Bittersweet Summer (6 page)

“Claire is a pain,” I said. I dropped the bags on the kitchen floor. “Did you see her trying to get Ms. Morgan to be her new mother?”

Dad stopped rinsing out a thermos and looked at me. “I can tell she really likes Ms. Morgan. How do you feel about that?”

Mixed-up thoughts chased around in my mind. Ms. Morgan and Claire looking perfect together. Mom, who was going to always be my mom, but was never coming back to stay with us. “I don’t like it.” I heaved a sigh. “I don’t know.”

He stared out the kitchen window as water continued to run into the sink. He spoke softly. “She has a very pretty smile.” Finally, he turned the water off, but he didn’t turn around.

I was pretty sure he was talking about Ms. Morgan.

A package of chocolate cookies stuck out of the grocery bag. I pulled them the rest of the way out. “How come we didn’t eat these?”

“We were too stuffed.” Dad took the cookies from me and tossed them into the high cupboard.

“We’ll save them for the next picnic,” he said. “Don’t tell you-know-who where they are.” Tyler had finally crawled out of the car and stood yawning at the back door. “Don’t tell me what?” he asked, blinking his blue eyes at us.

“Did you have enough to eat?” Dad asked.

Tyler rubbed his stomach, stuck it far out, and looked down at it. “It’s full,” he said.

“Thank goodness,” Dad said. “We finally filled you up, Tyler.”

Tyler walked around the kitchen, sticking his stomach out as far as he could. “Is tonight the concert?” he asked.

“Thursday,” Dad said. He counted on his fingers. “Five more days.” He went out the door to lock up the car.

“Five more days,” Tyler said to me. “Mommy will come home then.”

I sighed. “You didn’t listen to Dad, Tyler. She’s coming for the concert, and that’s all.”

Tears burst out of Tyler’s eyes. “You’re wrong, Katie. And you’re bad.” He stuck his thumb into his mouth and then popped it out. “You don’t even want Mom anymore.”

But I do! I thought. I dragged down the hall with him sniffling behind me. Was something wrong with me that made me keep thinking about hugging Ms. Morgan? I did want Mom back. I did.

I could almost feel Mom coming out of the bedroom, walking down the hall to us. Shaking her finger at us, telling us to stop arguing and get ready for bed. Happy tears rushed into my eyes as I pictured her here with us.

“Maybe she will come back,” I told him. “Maybe she will.”

O
N MONDAY, DAD WAS
talking again about getting rid of extra stuff. “Janna Morgan says there’s a good place to take clothes and toys we’re not using,” he told us. “It’s a place where people who are poor can come and get free things.” He set a desk lamp next to a stack of folded shirts on the family room floor. “The clothes need to be clean. Not worn out.”

I went to my room and picked up the first thing I almost stepped on. My red-and-black T-shirt. Maybe someone else would like this shirt. But would she love it the way I loved it? It had a black Sharpie mark on the front, but I thought the mark looked like part of the design. I took it to the family room and put it next to Dad’s pile.

Tyler came down the hall dragging a set of Lincoln Logs.

“You’re giving those away?”

“No way,” he answered. “I’m going to build a garage for my little trucks to live in.”

I stopped at Dad’s office and looked in. “Tyler’s just playing,” I told him.

He shook his head at me and pointed me back to my room.

After looking in my closet, I remembered the mother-mouse hotel behind the couch. Tyler said he was done playing with it. I found three pairs of shoes that didn’t fit and a pair of boots that made a nasty, squeaky noise. I put them on the family room piles. Maybe Dad would be happy with me now.

By then, Dad had added a computer keyboard and some file boxes. “My office looks bigger now,” he said with a grin. “It’s beginning to have lines!”

“I hate lines,” I said.

He looked at my pile. “Is that all you could find?”

I stomped down the hall and sat on my bed. Summer vacation wasn’t supposed to be this horrible. Suddenly, I missed Sierra so much. If I moved away to Portland, would she remember me? Would we ever have another sleepover together? Would we ride our bikes to each other’s houses the way we had planned?

I lay down on my bed and hugged my pillow. How could I live without Sierra? I loved the way she crinkled her freckled nose. The way she snorted when she laughed. I loved the way she jiggled up and down when she was excited.

