Mary Anne Saves the Day (7 page)

Dawn and I practically suffered dual heart attacks after reading what was written in my dad's yearbook. We agreed not to mention our discovery to our parents, although we weren't sure why we wanted to keep the secret.

We spent the rest of the day hashing it over. Then on Sunday we went through Dawn's mother's yearbook. The book was hard to find, since it was still packed away. We finally located it at the bottom of a carton labeled
KITCHEN
.

“Kitchen?” I said to Dawn.

She shrugged. “Don't ask.”

We opened the book, knowing exactly where to look. Written across my father's picture in round, familiar handwriting was, “For Sharon, who knows what this means.” (An arrow pointed to the quote from the person named Camus.) “Remember — the summer can be forever. Love always, Richie.”

“People sure get poetic in high school,” Dawn remarked. “What does ‘the summer can be forever' mean?”

I didn't know. But far more interesting than what Dad had written was what was pressed between the “
S
” pages of Dawn's mother's book. It was a rose, brown and dried, with a stained, yellowing ribbon tied to the stem.

Although I had vowed to find a way to get the Baby-sitters Club back together, things kept coming up to take my mind off of it. First, of course, was the discovery about Dawn's mother and my father. Dawn and I talked about it all week. We had a million questions, and we could only guess at the answers to them.

“What do you think the rose is from?” asked Dawn.

“A prom?” I suggested. “I bet they went to their senior prom together. I wonder what they wore.”

“Hey,” said Dawn. She crunched loudly on a piece of celery. Dawn refused to buy the school lunches, saying they were starchy and gross. As soon as her mother had gotten their kitchen in order, Dawn had insisted on bringing her own healthy lunches to school each day. “Don't parents
always
take pictures of their kids just before they go off to their proms?” she asked. “I mean, even back in those days, it was like a rule of parenthood. Your daughter's date arrives to take her to the prom. He's wearing a tux and your daughter is wearing her new gown and carrying a shawl. Then the parents
have
to make them pose in front of the mantelpiece in the living room for the ceremonial prom pictures, which they send to the relatives and to the boy's family.”

I giggled. “But what does that have to do with our parents?”

“Well, there must be a prom picture of them somewhere. If we could find a picture, we could see if my mother was wearing a rose with a satin ribbon tied to it.”

“Oh! Great idea,” I said. But we couldn't find any prom pictures.

Another day we tried to guess what their notes to each other meant.

“ ‘Just one more summer,' ” I repeated sadly. “I wonder why they knew they would have to break up at the end of the summer. Or maybe that's not what they meant at all.”

“It must be what they meant. But why?”

“I don't know.”

“I wonder what your mother meant by ‘love is blind,' ” I said to Dawn on Friday.

“Maybe someone disapproved of their relationship, but my mom and your dad were too much in love to see what was wrong.”

“But what could have been wrong?”

“I don't know,” Dawn replied. “But I bet someone disapproved of them.”

“But we don't know for sure,” I pointed out.

“No, that's true.”

On Saturday, something else happened to keep my mind off the club. It was what turned out to be my scariest baby-sitting experience ever. Earlier in the week, Mrs. Prezzioso had called needing a baby-sitter for Jenny all Saturday afternoon. Even though the Prezziosos are weird, I sort of like Jenny. So I took the job.

I arrived at the Prezziosos' house promptly at 11:30. I rang the bell.

A few moments later I could hear little feet run to the door. Then I heard the locks being turned. “Hey, Jenny!” I called. “Ask who it is first.”

“Oh, yeah,” I heard her say. “Who is it?”

“It's me, Mary Anne Spier, your baby-sitter.”

“Are you a stranger?”

I sighed. “No. I'm Mary Anne. You know me.”

The door was opened.

“Hi, Mary Anne,” said Jenny. She was wearing a pale blue dress with a white collar and cuffs. Her tights were white. Her shoes were white. Her hair ribbon was white. I could tell it was going to be a long day.

Jenny's mother appeared behind her. “Well,” began Mrs. Prezzioso, smoothing away a nonexistent wrinkle in her black silk cocktail dress, “Mr. Prezzioso and I are going to be up in Chatham for a basketball game.” (Mrs. P. was wearing a cocktail dress to a basketball game?) “My husband's college is playing their biggest rival. It's some sort of important championship or something. He's very excited about it, so we're going to drive up there, meet some friends, go to the game, and go out for an early dinner. We should be home by seven at the very latest.

“I'm a bit nervous, though, about being so far away,” she added. (Chatham is an hour north of Stoneybrook.)

“I'm sure everything will be fine,” I said.

“Well, I've left you a lot of phone numbers — our phones, Jenny's doctor, the number of the gymnasium where the game will be held, our next-door neighbors, and the usual emergency numbers.”

“Okay,” I said. I realized Jenny was being awfully quiet. I wondered what she had up her sleeve.

But I didn't have much time to dwell on it. At that moment, Mr. P. ran down the stairs. He was wearing blue jeans and a striped polo shirt. I was willing to bet that there had been some battle over his clothing that morning. Maybe that was why Jenny was so quiet.

I looked at her. She was sitting in an armchair in the living room, her legs sticking out in front of her, her head leaning back listlessly. She appeared to be listening to us.

I noticed that Mrs. P. did not stand next to her husband and ask me how they looked. Frankly, I couldn't blame Mr. P. for dressing the way he did, but I was sorry if it had caused a fight that had upset Jenny.

At last, after lots more instructions and cautions, the Prezziosos left. Jenny didn't even bother to wave good-bye to them.

“Well,” I said to her, “what do you want to do today? We've got the whole afternoon to play.”

Jenny stuck out her lower lip. “Nothing.”

