by B. E. Baker
“But all the words went away?”
“Something like that,” she says. “And now I want to write again, but everything is all jumbled.”
I stand up and pick up Hope. “Maybe you needed more friends, like Hope does. Maybe the words are all mixed up because you’re keeping too many of them inside you. If you weren’t so lonely, it might be easier to write more books.”
Aunt Anica doesn’t laugh this time. She just stares at me. “You know, you’re awfully smart for a little thing. You might actually be right.”
“Then it’s good you want to stay here. There are a lot of people here, like all the time. Plus, you know, you have me.”
“And I’m really glad I have you. You know that, right?”
I beam at her. “Yep, I do now.”
When Mom and Dad and Jack come home, the house really has a lot going on all the time. That sweet little baby who just smiled up at me seems to cry more than he does anything else. And he eats and burps and poops a lot, so that’s saying something.
“Do you think he has colic?” Luke asks. “Amy and Chase didn’t cry like this.”
“Babies can’t have colic until they’re at least a month old,” Mary says, her voice all tight and kinda mad sounding.
“Someone should tell Jack that,” Dad says, walking back and forth and bouncing the whimpering baby.
I offer to help, but they tell me it’s fine.
It’s a good thing Aunt Anica stays, because now that the baby is home, she helps a lot. Like, way more than she ever did before.
She vacuums.
She takes me to school.
She makes toast. Kind of burned toast, but it’s not as black as before.
She even picks me up after play practice.
“Hey, how’s that wretched Piper doing?” she asks on Wednesday. “Any better?”
I shrug.
“So no.”
“She’s not mean anymore. She just pretends I don’t exist at all, mostly.”
“That’s an improvement, I guess.”
I can’t disagree, but I wish I hadn’t given her my dress.
When we get back to the house, Lucy’s walking up the sidewalk, and she’s carrying a box. “Amy!” She waves.
I roll down the window. “Hey!” After Aunt Anica parks Mom’s car, I hop out and run around to the side door so I can help her. “What’s this?”
“It’s a baby gift,” she says, her face looking kind of funny.
“That’s a big box,” I say.
“Well, it’s a weird gift. If your parents don’t like it, they don’t have to take it.”
Something inside the box makes noise, and I almost drop it.
“What’s that?”
Lucy smiles. “You’ll see.”
We set the box down, and I open the door. “Mom!” I call. “Mom, Lucy’s here, and she has a present for you.”
“For all of you, actually.” Lucy picks the box up again, and she shifts it. Then she shifts it again. This time, I recognize the sound it makes.
It’s definitely a cluck.
“Did you bring us a chicken?” I whisper.
“Shh,” she says, faking a frown. “Don’t ruin the surprise.”
She’s a strange lady.
Mom comes into the room without a baby in her arms for once.
“Where’s Jack?” I ask.
“He’s actually asleep, wonder of wonders.” She yawns. “Lucy, great to see you.” Mom looks tired, so tired, all the time, but she forces a smile.
“I know you’re busy and tired and probably don’t have time right now.” Lucy pats the box. “But, well, Amy told Brian that Hope is hopping all over and that maybe she’s lonely.”
Mom’s head cuts toward mine. “She’s lonely? What’s wrong?”
I shrug. “It’s fine.”
“You have to tell me when something’s wrong,” she scolds. “I’m too tired to notice anything on my own right now.” She drops a hand on the top of my head.
“Well, I have an old coop that I haven’t used in a few months, not since I got a bigger one. I kept it in case I ever needed to quarantine any birds, or for when I got chicks again, but I’m not using it now… and I thought I might offer to loan it to you. At least until you can figure out what you want to use. I also brought Hope’s two best friends over. They’ve been complaining ever since she left, and having two more adult chickens means you won’t have to worry about dealing with chicks right now.”
Mom starts to cry.
“Oh no,” Lucy says. “I’m so sorry. If this is too much, I can take them home. I can even take Hope with me, if it’s too stressful.”