She would be so mad if I moved away. I imagined her pounding her fists on the bed beside me. “You cannot go away!” she would say in a sharp, high voice. And then, we both would hug each other and burst into tears.

My pillow was getting soggy. I sat up and blew my nose.

At lunchtime, Mom’s manager called Dad to say there were three tickets available for the Plummers and Ms. Morgan. “Their seats are farther back than ours,” Dad said, “but I don’t think anyone will mind.”

That’s fine, I thought. If they’re in back, I won’t have to watch Claire and Ms. Morgan together.

That afternoon, the doorbell rang. “Can I come in?” Claire asked.

A few minutes later, we sat on my bed. Claire opened a blue tote bag and pulled out yarn and knitting needles.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

She held up the blue yarn. “I’m making a cute headband for me. If it turns out nice, I’ll make one like it for Ms. Morgan. We can wear them when we’re a mother and daughter.”

I kicked my heels against the side of the bed and looked at Mom’s poster. I pictured her coming to life. She would say, “Katie needs a mother, too.” No, she wouldn’t. She would say, “Poor Claire. She needs a mother most of all.”

“What are you thinking about?” Claire looked up from her needles. “You have a weird look on your face.”

I straightened my face. “Nothing,” I said. Claire turned to look at Mom’s poster, too. “Will she look like that? On Thursday?”

“Probably.”

Claire’s blue eyes stared at me. “You don’t know?”

“Her concerts are always too far away. I’ve never gone to one.”

“If my mother was a famous singer,” Claire said, “I’d go see her all the time.”

I jumped off my bed and pushed the button on my CD player. “I know the songs she’ll sing.”

Mom’s voice came out of the speakers, singing about a train and saying good-bye. We listened to the whole thing.

Claire put down her knitting and clasped her hands together. “She wants to be at home, Katie. She’s a very lonely person.”

I frowned at her. “She was singing a sad song, that’s all. She’s been a singer since forever—since she was a teenager. She loves it.”

“What are you going to wear to the concert?”

I pointed to my dresser drawers and shrugged.

“You should get your hair cut,” Claire continued. “And make sure your teeth are very clean. If she likes you enough, she’ll come back.”

“Let’s do something else,” I said. I slid off the bed.

As we walked into the family room, Claire noticed the piles of stuff. “What are you doing with these things?”

“We’re giving them away.”

“How come?”

“I have to tell you something, Claire.” I turned to face her. “We might move to Portland.” I waved my hand at the piles. “Dad says we have to get rid of stuff so the house will look bigger. In case we need to sell it.”

“You might move to Portland?” Claire’s blue eyes got round.

“Yes.”

Claire looked down at the floor. She was very still for a moment. At last, she spoke. “I don’t want someone else to live in this house, Katie. Please don’t move away.”

I stared at her, surprised. She sounded like someone who liked me. My eyes filled with tears.

She kept looking at the floor, pushing her foot around on the carpet like she was drawing something.

“I don’t want to go,” I said, blinking back my tears. “But we might have to.”

“Everything is sad here,” she said. “I’m going home.”

I watched Claire walk across the street with her tote bag under her arm. I envied Claire Plummer. She would keep on living in her house across the street. Ms. Morgan would be her new mother. I wondered if they would ever look over and remember Katie Jordan, that sad girl who used to live here.

O
N WEDNESDAY, DAD SAID
we had enough things to take to the thrift shop. He was happier with me now because I had put more clothes in my pile. Mostly, they were fancy dresses that I had never worn. Mom never remembered that I didn’t like ruffles. Or pink.

“Giving things to people who can use them is good for us,” he said. “We should make a habit of doing this.”

“I didn’t like these anyway,” I said.

He frowned at me.

We parked next to a sign that said “Donations Here” and carried our stuff through a door that rang a little bell every time we went through it. Three women were inside, taking clothes out of plastic bags and hanging them on hangers. “Thank you for bringing things in,” one of the women said.

“I’ll put these right out in the store,” another one said. She gathered up our toys and carried them into another room. When the deck of Old Maid cards fell off the top, I picked it up and followed her.

People filled the aisles as they shopped for clothes and kitchen things. Next to the toy section was a corner filled with cute baby clothes. Kids were playing with some of the toys, and a girl my age was rocking a stroller with a sleeping baby in it while her mother picked out a tiny sundress.

