Bittersweet Summer (3 page)

“We keep our car spotless,” Claire said.

That was true. Claire’s car looked brand-new. Ours had a brown stain in the front where Dad had spilled coffee, and a green stain in the back where Tyler threw up once after eating spinach.

“Good morning,” Mr. Plummer said. “I’ve been pruning the roses. Big job.” He slid into the front seat and checked his watch. “The library opens in three minutes.”

“I’m going to read all kinds of poetry,” Claire said. “And then, I’ll write some.”

“A good thing to do,” Mr. Plummer said, glancing into the rearview mirror as he backed out of the driveway. “Reading good poetry trains your ear.”

I pictured Claire’s ear holding a pencil and giggled.

Claire frowned at me. I giggled again. When we walked into the library, tons of people were already there. “I have to find out where they keep the poetry,” Claire said. She went toward the librarian’s desk, her head turning back and forth like a robot’s head. I figured she was looking for Ms. Morgan—the real reason we were there.

Tyler tugged me into the children’s section and rushed toward the shelves of picture books. “See you later,” he called.

“Stay in the children’s area,” I told him.

“I don’t want children’s poetry,” Claire was saying to the man at the reference desk. “I want grown-up poetry.” He told her to go up the stairs and to the left.

“I’m looking for art books,” I said to him. “Grown-up ones.”

“Art books?” Claire turned back to me.

“Ms. Morgan likes artists, too,” I said.

“You didn’t wear the right clothes,” she said, looking at my shorts and T-shirt.

“Artists can wear anything they want,” I told her.

The man wrote down directions to the art section.

“There are some good books in the children’s room, as well,” he said, “if these don’t work for you.”

As we climbed the stairs, I planned my next bird picture. I could give it to Ms. Morgan when school started up next fall. I stubbed my toe on the next step as I remembered we might not be here next fall. We might be living in Portland. Ms. Morgan might be living at Claire’s!

Claire stopped to peer over the railing to the ground floor. “You can see more people from up here.”

“Forget it, Claire,” I said. “She’s not here. It’s a crazy idea.”

Claire sighed. “It was all I could think of. We’ll just have to come back every day until we find her.” We moved to one side so a mother carrying a baby and a huge pile of books could get past us.

“I’m serious about the art books,” I said, “even if you don’t really care about poetry.”

“I am very serious,” Claire said. “Ms. Morgan will love having a poet for a daughter.”

At the top of the stairs we split up. A few minutes later, I found art books. I was surprised! A lot of them were about drawing naked people. A lady with sharp glasses came to look at the art books, too, so I couldn’t even peek into the naked ones.

Finally, I found a book on how to draw birds. Step-by-step instructions. I went downstairs and checked the big clock in the lobby. The real estate lady was at our house right now. All at once I wanted to be at home. Dad needed me there to remind him that the Portland idea was a bad one.

In the children’s section, Tyler was sitting in a nest of picture books. His fingers were on the pictures, and he was telling stories about them to a baby snoozing in a stroller beside him. “You can’t take that many books home,” I told him.

“Be quiet,” he said. “This baby is sleeping. His mother is right over there.” He pointed to a woman who waved and smiled at me.

I moved down the rows of little-kid books to the novels. I pulled them out and read the first pages and the last pages to see if they were any good. I wondered if there were any books about kids having to move. Probably not. It was too terrible to read about.

When I checked on him again, Tyler was sitting in the window seat next to a big kid. The flannel shirt looked familiar. Alex Ramirez!

Alex looked up. “Hi Katie,” he said. “Is this your brother? He sure likes bridges.” He tapped the book that was spread across their laps.

“Famous Suspension Bridges of the World.”

“Go away, Katie,” Tyler said. “We’re busy.”

“Dad told me to check on you a lot,” I told him.

“I’ll watch him for a while,” Alex said. “He’s pretty fun.”

“Next bridge,” Tyler said. They both looked down as Alex turned the page.

As I went upstairs to find Claire, I once again saw the big clock. “You must not move to Portland,” the real estate person might be saying to Dad. She would pull on her feathered hat and wave a big purse at him. “Okay,” Dad would say. And that would be that.

In the shelves marked “NORTHWEST TRAVEL,” someone with a long, brown ponytail was pulling books off the shelf. Unbelievable! Ms. Morgan was here!

