Dana's Valley (5 page)

Before my birthday actually arrived every year, the greatest gift of all had presented itself—freedom. School was over, and summer vacation beckoned with its invitation to outdoor fun. No more assigned reading. No more worksheets and reports. And definitely no more math problems!

My birthday celebration turned out to be a family dinner and a birthday cake of my choosing—heavy-duty chocolate with thick chocolate icing. We didn't have any guests, and I didn't really care. Marcy was away, as usual. I knew my special turn would come when I hit that magical age of thirteen. Marcy had already promised that even the temptation of visiting her grandparents at the lake would not keep her from celebrating that birthday with me. Besides, I admitted as I snuggled under my new blue comforter each night, I had sort of muscled in on Dana's birthday anyway.

I was pleased with my gifts, especially the used computer that I was to share with Dana. Daddy's office had been upgrading, and he had gotten a good deal on what we deemed to be an exciting machine. Now we wouldn't have to vie for time to play video games or surf the 'net in between Brett or Corey. But with the freedom from classes and schedules, even the computer sat unused.

I intended to make the most of the all-too-short summer months. Dana and I were allowed to stay up later, to watch more television, and to visit with neighborhood friends almost as often as we wanted. Even Mom got into the summertime spirit with extra flare. This would be the last summer before Corey would begin kindergarten, and we knew she would savor every moment with her youngest.

At least once a week she loaded us all into the van, and we took a picnic lunch down near the shady creek-side park to sit, eat, and relax. Sometimes on a quiet back road she even let Brett take the wheel, though she insisted that he go painfully slow. Normally it was only Daddy who took Brett on his practice runs.

At the park Corey splashed in knee-deep water, caught minnows and tadpoles, and soaked himself to the skin. Dana curled her legs up under her on her favorite rock and read blissfully, soaking in the sunshine. I chatted with Mom, stretched out on the cool grass, or wandered alternately between Corey and Dana. Brett had taken to bringing a fishing rod, and on rare days he actually hooked a fish that was large enough to take home and cook, which was always Daddy's job. Mom would not cook anything she'd seen moving and alive. She had a pretty hard and fast rule about that.

On other days we were allowed to walk to the strip mall that sat on the highway near our neighborhood. It wasn't much. Just a gas station, a mini mart, and a bookstore, but we always felt it was worth the trip anyway. The chance for an outing was really our main interest. Mom wouldn't allow us to ride our bikes because she said the sidewalks were safer and we'd be more careful if we weren't racing.

In August Grandma and Grandpa Walsh arrived in their motor home for a visit. They parked their rig in the driveway, hooked our hose up to supply their makeshift kitchen, and placed their lawn chairs directly in front of the basketball hoop—no more playing in the sprinkler or shooting baskets.

“Now, Angela, we don't want to be any trouble. Just pretend we're not here at all.” I knew Mom wasn't quite sure what the expected response should be. But she never tested the concept to see if they were serious either. She cooked extra at every meal and canceled all of the unnecessary engagements for the duration of their visit. Daddy said she didn't have to, but Mom did it anyway.

I enjoyed visits with my grandparents. Grandma taught us to do things like crochet and knit. Dana took to these lessons much quicker than I did—but then I could always hang around Grandpa and whatever he was tinkering with, whether in or around the motor home. When the visit was measured in weeks, though, the whole thing began to lose its appeal. By then Grandpa had begun to get restless and had started to make work for himself around the house. It was true that he was better at general household repairs than Daddy, but we had managed to keep things quite well maintained in spite of our limitations. Even Mom was pretty handy for most odd jobs. So I always sensed a bit of tension when he took on projects that no one had asked him to do. Our house was old, and there was always something that could be improved, though I thought Mom looked rather askance at the missing banister rung he replaced with one that didn't quite match. But at least I got to ride along on the frequent trips to the hardware store.

Grandma was pleasant and generous with treats for us—especially for Corey. But she tended to need to be talking most of the time, so Dana and I often abandoned Mom to their somewhat one-sided conversations and struck out on our own.

Unfortunately for us, the visit also meant that Mom had less time to drive us where we wanted to go. And, sure enough, it fell exactly on the two weeks when Marcy and Carli were at summer camp. So we were often left to fill time by walking with Corey to the mini mart or by taking a few laps around the neighborhood on our bikes. If we hadn't had each other, I'm not sure how Dana and I would have made it through the summer.

By the time Grandma and Grandpa's motor home pulled out of the driveway and Marcy and Carli had returned, bursting with camp stories, school was about to begin. At this point, it was a welcome relief. At least there'd be plenty of friends around again.

The end of summer when we began shopping for school supplies was one of my favorite times of year. The anticipation of beginning something was always attractive to me, and I loved to have new things. Even if it was just notebooks and pencils and paper. And this year it was especially fun to watch Corey browsing for his own school needs. He was entering kindergarten and was anticipating learning to read. He seemed to be expecting to do so immediately. We hoped he wouldn't be too disappointed when he realized that we'd been right—they'd start with the alphabet and colors. Those he already knew.

Brett didn't bother shopping for himself. He sent the list with Mom, including specific instructions that she not get anything fancy. Apparently he wished to make no statement whatsoever with his notebooks and accessories.

Dana, on the other hand, chose quite carefully. For the first time she brushed past the cutesy folder covers with kittens and puppies and dolphins, choosing instead the plain dark colors that no doubt were intended for the high school crowd. To me it only served as a reminder of the most disturbing aspect of the upcoming school year. Dana would be attending George Washington High School with Brett now, and I would be remaining behind. Somehow the new school and all seemed to have affected her whole outlook.

