Claudia And The Terrible Truth (3 page)

    The boys didn't answer. I saw them draw closer together. I was so surprised that I couldn't say a word.
    "I'm going to ask one more time," said Mr. Nicholls. And then he began to shout. "WHO LEFT THE —" "I did," I said quickly. "It was me. I'm sorry. I was making us a snack when the doorbell rang, and — " "No problem," said Mr. Nicholls calmly.
    "Please forgive me for hollering. I thought it was one of my dumb, slobby sons who did it." I was shocked. I'd never heard a parent talk that way. But Nate and Joey didn't even seem to notice.
    "Now, can I offer you a ride home?" asked Mr. Nicholls. He sounded relaxed, even friendly. — "Thanks, no," I said quickly. "I can walk. It's not far." I could not fathom the idea of being alone in a car with Mr. Nicholls just then.
    On my way out, I remembered something. "Hey," I said to the boys and their father. "Tomorrow there's going to be a planning meeting for the St. Patrick's Day parade. I'll take you guys, if you'd like to come, and if it's okay. They'll meet lots of kids there," I pointed out.
    "I suppose it's all right," said Mr. Nicholls. I could tell he was still trying to be nice. 'As long as you promise to tell me if my boys misbehave." "Sure," I said. I knew Joey and Nate would behave just fine. They were good kids. I glanced at them on my way out, and when I saw their faces I could tell they were sorry to see me leave. I knew then that they hadn't had a bad experience with a baby-sitter.
    I wasn't the one they were afraid of.
    Chapter 5.
    Since Mal and Jessi were going to be sitting for Mal's brothers and sisters on Friday afternoon, they offered to host the St. Patrick's Day planning session. By the end of the day the kids had finally agreed on a great idea for the parade, but the process hadn't exactly been smooth.
    The Pikes' lawn may never be smooth again either.
    The kids were pretty excited about St. Patrick's Day. Jessi sensed that the moment she arrived at the Pikes' with her sister, Becca (who's eight), and Becca's friend Charlotte Johanssen (also eight).
    "Top o' the mornin' to you!" yelled Adam, one of the ten-year-old Pike triplets, when Becca and Charlotte entered the yard. It was one of those warm, springlike days early March can bring. The grass was just beginning to turn green, little sprouts of tulip leaves were starting to push up in the flower garden, and a lone robin patrolled near the apple tree.
    "It’s not morning, silly," answered Charlotte.
    "Top o' the afternoon, then," called Byron, another triplet.
    The third triplet, Jordan, was hanging upside down by his knees from a branch of a nearby tree. "Bottom o' the afternoon," he shouted, cracking himself up. "Get it? Because I'm upside down?" Becca and Charlotte exchanged a Look, rolling their eyes. They may be younger than the Pike triplets, but, as Becca once pointed out to Jessi, "girls mature faster than boys." Claire and Margo, Mal's youngest sisters (Claire is five, Margo's seven), were busy playing "I Spy"—with an Irish twist. Everything they described had to be green and something else.
    "I Spy with my little eye," chanted Margo, "something green and fuzzy." Claire looked around. Then her eye lit upon Jessi. "Jessi's sweater!" she yelled. "My turn." She looked around again. "I Spy with my little eye ... something green and slimy!" "Boogers!" cried Nicky, her eight-year-old brother.
    "Ew," said Margo.
    "Nicky!" yelled Claire, stamping her foot. "You're not even playing. And anyway, I don't see any boogers." "I do," said Nicky with a wicked grin. "They're hanging out of your nose." Laughing, he ran off before Claire could catch him.
    "What did you see, anyway?" asked Margo curiously.
    'A frog," said Claire, pointing. "That plastic one we lost last fall. I guess it isn't slimy, but a real frog would be." Vanessa wandered over and picked up the frog. "I wonder if this frog is Irish," she said. "Can you imagine him dancing a jig?" She paused to think. "A pig doing a jig would rhyme better," she mused. "Maybe the frog should be dancing a jog." Vanessa wants to be a poet when she's older. (She's nine now.) She spends a lot of time thinking up rhymes.
    Mal and Jessi were sitting on the porch, watching all of this, when Kristy showed up with her stepsister, Karen (she's seven); her stepbrother, Andrew (four); and her brother David Michael, who's seven like Karen. The kids scattered to play with their friends, and Kristy plopped down next to Mal and Jessi.
    "How's the planning going?" she asked.
    Mal and Jessi looked at each other. "Oops," Mal replied.
    Jessi smacked herself on the forehead. "I knew there was something we forgot!" Kristy folded her arms and frowned. She was about to say something when Mal and Jessi started laughing.