Mom shakes her head. “It’s not too much. I’m grateful. We love Hope, and I’m too tired right now to go pick a coop and chicks and heat lamps. Just looking it all up made me want to break down.” She wipes at her eyes. “I’m a mess. I’m sorry. What a kind gesture.”
“So we can keep them?” I bounce up and down on my toes.
“I can send Luke over later to get the coop.” Mom crosses the room and hugs Lucy.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. Brian will be over soon, and he can bring it.”
Mom’s eyes light up, and she lets Lucy go. “Brian’s coming over?”
“He comes over most days now.” Lucy drops down on her knees. “And listen, I just wanted to tell your brilliant daughter thank you again. I’ve never been this happy.”
I pat Andy on the head. “So maybe she knew what she was doing that night.”
Lucy presses a kiss against my forehead. “I think someone knew what they were doing. Maybe it was Andy. Or maybe it was someone a little bit smarter. Who knows?”
Hope is giddy when we release her into the backyard with her friends—a brownish red chicken called a Rhode Island Red and black and white striped hen called a Cuckoo Marans. They’ll need actual names soon, but I love them already. And just like Lucy said he would, Coach Brian brings the coop over a few minutes later. Hope runs toward it almost immediately, her two friends fluttering after her.
“The Rhode Island Red looks so funny when she gets excited,” I say. “Like a lady with a big old dress, trying to lift it up and run.”
“She does look a little like that,” Dad says, waving to Coach Brian. “Thanks for bringing that over. We appreciate the loan.”
“Lucy sure loves her chickens,” he says. “So the fact that she trusts you with not one, but three of them, means she really has a lot of faith in you, Amy.”
I offer a handful of mealworms to Hope. As soon as she starts eating, her two friends run over. They’re a lot more nervous to be near me, but not nervous enough to turn down dried mealworms.
“I thought you were a little nutty when you asked me to come see this chicken at school that day,” Coach Brian says. “But I didn’t quite know how to say no, so I came.”
“Oh.” I stand up and brush off my hands. “Well, I’m glad you did.”
His smile is so wide I can see all his teeth and all his gums. “I am too. So glad.”
I’m still smiling when I help Dad set up the food and water for our three new chickens. And I spend the next hour or so making sure that Andy will be as nice to them as she is to Hope.
The next few days go by in a blur, and then on Friday, it’s time for our dress rehearsal, where we put on our actual costumes and pretend there’s an audience. I’m dressed and waiting on the side of the curtain when I hear someone say “Psst.”
I turn to look across the stage, and it’s the last person I expect to be talking to me.
Piper.
“What?” I hiss back.
“Come here.” She waves me over.
The curtain could come up at any time. Except, I notice she’s not in her costume. I run across the stage as quietly as I can.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I’m sick. My throat hurts, so I can’t sing.”
I blink. “Are you kidding?”
“No.”<
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“You sound fine.”
“My throat hurts, okay?”
“You sounded fine in choir today.”
“It’s new,” she says. “And it hurts real bad.”
I frown. “So we’re not having the play?”
She shrugs. “You know my lines.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because when I forget them, you always tell me what to say.”
I roll my eyes. “I have a part already.”
“You should have been Annie.” She crosses her arms. “I heard Coach Brian say that.”
I put one hand on my hip. “You’re a good Annie, and I like being Mrs. Hannigan.”
She looks at the ground. “What if I mess up?”
Is Piper. . . scared? “You won’t.”
“I will,” she says. “I forget my lines all the time. I’m not like you.”
“So if you do, then you think about the next scene, and you just make up whatever you need to say to get there.”
“How come you’re so smart?” Piper looks up and meets my eyes.
“You’re smart too.”
She shakes her head. “Not really. Math is hard, and so is writing. And I hate school.”
I had no idea she hated school. She’s like the queen of school.
“Besides, I don’t think my mom can come.”
Is she kidding? “I don’t think my mom can come either.” As I say the words, I realize they’re probably true. Mom hasn’t left the house since Jack was born, and she always seems so tired. “She just had a baby.”