I suppose much of it was due to some chats between her and Carli. Marcy's sister was a year older than Dana and had become quite conscious of her advancing maturity. It looked to me as if she was attempting to draw Dana up to her level, into her crowd. I had asked Mom about it, but her answers didn't really satisfy me.

“Well, Carli is at a difficult stage in life. She's searching for a new identity because she feels that she's not a child anymore. On the other hand, she's not quite sure what growing up means. She's experimenting, really.” Mom seemed to be going back—to somewhere—in her thinking.

“Will Dana act like that too? I don't want her to become like Carli.”

“Dana is not Carli. And I think we have to remember that your sister has developed enough as a person to make her own decisions. She's never been one to follow the crowd before, and I don't expect her to do so now. But, Erin, she
will
begin to change. There's no question about that. And so will you. Maybe next year. Maybe even before. And it's a very good thing. You wouldn't want to be a little girl forever, would you?”

“No. But I sure don't want to be like Carli.”

Mom reached out to pat my arm. Her voice softened, and her eyes had a bit of a proud shine to them, as if the thought of us growing up brought both sadness and pleasure. “The thing to remember about maturing, Erin, is that it usually comes with starts and stops. This is a big moment for Dana because she's entering a new school. Just give her a little extra space, and she'll probably seem like herself in no time.”

I hoped so.

With Dana and Carli off and busy together, Marcy and I were left to find amusement for ourselves, but we quickly decided not to let it bother us. I explained to her what my mother had said. That next year we'd be back in step with them. And I had figured out on my own that we'd have the added advantage of watching them go through everything first. Maybe it would be easier for us when our turn came.

Marcy and I were lucky enough to share a homeroom class for the upcoming year. Many of our old friends were there too. Marcy had her eye on one in particular. Stephen Bryant had somehow managed to shoot up at least six inches over the summer. Now he was even taller than I was. And for some unknown reason, he really appealed to Marcy.

Strangely, she could not recall that this was the same Stephen who had purposely tripped her in fourth-grade gym class and not even bothered to apologize. At the time she had vowed never to speak to him again. This was also the same Stephen who had used some very foul language in the lunchroom near the end of the last year. So bad that the teacher who happened to be nearby had walked him down to the principal's office, and he had been given a detention.

I was amazed that Marcy's memory could be so short. But she wasn't listening to me at all. So I just tried not to roll my eyes too much while she talked on and on about
Stephen.

Brett was playing basketball again, so that fall he often allowed me to play one-on-one with him in the driveway. He didn't admit it, but I was pretty sure I had improved a lot since last year. The problem for me was that he had improved too.

As November arrived we were back into “wear-your-coat” weather. Mom seemed a little too concerned that being outside without proper attire would send a person into a fit of flu, and I just couldn't help but think that she overdid the warnings a bit.

Lately there'd been so many reasons to trot back and forth to the Wards' house. Carli and Marcy's mom had agreed to let them plan a party. They had decided on a costume party and had enthusiastically included Dana and me in the planning. The party was still two weeks away. Mrs. Ward observed that it was amazing how much work we could come up with that could be categorized as
necessary
for a party's success. We wrote and mailed invitations, made decorations, and worked tirelessly on our own costumes and food planning. Dana was perfectly suited for organizing it all. I just followed along and did whatever seemed fun at the time.

One morning before school Dad got up from the breakfast table to answer the phone. We weren't paying much attention, assuming it was merely something to do with his work.

In fact we'd all been listening to Corey announce his latest plans.

“When I get up on the moon, I'll wave to you,” he promised solemnly, his eyes gleaming with the thought of being way up there above earth.

“No one can wave from the moon,” I said. But I grinned and rumpled his hair. I didn't inform him that no one was bothering to go to the moon anymore. Mars was more the ticket—but I didn't want to spoil Corey's astronaut dreams.

“Sure I can.” He stood up by his chair and demonstrated with big sweeping gestures. “You'd just have to go outside and look when it's nighttime.”

“We'd never see you from so far away.” I might not know much about astronauts and space walks, having never really taken any interest in something that had been going on since long before I was born, but at least I knew that much.

“Then I'd put my shirt on a long, long pole and wave that.”

We'd just seen a Saturday cartoon where a marooned rabbit had waved a white flag of some sort on a pole as his sign of surrender to his enemy, a hulking big turtle in a pith helmet.

We all chuckled. “We wouldn't see that either,” I persisted.

“Then get glasses.”

We all started to laugh again when Mom pushed back her chair and said, “Shh.” She must have caught a bit of Dad's conversation that had immediately gotten her attention.

I looked up then. Dad was still on the phone, but his face held an expression I'd never seen before. The whole table fell silent. I guess we all sensed at once that something was wrong.

“I see,” Dad was saying, which sure didn't tell us anything. Then, “How's Mother?”

The answer to the simple question seemed to take an awfully long time. Now and then Dad mumbled, “I see,” or “Yes,” but he looked agitated. Worried. He paced back and forth, the long cord trailing along after him. He rubbed his forehead and ran his fingers through his hair. I'd never seen him like that before.

Mom had gone very white. She looked as if she wanted to get up and go to Dad but couldn't find the strength to do it. She just sat, very still, her brown eyes looking round and even darker in her pale face. As soon as Dad replaced the receiver and turned, she asked with a shaky voice, “What is it, Dave?”