    "Just kidding," said Mal. "We thought we'd let the kids hang out for a bit first." Kristy relaxed. "Good idea," she said. She stretched and yawned. "This sun feels great." The three of them sat and chatted for awhile until the sounds of arguing interrupted their peace.
    "You faker,” Nicky was yelling.
    "It's not real," shouted Claire. "No fair!" "You don't win the race," said Becca. "Cheater, cheater," she began to chant.
    "What's going on?" Mal asked.
    Adam, who was the one everyone was yelling at, answered, "We were having a contest to see who could find the first four-leaf clover because it's like a shamrock and it's Irish. Plus, it's lucky." "Uh-huh," Mal said. She knew there must be more.
    'And I found one," said Adam. "See?" he held up his fist.
    Mal leaned close to look. "It sure looks like one," she said.
    "Make him hand it over," cried Margo.
    Mal held out her hand. Reluctantly, Adam gave her the "shamrock." It fell apart in Mal's hand. "It's two clovers you were holding together," she said. "The others are right." Adam hung his head. "I was just playing." "I know," said Mal gently. "No big deal." Then she looked around. "Oh, my lord," she cried. "This is a big deal. What did you guys do to this lawn?" She could see dozens of bare patches where the kids had been pulling up clumps of grass in their hurry to win the con- test. "What a mess!" she wailed. "We have to fix this up." "How about later?" called Kristy. I'd just arrived with Nate and Joey, and Kristy had decided it was time to start planning.
    Mal took one last look at the lawn, sighed, and agreed. "How about if we all sit on the grass over here?" she asked.
    Kristy, Jessi, and I helped round up all the kids. As we were organizing them into a circle, I heard Nate say to Joey, "Better not sit on the grass. You might stain your pants." Joey nodded. "Okay. I'll sit on that stone," he said, pointing to a flat rock. "You can sit on your jacket because it's dark. Stains won't show." Ordinarily, I would have told my charges not to worry. Now, after I'd seen Mr. Nicholls blow up over an open jar of peanut butter, I wasn't so sure. The boys were probably right to be careful. But it made me sad.
    "Okay," said Kristy, after she'd whistled for everyone's attention. "Some of you have mentioned wanting to march in the St. Patrick's Day parade that Stoneybrook is sponsoring this year. Any ideas about what we could do that would be special and fun?" Andrew, who was sitting between Joey and me, said something I couldn't quite hear.
    "Speak up, dummy! Nobody can hear you," said Joey.
    Andrew looked as if he were about to burst into tears.
    I was shocked. I hadn't heard Joey talk that way before. I could see that my friends were surprised too. "Joey, calling names can hurt people's feelings," I said. "You could ask him nicely." Joey looked ashamed. "I didn't mean — " he began. "Sorry," he said to Andrew. "I just wanted to make sure everyone could hear your idea." He looked at me as if to ask if that was better. I nodded.
    "What was it, Andrew?" asked Kristy.
    "I said I wanted us to have a marching band with big hats," he said. Everyone cracked up.
    "I know what he means," Kristy said. "We went to the St. Patrick's Day parade in New York City once, and Andrew loved those guys in the big, tall, furry hats. They play bagpipes." "We could do that!" cried Margo.
    Kristy rolled her eyes. She hates bagpipes.
    "I don't know," said Mal. "I think it might be pretty hard to learn to play bagpipes by St. Patrick's Day." Kristy shot Mal a grateful look.
    "Well, how about just the marching part?" asked Becca. "We could learn to do a march together." "What if we dance instead of march?" asked Karen. "I remember those dancing girls in the parade." She stood up and did an imitation of an Irish dancer, feet moving quickly and arms held straight down by her sides.
    "Hey, that's great!" said Joey, sounding more like the boy I knew. He stood up and started dancing too.
    "Irish dancing," mused Jessi. "That sounds like a great parade idea." "But I was thinking of a float," I said. "Something with an Irish theme. And the kids could be dressed like leprechauns, and — " 'A float is too complicated," said Kristy. "You have to build it, and paint it, and everything." 'And paint is too messy," Nate agreed. I had a feeling he was worrying again about staining his clothes. "Let's just be dancers." "Can we at least make costumes?" I asked. The dancing sounded good, but I wanted to be involved too, and I don't know much about dance.
    Everyone agreed that costumes would be great, and we started thinking of ideas. Then, suddenly, Claire rolled over in the grass and gave a loud shriek.
    "What is it?" asked Mal, rushing to her.
    "I found one! I found one!" She was on her feet now, dancing around, holding something in her fist. Guess what it was?
    A genuine four-leaf clover.
    Chapter 6.