I scooted out of sight around the corner. The minute she saw her, Claire would start her project—working on Ms. Morgan to be her mother. I had to get Claire out of the library!

I ducked around the crafts section and into biographies. At last I found her, turning the pages of a fat book.

“We have to go now,” I told her. “It’s almost noon.”

She looked at her silver-and-blue watch. “We have ten more minutes.”

“Dad hates waiting,” I told her. “He gets furious.”

With a sigh, Claire straightened her blue shirt. She put on her dark glasses and her beret. At last, she turned toward the stairs, but she stopped to peer down every row of books. “I’ve been looking every five minutes,” she said. “I’m so sad she didn’t come.”

“Come on,” I said as I walked fast to the stairs. Tyler was playing a hide-and-seek game on the computer. It took forever for him to finish. Then Claire and I had to find the books he wanted to take home. “You’re so crabby,” he told me as we finally stood in the check-out line.

After checking out, I herded Claire and Tyler toward the front doors. We were almost out! Ms. Morgan would be safe for one more day.

“Oh my gosh.” Claire screeched to a halt. “There she is!” She raced back across the lobby.

Ms. Morgan was coming down the stairs. She looked up when she heard Claire’s voice. “What a surprise,” she said, smiling at all of us.

“Hi, Ms. Morgan,” I called. “We have to go. Dad’s probably out in front right now.” I pushed Tyler through the door.

“Quit that,” Tyler said, and all his picture books crashed onto my feet. “Quit pushing me,” he yelled.

In the checkout line, people turned to watch Tyler and me. But Claire stood close to Ms. Morgan, showing her the poetry books. Ms. Morgan smiled and nodded at her.

Her smile looked very motherly.

“H
OW COME WE HAVE
to wait for Dad out here?” Tyler asked. He dumped his books onto a bench next to the big planter and squinted at the cars going by on Monroe Street. “He’s not even here.”

“We just have to,” I said. I peeked inside to see Claire and Ms. Morgan still side-by-side in the line. I stacked my books next to Tyler’s and thumped myself down on the bench. I crossed my arms and stared at the library wall. Only Dad could save Ms. Morgan from Claire, I thought, and Dad was always late.

A few minutes later, Claire and Ms. Morgan joined us on the sunny library terrace. They didn’t look like a mother and daughter yet. They looked ordinary.

“What are you reading?” Ms. Morgan asked Tyler.

“Books about mothers,” he answered. He lifted the books up so Ms. Morgan could see the covers. Sure enough, every one of the books was about some kind of mother. Mother owls, mother monkeys, mother chickens, mother cows.

“Hmm,” Ms. Morgan said, looking into Tyler’s face with a kind smile.

He grinned at her. “I can read them myself.”

“Ahem,” I said.

“I can read big parts of them.” He glared at me, and his red hair bristled in the sunshine.

“Hello, everyone.” It was Dad, striding up the steps, all dressed up. “Ms. Morgan,” he said with a big smile. “We didn’t expect to run into you today.”

“Nice to see you,” she said. She held out her hand to shake Dad’s. “We don’t need to be so formal now that Katie’s in fifth grade. Please call me Janna.”

“Happy to do that,” Dad said. “If you’ll call me Bill.”

Janna! A delicious name! I bumped Claire’s arm, but she didn’t notice. She was staring at Ms. Morgan with a sappy smile on her face.

“I’m going to get to know Oregon this summer,” Ms. Morgan said. She held out her books. “This is a great one. Oregon Hiking Trails. I can’t wait to go hiking and backpacking.”

“Oregon has great trails,” Dad said.

“I like hiking,” Claire said, standing between Ms. Morgan and Dad and looking up into Ms. Morgan’s face.

“And this book,” Ms. Morgan said as she held out another, “is about all the parks. I just found out that Silver Falls State Park is not far away. I want to see those waterfalls.”

“The last time I went there, Katie was a baby,” Dad said.

“We should go there,” Claire said.

Dad nodded his head at Claire. “We should plan a picnic,” he said to Ms. Morgan. “Would you like to go with us to Silver Falls?”

Ms. Morgan nodded. “I’d love to.” She wasn’t acting at all like a teacher today.

“Great idea,” Claire said. She nodded at my dad as if he were her dad.

“When should we go?” Ms. Morgan asked. She pushed her ponytail over her shoulder and smiled at Tyler and me.