“I’m sorry,” Piper says, “that I said she won’t like you anymore.”
“She does love me still,” I say.
Piper nods. “I know.”
“It did make me sad, but I figured it out.”
“My dad doesn’t.” Her words are barely a whisper.
“What?” I step closer.
“My dad got married again, and he had another baby, and now he never comes to see me. But he wasn’t very good before, and your mom is pretty amazing.”
Oh no. Mom was right. She was so right. I don’t even think—I just do it. I wrap my arms around her and squeeze. “Your throat doesn’t hurt. Your heart hurts, and I’ve had that happen to me too.”
Piper hugs me back for a minute, and then she steps back. “Can you not tell anyone that I asked you to be Annie for me, please?”
She doesn’t ask me not to talk about her dad or the fact that her mom’s not coming, but I know she’s asking about all of it. “I won’t say anything.”
She ducks back behind the curtain and disappears.
A few minutes later, she shows up again, this time in costume, and the dress rehearsal starts. She doesn’t forget a single line.
“You’ve all worked so hard,” Mrs. Tassain says. “I couldn’t be more proud of you. I really think this is going to be the best second grade play I have ever seen.”
“It’s your first one, isn’t it?” Coach Brian asks. “I thought that until this year, they only did plays for fifth, fourth, and third.”
“Shh,” she says with a big smile. “That’s beside the point. I am so impressed with all of you.”
Even though I know all the lines in the entire play by heart, on Saturday morning, I decide to review the script one last time, just to make sure. I mean, if I need to help Piper or someone else, I better be super sure I’m right.
I’m sitting in the back yard with Hope, Rita, and KoKo Krispy—five year olds should not be allowed to name chickens, even if they need to feel like they’re involved—when I hear a car pull up in the driveway. “I’ll be back.” I put Hope down and run through the gate to see Aunt Paisley.
“Hey kid,” she says. “How’s your mom?”
I shrug. “She’s tired. The baby cries a lot.”
Aunt Paisley laughs. “All babies cry a lot.”
“But this one’s worse. Dad thinks he might be broken.” I stand up super straight. “I never cried this much, he says.”
“Alright, alright, well, walk me inside, will you? That way your huge dog-bear won’t bite me.”
“Andy wouldn’t bite you,” I say. “She might lick you to death though.”
“I’d prefer to avoid that, too.” Paisley follows me inside.
“Mom!” I shout. “Aunt Paisley’s here.”
I don’t listen to the entire conversation, because they tend to get super boring, but from what I gather, Paisley quit her job when Mom left.
“You have to do it,” she says really loudly and with a ton of energy. “Luke’s right. I’ll come with you, of course. James wants me to take time off, but if I do that, I’ll never go back. I’ll get sucked into the whole New York City scene and I’ll be subsumed, I just know it.”
Mom shakes her head. “I don’t like being a boss. I like doing tax returns. They’re simple, and they have right and wrong answers.”
“But it’s boring,” Aunt Paisley says. “And you’re such a great boss. All the things that are worth doing are hard, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do them. You’re just saying that because you have a newborn. Don’t make big decisions while you’re sleep deprived.”
Mom snorts. “So I should decide to open my own firm with you while I’m sleep deprived?”
“Sorry, let me rephrase. Don’t make bad decisions when you’re sleep deprived. Let your friends guide you so that you make good ones.”
“How’s this?” Mom says. “You come back next week and we’ll hammer out some preliminary details of what it would even look like. That’ll give me another week to get this baby thing all figured out.”
“And if James and I send you a night nurse as a baby gift, maybe you’ll be in a frame of mind to do just that,” Aunt Paisley says. “Tell me you’d accept it.”
Mom stands up. “It’s a generous offer.”
“You don’t have a mom to help, and your sister’s on a honeymoon. Let me give you a night nurse for a few weeks.” She slings an arm around Mom. “Please.”
“Fine,” Mom says.
