scoot into one corner. Making room for me.

“Crowded is good, Katie.”

Crowded with Tyler. Crowded with Lucy. We would always make room for one more.

I climbed in beside him.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright © 2012 by Anne Warren Smith

Cover illustration copyright © 2012 by Tuesday Mourning.

Designed by Lindaanne Donohoe

978-1-4532-7083-7

Published in 2005 by Albert Whitman & Company.

For more information about Albert Whitman & Company,

visit our website at
www.albertwhitman.com
.

This 2012 edition distributed by Open Road Integrated Media

180 Varick Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com

FROM ALBERT WHITMAN

AND OPEN ROAD MEDIA

Available wherever ebooks are sold