    "Who's the bounciest baby," I sang as I walked around the kitchen with Lynn on my hip. "Who's the jounciest girl?" Lynn giggled. She loves the little songs I make up for her.
    I tested the formula I was heating. Nope, still too cold. I walked around some more. It was late Saturday afternoon, and before long I was going to have to leave Lynn in order to sit for the Nicholls boys. Now, I'd enjoyed sitting for the Nicholls boys, and I was looking forward to sitting for them again. But I didn't want to go just then. It meant giving up my last few hours with Lynn. While I was away, Peaches and Russ would come by to pick her up and take her home. "I hope your mommy and daddy had a great vacation," I told my cousin, rubbing noses with her. "I mean really really great, so they'll do it again soon!" Lynn gurgled her agreement. She was such a happy baby.
    I thought of Joey and Nate. Had they been happy babies too? Or had they always been nervous and shy? I had a feeling I knew the answer. Their personalities probably had a lot to do with the environment they'd grown up in. Mr. Nicholls was not exactly the sweet, loving, supportive type of parent I was used to. But I didn't want to judge him. I knew he was probably raising his kids the way he believed was right. Every parent has different ideas about how to bring up good kids.
    "We're lucky, you and I," I told Lynn as I nuzzled her neck. I didn't remember my parents ever yelling at me or Janine the way Mr. Nicholls yelled at Joey and Nate. And I knew neither Russ nor Peaches would ever blow up at Lynn for doing something as minor as leaving a jar of peanut butter out on the counter.
    I chatted with Lynn some more as I fed her a bottle and burped her. Then I changed her one last time and dressed her in the blue romper she looks so great in.
    Finally, reluctantly, I gave her one more kiss and handed her over to my mom. It was time for me to leave for the Nichollses'.
    "Well, hello, Claudia," said Mr. Nicholls, opening the door wide. I had to admit that he was always very nice to me. In fact, his friendliness made me doubt my memories of how stern he could be. Maybe I'd exaggerated his yelling and his strict rules.
    "Honey, Claudia's here," he called up the stairs. Then he turned back to me. "You'll be giving the boys dinner," he said. "Everything's ready to stick into the microwave, and there's plenty for you as well." He checked his watch, then looked up the stairs again, tapping his foot impatiently. "Let's move it, slowpoke," he yelled harshly. Then he grinned at me and shook his head. "Women," he said.
    I didn't know what to say. After all, I am — or will be soon — a woman myself. And I didn't think it was very nice of him to speak to his wife that way, even if he was joking. But I didn't feel it was my place to challenge him, so I just gave him a weak smile in return.
    Finally, Mrs. Nicholls appeared in a black dress and heels. "You look nice," I told her. She did, too. Her red lipstick was just right, and her hair was gleaming.
    "She better look nice," said Mr. Nicholls. "It took her over an hour to pull herself together." Mrs. Nicholls ignored him and smiled at me. "Thank you, Claudia," she said. "We won't be late tonight. Have a good time with the boys. I know they're looking forward to seeing you." "Where are they?" I asked.
    "In the living room, watching TV," answered Mr. Nicholls. "I told them to sit tight in there until you let them know dinner was ready." I pictured the boys sitting stiffly on the sofa, hands folded in their laps, waiting obediently for dinner. With that image in mind, I hurried Mr. and Mrs. Nicholls out the door.
    "Hi, guys," I called, poking my head into the living room. 'Are you enjoying your show?" They looked almost exactly as I'd imagined, except that Joey was sitting on an easy chair and Nate was on the floor.
    "Not really," admitted Nate. "It's kind of boring." "Want to come help me make dinner?" I asked.
    "Definitely!" said Joey, springing to his feet. "Dad never lets us help. He says we just get in the way. But I like to help when Mom lets us." "Joey is a good cook too,” Nate said. "You should see him mix cookie dough." The boys followed me into the kitchen, and the three of us had dinner (microwave macaroni and cheese with steamed broccoli) on the table in no time flat. I poured milk for Joey, apple juice for Nate, and grape juice for me, and we sat down to eat.
    "So, what did you guys do today?" I asked after a few quiet moments had passed.
    Nate glanced up with a surprised look on his face. He didn't answer.
    "Did you ride bikes? It was warm today. Or did you just hang out?" Joey cleared his throat. "We — we aren't supposed to talk a lot during meals," he explained. "Like, it's okay to ask for the salt and stuff, but Dad says he likes quiet time to concentrate on his food." I nodded. "Well, just for tonight, let's talk," I suggested. "I don't mind a little conversation while I eat." In fact, I was brought up to think that mealtime was family discussion time, but I didn't mention that.