From somewhere far off, I heard Patrick let out a long, shaky breath. I felt his foot slip away. It hadn’t occurred to me until that moment that Patrick might have been guarding the same small dream I had been: As long as Dad and Tessa weren’t married, there was still a chance for him and Mom to get back together. Now, three small words changed all that. I thought nothing would ever feel as bad as Dad moving out of our house.
I was wrong.
After what seemed like a long time, Dad pushed the boxes of frozen treats over to us. I said, “Just what we need—frozen crap on a stick.”
“Missy!” Dad’s voice was stern.
“Missy,” Tessa interrupted softly. “I have a question for you. A big favor.”
I didn’t look at her. Pretended not to hear.
“Missy, I’d like you to be my maid of honor. If you would.”
I froze. Words swirled around in my head, but none would go together in any sort of order. They were all like mismatched magnets that, instead of clicking together, pushed away at one another with all their might.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Tessa’s hand, like a sidestepping crab, moving across the table toward my own. I reached out and grabbed a frozen treat from one of the boxes, busying my hands with the wrapper.
“Hmm,” I said, “my favorite.” And it actually was my favorite—just a plain vanilla ice-cream sandwich. I watched with relief as Tessa’s crab hand slid back to her side of the table. Ha! I wanted to say. Just because you’re marrying my dad does not mean you can ever, ever, ever touch me like a mother would.
“Missy,” Dad said quietly, “Tessa asked you a question.”
Question? Like there was a question?
“Well, thanks for asking,” I said, cramming my mouth so full of chocolate wafer and vanilla ice cream that I was sure no one, not even Patrick, could understand me. “But I think I’m busy that day.”
As I met their confused stares, I suddenly felt so clever and funny that I started to laugh. Maybe when you get to be a grown-up you know all the different laughs a body can have, but this particular laugh took me completely by surprise. It was powerful, uncontrollable, and came straight from the bottom of my belly. My belly, in fact, was shaking, and so were my shoulders. This was a laugh that took over my body—made my eyes sting with tears and my throat tighten. The ice cream and wafer got stuck in my throat, actually seemed to harden into a tiny lump in my throat, and I started to gag.
“She’s choking!” I heard Patrick cry out. “Do something, Dad!”
And the next thing I knew Dad was pounding me on the back and Tessa was punching me in the stomach and my body was trying to throw up and breathe and cry, but it couldn’t do any of those things, and the whole time Patrick’s voice chanted crazily in my ears, “She’s choking, she’s choking. Dad, Dad, Dad. She’s choking.”
And then, in an instant, everything stopped. The back pounding from Dad, the stomach punching from Tessa, the belly heaving from me.
My 3-D glasses were hanging by one ear and I slowly tucked them back on the other ear, like maybe they’d actually help me see what was there, right in front of me on the table.
Even as I stared at it for several seconds, I could not make sense of what I was looking at. Because mixed with the gooey mound of ice cream and chocolate wafer cookie was something else. Was this from my body? Had I coughed up an internal organ? And, if so, what organ could it be? Had I choked up my heart? Did this whole Dad/Mom/Tessa thing cause me to choke up my very own heart?
That seemed to be the most logical conclusion except for the fact that I was still sitting at the table, breathing, which meant my heart must be in there somewhere, beating. And also for the fact that this thing, in the middle of the ice-cream mess, looked a lot like a ball. A bright, round ball. And although that might have explained several things about me, I didn’t think it would be possible for anyone to live to the age of twelve with a ball for a heart.
“Dad,” I heard myself whisper. I wanted to see his face. “How did a ball get inside me?” I wondered if maybe I’d swallowed one as a baby. I couldn’t shake the thought that all my organs were brightly colored and perfectly round.
Dad grabbed the box of frozen treats off the table. “It’s the gumball inside,” he sputtered out finally.
What? What was he saying? I must have eaten at least two thousand of these things in my lifetime and never once was there a gumball inside. A gumball inside the ice cream?
“It’s new, Missy! I told you. It’s a new product. We’re testing it.”
Patrick took the box from Dad’s hand. “New,” he said, pointing to the words in red letters. “Gumball Surprise Inside Each Treat!”