“You don't want to do anything?”

She crossed her arms. “No.”

“Hey, come on. It's not that cold out. You want to see if Claire Pike can play?”

“NONONONONO!”

For such a little kid, Jenny certainly has a big set of lungs.

“Okay, okay,” I said. What a fusspot. “I brought the Kid-Kit,” I told her a few moments later.

“I know. I saw.”

What she didn't know was that there was nothing even remotely messy in it. The paint-with-water book was at home on my bed.

I decided to try one more thing. “Do you want to read a story?”

Jenny shrugged. “I guess.”

At last. That was a relief. I took
Blueberries for Sal
,
The Tale of Squirrel Nutkin
, and
Caps for Sale
out of the Kid-Kit. “Which one?” I asked.

Jenny shrugged.

I chose
Blueberries for Sal
. “Come sit by me on the couch.” Wordlessly, Jenny got up, climbed onto the couch, and leaned against me. I began to read. When I reached the part of the story that I thought was the most exciting, Jenny didn't even make a sound. I glanced at her. She was sound asleep.

That's strange, I thought. Mrs. P. had told me Jenny had slept late that morning and probably
wouldn't take her afternoon nap. Yet there she was, asleep at twelve noon.

I eased myself up and laid Jenny on the couch. That was when I realized how warm she was. I put my hand on her forehead.

She was burning up.

I shook her gently. “Jenny! Jenny!”

“Mmphh,” she mumbled. She stirred but didn't wake up.

My heart pounding, I raced upstairs to the bathroom off of Jenny's parents' bedroom and looked frantically through the medicine cabinet. When I found a thermometer, I dashed downstairs with it.

Even though Jenny was still asleep, I stuck it under her tongue. I sat there until the thermometer beeped, then I removed it and peered at the numbers.

One hundred and four degrees!

One hundred and
four
. I'd never had a fever that high.

I began making phone calls.

First I tried Mr. P's and Mrs. P's phones. No one answered. I left messages.

Next I called Jenny's doctor and got his answering service. A bored-sounding woman said the doctor would call back when he could.

That might not be fast enough. I called the Pikes. No answer.

I called the next-door neighbors. No answer.

I called my dad, even though I knew he was out shopping and rarely remembered to turn his phone on. No answer.

What to do? I didn't dare call the other members of the Baby-sitters Club, so at last I called Dawn.

“I'll be right there,” she told me.

While I waited for her, I called the gym in Chatham and left an urgent message for the Prezziosos to be paged as soon as possible and told to call home. I knew they hadn't reached the gym yet.

When Dawn arrived, I showed her Jenny sleeping on the couch, and told her the people I'd tried to reach.

“And the doctor hasn't called back yet?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I guess we could just call for an ambulance, but really, she's only got a fever. I mean, it's not like she broke her leg or something.”

“I know,” said Dawn. “If Mom were home, she could drive us to the emergency room, but she took my brother out to Washington Mall. Hey,
try calling nine-one-one. Maybe someone could tell us what to do. At least they'd know whether it would be all right to call for an ambulance.”

“Okay,” I agreed.

Dawn sat with Jenny while I made the call. A man answered the phone, sounding calm and pleasant.

“Hi,” I said. “I'm baby-sitting for a three-year-old and she fell asleep and I realized she has a fever and it's one hundred and four degrees. And,” I rushed on, “I can't reach her parents or my dad or the neighbors, and I called her doctor but all I got was the answering service and he hasn't called back yet and I'm really worried.”

“All right. Try to relax a little,” the man said. “Young children often run fevers and it turns out to be just a sign of a simple infection. Sometimes it's nothing at all. However, a hundred and four is high and she should be looked at right away. I think the best thing to do is to get her to the emergency room of the hospital.”

“But I'm only twelve,” I said. “I can't drive.”

“And you've tried reaching the neighbors?”

“Yes, several of them. And my dad.”

“Well, then, I'll send an ambulance around.”

“You
will
?” I said.

“Just tell me the address.”

I gave it to him. Then he instructed me to get Jenny ready to leave the house and to keep cold compresses on her forehead until the ambulance arrived. I thanked him and we hung up.

“Okay, Dawn,” I said, running into the living room. “An ambulance is on the way. I spoke to a man, and he said to get Jenny ready to leave and to keep cold compresses on her head until the ambulance gets here.”

“I'll make a compress, you get her coat,” said Dawn.

Dawn dashed into the kitchen, while I found Jenny's coat and mittens in the closet. I laid them next to her on the couch, but didn't put them on her. I didn't want to make her hotter than she already was.

Dawn returned with a cold compress made from a dish towel. I held it to Jenny's forehead. “Oh, you know what?” I said. “Can you leave a message on the Prezziosos' phones and tell them where we're going? And also call the Lewiston Gymnasium in Chatham again and leave a message for the Prezziosos to turn around as soon as they reach the gym, and go right to the emergency room of the hospital here. I just left a message for them to call home, but if they do, no one will answer the phone.”

“Okay.” Dawn dashed off, then returned and stood looking out the front window. “Try to wake Jenny up,” she said several moments later. “The ambulance is coming.”

“Okay … Come on, Jenny-bunny,” I said. I shook her shoulder and sat her up. She fell to the side like a limp rag doll. “Nap time's over. Wake up.”

Jenny opened her eyes a crack. “No,” she said sleepily.

“Sorry, Jenny. I know you're not feeling well, so you have to see the doctor.”

That woke her up — a little. “The doctor?” she repeated.

“Yup. He'll make you feel better. Come on, I want you to put your coat on.”

Jenny allowed me to slip her coat and mittens on while Dawn let the ambulance attendants in. They were wheeling a stretcher through the front door.