I sneak off to my room after that, smiling. I do like baby Jack, even though he cries a lot. But I’ll like him more when he’s not making Mom so tired.
The next day, Aunt Anica volunteers to take me to the school—since I have to be there an hour before the play starts. “Thanks,” Dad says.
“Happy to help,” she says.
“Speaking of.” Dad glances at me as if he has just noticed I’m there, listening.
I think he wants me to go away so he can ask Aunt Anica something interesting, but I’m tired of missing out of things, so I pretend I don’t know what he wants.
“It’s fine,” Aunt Anica says. “You can say anything you want in front of the kiddo. We’re cool.”
“Well, I talked to Mary. We’re happy to have you stay here in a more long-term way, especially if you’re willing to do the chores we discussed. It would be a huge help, honestly.”
“Thanks,” she says. “It means a lot.”
“And I’m glad you can have this time with the kids,” Dad says. “I’d rather have you helping out than someone they don’t even know.”
“Me too.” She grabs my shoulder and ushers me out to the car.
Once we reach the school, she asks, “Need me to stay with you?”
“Nah,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” She shuffles toward the door to the choir room where we’re gathering. “Because I’ve got some real zingers ready if Piper’s feeling sassy.”
“Actually,” I say. “I think we might be doing a little better. Mom was really right—she’s kind of not very happy right now.”
“Alright. But if you need me, I’m here.” Anica pulls me against her side, pressing me against her with one arm, and then she walks off.
While Mrs. Tassain adjusts our costumes and Coach Brian has us run through some speaking drills, I wonder.
Will Dad be able to get away? Will they bring Chase? What about Aunt A
nica? I should have asked so I’d know. But I was afraid. Because I bet Dad comes for sure, but Dad has seen me in plays before. Christmas pageants. Last year’s choir performance.
But I’ve never had a mom come. Never.
When the curtain goes up, the lights are so bright that it’s hard to see who’s in the audience. So I just pretend that none of them could make it. That way I won’t be sad if they aren’t here. Or, not as sad.
I sing and sing. I give my lines as loud and as rude as I can manage, just like Coach Brian said I should. Piper does a really good job too, just flubbing one little part, and I’m sure no one notices.
And when it’s over, there’s so much clapping it almost makes me want to cover my ears. My smile is so wide that my cheeks ache. When Piper hugs me, I almost fall over. “Thanks,” she says. “And I’m sorry.”
The lights finally fade, and I blink and blink.
Piper’s mom actually came, but it doesn’t look like anyone else she knows did. I want to tell her that it’s okay, because the mom is the most important one. She’s the one that really matters.
But I don’t say anything, because then Coach Brian is telling me what a great job I did, and Lucy is standing next to him, her arm through his. They’re both beaming at me, and Lucy even brought me flowers. “We wanted to congratulate you before you’re completely drowning in people,” Lucy says.
I have no idea what she’s saying until Dad yells, “Whoa! Hey, everybody, is that? No!” He shakes his head. “It can’t be! Is that THE Amy Manning?! The one who gave the most amazing performance of Mrs. Hannigan that has ever been seen?! I hear they’re begging her to do the next Spielberg movie!”
I roll my eyes. My dad is so weird. “Hi Dad.”
“It’s definitely her,” Aunt Anica says. “I just can’t believe my eyes.” She holds out a bouquet of flowers, Grandma and Grandpa walking around her to pick me up and hug me, passing me back and forth between them.
When they put me down, Chase barrels into me, planting a messy kiss on my cheek. “Good job.” He laughs. “I really liked when you threw them into a big pile of dirty laundry. You were so mean.”
I smile. I do have a pretty good brother. I’m surprised he sat through the whole thing. “Thanks for coming.”
“That was the most amazing performance I’ve ever seen—especially from second graders.” A familiar female voice. I turn fast, but it’s only Aunt Paisley and her husband James. I force a smile as they hand me more flowers. And then Geo and her husband Trig hug me too. And even Geo’s friend Rob comes. “Amazing job,” he says. “I was floored.”