I stared at the words. Even in Spectacular 3-D, they didn’t make sense. “But this is an ice-cream sandwich. Who wants gum inside their ice-cream sandwich?” I grabbed the box and examined it closely. “Choking hazard—it says right here!”
“Keep reading,” said Patrick. He tapped the small print with his finger.
“Not for children under three,” I read.
“Exactly. Exactly.” Tap, tap.
I looked at my dad. “So what? This is my fault?”
“No one is saying it’s your fault, Missy.”
“Whose fault?” I shouted at my dad. “Ice cream is now a choking hazard. That is someone’s fault. This is someone’s fault!”
I stood and stomped out of the kitchen, out of the house, certain that Patrick would follow me. But he didn’t, which was sort of the worst thing about the whole miserable moment. Because all of a sudden, everything did seem like it was my fault. I had ruined their perfect day. I had left a big blob of choked-up mess right on their perfect kitchen table.
But how was a person to know? When someone changes the rules, they should say it out loud. Ice cream was now a choking hazard; it was spelled out right there on the box. But what if a person didn’t know where to look? What if they didn’t know they were supposed to look?
All the new rules in my life. I knew they were there, spelled out somewhere. I knew they were there because I could feel them, pressing at me from all around. I could see them in other people’s eyes when they looked at me. I knew I wasn’t doing things right. But where was a person supposed to look for them, these new rules?
Someone needed to tell me. Someone really needed to say them out loud.
CHAPTER 14
BACON. THE NEIGHBORHOOD REEKED OF IT. STANDING ON the porch and smelling bacon, I wondered how everything could look and smell so Sunday normal. How could the lawns look so perfectly green, and the sidewalks so nicely swept? Didn’t everyone know the world had just exploded?
I removed my 3-D glasses and put them in my pocket. When the door opened behind me I didn’t turn around. It could only be one of three people, or two of three people, or three of three people. And there was only one of those people I wanted to see.
“Patrick?” My eyes were closed I was hoping so badly.
“Hey, Missy.”
I let out a breath and turned to my brother. He held out my backpack. “I packed it for you.”
“Good. Because I’m not going back in there.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured.”
“What happened after I left?”
“Your ice cream melted all over the table.”
“What else?”
“Nothing.”
“Something had to happen.”
“Dad got a headache.”
“Good,” I said. “I hope she gets one, too. I hope their heads pop off. How can he do this? He knows nothing about her.”
“We’ve known her for over a year, Missy.”
“Still. I think we should hire a private detective. To do a background check.”
Patrick laughed at me. Then he said, “She bought a dress for you. For being in the wedding.”
; “But I’m not going to be in the wedding. She can’t make me. What about you?”
He shrugged. “I guess I’m supposed to wear a tuxedo.”
“That’s not what I meant. What did you say to them?”
“Nothing.”
I snorted. I wanted to ask him about the dress, but I didn’t want to say the words out loud. Saying the words would be admitting that this was real. But the more I thought about Tessa actually buying me a dress, the more I wanted to know. What color was it? Was it long or short? Did it have any beads or jewels? Sleeves or straps?
“So,” I said finally, when I couldn’t stand it any longer, “did you see it?”
“What?”
“The dress.”
“It was in the hall closet,” Patrick said. “I guess she was going to surprise you. You know, take it out, and you guys would be all ‘Oh, it’s so beautiful,’ and ‘Oh, I’m so excited.’” He’d changed his voice to sound like ladies at a tea party or something and I couldn’t help it—I laughed. Then I imagined the moment, how it could have been with hugs and excitement and the big reveal of the special dress. The touching stepmother/stepdaughter moment Tessa had hoped for.
“I’m never going to like her. I’m never going to be any sort of maid of anything at their stupid wedding. I’m never—” I stopped.
“Never what?” Patrick asked.
But I didn’t actually know how to finish the list of things I was never going to do. There were way too many.
Instead, I pulled out my 3-D glasses again and tried to slip into a different dimension. But for once, I couldn’t get them to work. I was stuck. Right where I was.
CHAPTER 15
THE WEDDING WAS TO BE AT THEIR HOUSE. THAT was the next piece of news we got from Dad. He didn’t mention ice-cream sandwiches, gumballs, or my near-death experience, so I didn’t either. What he did say, was that the wedding would be there, in the lovely backyard, right at the end of summer. “So we’re going to be busy,” he said. “There’s a lot to do and very little time.”