“Our life is a bit up in the air right now,” Dad said, and I wondered again about what the real estate lady might have said. Was the For Sale sign in our front yard?

Then I forgot about our house as I looked at Ms. Morgan smiling at Dad. Maybe Claire’s project wouldn’t work. Maybe Ms. Morgan would chose my dad, not Claire’s. I moved close to Dad and leaned against him.

“This weekend?” Dad asked.

Claire placed her hand on my dad’s arm. “That sounds perfect,” she said.

Dad looked down at her and said, “Claire, you and your dad should come, too.”

“Too many people,” I said, putting my hand on his other arm.

“We would love to,” Claire murmured.

“There’s not room in the car.” I tugged on Dad’s shirt sleeve.

Dad gave me the look. He didn’t know about Claire’s project. “I’m sure we can work out some driving arrangements, Katie. Shall we go tomorrow? Saturday?”

“I’ll bring potato salad,” Ms. Morgan said. After a few more plans were made, she waved good-bye and walked to the bike racks.

“She rode a bike here,” Claire said, clasping her hands together.

“People ride bikes around here,” I said. I gathered up my books and some of Tyler’s.

“I never thought she would.” Claire gazed at Ms. Morgan as if she were someone really famous. Finally, she picked up her books and started down the steps to the sidewalk.

“She’s not old,” I said. “Even Dad rides a bike.”

“Wish I had more time to ride,” Dad said as he opened the car doors. As we climbed in, I hoped Claire wouldn’t notice the banana peel that was stuck between the front seats. I didn’t need to worry. She was too busy cranking her head around to watch Ms. Morgan.

“Alex Ramirez!” Claire fell backwards against the car seat and pointed out the window. Alex was running down the library steps, his flannel shirt flapping around his legs. He went straight to the bike rack where Ms. Morgan waited.

He showed her his books, and they started laughing about something. Then, they both got on their bikes and peddled away.

“I
CAN’T BELIEVE IT
,” Claire kept saying. “Alex was with Ms. Morgan.”

“That’s my friend,” Tyler said. “He’s just like me. He likes bridges.”

“Maybe they live near each other,” I told Claire.

As Dad turned the car into our street I looked to see if there was a sign in front of our house. There wasn’t.

“Well, anyway,” Claire said, “I’m going to make a list for our picnic.” She got out of the car and started toward her house.

“We should make a list, too,” Dad said, “of all the things we have to do if I take a different job.”

He unfastened Tyler from his car seat.

“Is it definite?” I asked. “Are we going to move?”

“It’s not definite. I’m only getting information. Just in case.” He set Tyler down in the driveway and piled books into his arms. “But we have work to do. The realtor said no one can see the ‘lines’ of our house.”

“What does that mean?” I asked. “Lines?”

“If there’s too much clutter, you can’t see how big a house is. Or if it’s nice.”

“This porch doesn’t have any lines at all,” I said, stepping over Tyler’s pedal car. “Tyler has way too many toys.”

“No way!” Tyler roared. He pushed out his lower lip.

“We all have to get rid of things,” Dad said. I nodded my head at him. “Especially your stuff, Dad. All those fishing poles you never use.”

He held the door open for us. “I want the three of us to work together on this,” he said sternly. “I want us to act like a family.”

While he fixed peanut butter sandwiches, Dad talked about easy things we could get rid of—things nobody cared about. “Those old paper bags in the cupboard,” he said. “They can go to recycling. And the cardboard boxes in the utility room. I’ll flatten them.”

“After the utility room,” I said, “we’ll be done.”

“Katie,” Dad started, but then the phone rang.

It was Claire.

“My father says I shouldn’t expect him to fall in love with Ms. Morgan,” she said. “But I can tell he likes her, so I haven’t given up.”

I kicked a piece of carrot under the refrigerator with the toe of my sandal. Lucky thing Dad hadn’t seen me do that. I bent over to see where the carrot had gone.

“He says she was a special teacher, so our picnic should be special. Not ordinary.”

“Huh?” The carrot was out of sight. It was going to rot under there. I stood back up.

“We are going to make fancy sandwiches,” Claire continued. “What are you bringing?”

I tucked the phone under my chin. “What are we taking to the picnic?” I asked Dad.

“A watermelon?” he asked.

Claire sighed when I told her. “Watermelon is ordinary, Katie.”