Back in the sorting room, the women were gathered around a man who stood there holding a leash. A pretty yellow dog sat beside him.

“We hardly ever get a donated dog!” one woman said.

“The Humane Society will be here in a few minutes,” the man said, patting the dog’s head.

It looked up at him with laughing eyes. “I hate to give her up,” he said. “But the price of dog food . . .”

Dad was bringing in our last load. “Nice dog,” he said and held out his hand. The dog sniffed his hand and then licked it. “A very nice dog,” Dad said. He crouched down and rubbed the dog’s shoulders and back. He looked up at the man. “You have to give her away?”

“I’m moving to San Diego,” the man said in a soft voice. “My new place doesn’t allow dogs. And like I say, it’s expensive to feed her.”

I knelt on the floor, and the dog came closer. First, she leaned against me. Then she sat down in my lap. “You’re kinda big for this,” I said feeling squished, but warm. I pushed my fingers through her hair and made it stand up in a ridge. Then I smoothed it back down. She wagged her tail.

“Lucy likes you.” The man looked very sad.

“If I had this dog,” I said, touching her nose with soft fingers, “I would brush her every day.”

“We came to give things away,” Dad said, “not to get things.”

“I would feed her. Take her for walks. Give her a bath.”

Dad turned to the man. “We might be moving, too. To Portland.” He shook the man’s hand.

“Good luck with your dog.” One of the women touched my shoulder. “The Humane Society,” she said, “will make sure she goes to a good home.”

“But look at her face. She’s very worried.” I threw my arms around her again, and she licked my cheek with a long, wet tongue that smelled like dog food. She panted softly in my ear.

“Me, too.” Tyler reached out to pat the top of Lucy’s head.

“Say good-bye to Lucy,” Dad said. “We have to go now.”

Lucy’s dark brown eyes looked up at Dad. I looked up at Dad, too.

“Absolutely not a good time to get a dog,” Dad said. He reached down to scratch Lucy behind the ears. She thumped her back foot and smiled.

“She smiles,” I said. “Oh my gosh. This dog smiles.”

“Smile, dog,” Tyler said. He moved closer to Lucy and peered into her mouth.

“Hello, there,” a man said as he stepped around the bags of donations. “Someone called the Humane Society. Why, hello, pup.” A tall man with hair as red as Tyler’s held out his freckled hand. Lucy sniffed at it and then licked his fingers. “This one will be adopted in no time,” the man said. “People like yellow labs.”

“Dad,” I said.

The man looked at us. “You folks want to be first on the waiting list?” he asked. “We need a few days to make sure the dog is healthy. When we put her up for adoption, we could call you first.”

As Dad scratched Lucy’s head again, I stopped breathing. I looked at Tyler. He wasn’t breathing, either.

Even Lucy wasn’t breathing. She stared up at Dad as if she knew her future was in his hands. Dad rubbed his chin and closed his eyes. “Okay,” he said with a sigh. “Please put us at the top of the list.”

Lucy wagged her tail. Her dark eyes sparkled at us. She knew what Dad had said! She knew how much we wanted her.

We rubbed her and talked to her for a long time. Her owner showed us her tricks. She could sit and lie down and wait. She could even roll over! Finally, the man with the red hair put her in his car.

“Now,” I said, as we got back into our car, “we have another reason not to move.” Outside the car window, a girl my age walked past, carrying a familiar pink dress with ruffles. Dad saw her, too. He grinned at me.

I watched the girl get into a car and lay the dress carefully beside her on the seat. She patted the ruffles with soft fingers.

“Look at that,” I said. “Cool!”

F
INALLY, THURSDAY CAME. DAD
made Tyler take a long nap that afternoon. Then we packed some supper sandwiches and climbed into the car.

“It will take an hour and a half to get to Portland,” Dad said as he waited for me to get buckled in. “Don’t keep asking me if we’re there yet.”

While we ate our tuna sandwiches, I watched boring traffic. All these cars going to Portland, I thought. All these people driving along beside us. Were they glad to be going there? Didn’t they wish they could live in Hartsdale like us?

“I wish we had taken a picture of Lucy,” I said to the back of Dad’s head. “We could have showed Mom our new dog.”

“She is not our new dog.” Dad checked for traffic and pulled out to pass. “You can’t get a new dog and then pack up and move. It’s too confusing. You can’t do that to a dog.”