For a special treat they took us out to an early dinner at a crappy pizza place—the kind with a ball pit and games with plastic prizes. “Well,” Dad said, watching me pick at the crust, “I guess your old dad can do nothing right, huh, Missy?”
“It’s fine, Dad. I’m just not hungry.”
“The pizza’s great, Dad.” Patrick tore into another slice of greasy pepperoni. “We love this place.”
“I thought you liked the games here,” Dad said, still looking at me. “I thought we’d have fun with the games.”
“I guess I’m just not in the mood to hit plastic squirrels on the head.”
“They’re gophers,” Patrick said.
“Oh, gosh! Then let me at them.”
We left more than half the pizza on the table. When Dad asked Patrick if he wanted to take it home, he shook his head sadly. Even Patrick had his limits. He did, however, pick up a rubber mallet on the way out and limply swing it at a line of singing gophers. He missed every one.
I hated when Tessa drove home with us. It meant Dad dropped us off without coming in to play with Claude. It meant I wouldn’t have that one happy moment of pretending we could be a family again. And now there was the extra problem of Dad and Tessa’s Big News. Did Mom even know?
“Does Mom know we’re coming home late?” I asked as we turned onto our street.
Dad nodded.
“Does she know you’re not coming in?”
“I called her before dinner.”
“Does she know about you and—”
“Of course, Missy,” he said, stopping me before I could finish the question. “We talk about everything concerning you kids.”
Minutes later, when Patrick and I walked through the front door, we found Claude wandering aimlessly in the living room, sobbing for Daddy. When I asked, “What’s wrong, Mr. Claudio?” he marched up and slapped me on the leg.
Mom was in her bedroom, putting away folded clothes. Usually she sang while she did those kinds of chores, but right then she was silent.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said. “I’m sorry Dad didn’t come in.”
While Claude stomped up and down the hallway, Mom turned to look at me. “Come here,” she said finally. She held out her arms and I fell into them. She stroked my hair, just like when I was little, and it felt so good that I stood there, rocking in her arms and trying not to cry.
Later, after Claude was tucked in bed, Mom ordered a late-night pizza, something the three of us did once in a while for a special treat. When she had suggested it, we didn’t have the heart to tell her we weren’t hungry. And that we’d already had pizza for dinner.
Sitting on the couch together, Patrick handed Mom a cup of peppermint tea in her favorite mug—the one we gave her for Mother’s Day, back before Claude even, when things were still normal. It was one of those with a photograph transferred on, so it has the two of us, me and Patrick, grinning underneath a banner with the words WE MOM!
As Mom drank her tea, I watched the smiling face of me tip up and down. “You knew we weren’t getting back together,” she said. “There was never a chance of that.”
“There was a chance,” I said, without thinking.
“There wasn’t. You knew that, didn’t you, Patrick?”
Patrick nodded and struggled to swallow. He coughed and his face turned red.
I wanted to crawl back into my mother’s lap. I wanted her to stroke my head and tell me that this wouldn’t always feel so bad, just like she said to Claude when he fell down and scraped the skin off his knee. But even if she did, would I believe her?
“Tell me something nice,” Mom said suddenly. “Let’s talk about something nice.” She set down her mug and picked up a slice of pizza.
Patrick said, “Dad finished his kitchen cupboards. They look nice.” Mom’s smile froze, but only for a moment. “I’m sorry, Mom,” Patrick said, immediately realizing what a stupid thing that was to say, especially sitting in a room with bad green carpet and yellow paint samples taped on the wall.
Usually on these special pizza nights we would stay up for hours, talking or watching an old cowboy movie or playing Yahtzee. But the news had taken just about everything out of us. We cleaned our dishes and went to bed. But first I did something I hadn’t done in a long time: I went over, wrapped my arms around my mother’s neck, and kissed her good night. “I think his kitchen looks weird,” I whispered to her. “Too many fancy things.”
Mom gave me a squeeze and looked straight into my eyes. “Some people like fancy things, honey, and your dad works hard on that house. You know, it’s okay to like being there. It’s okay to like her, too.”
“I hate her.”
“Missy, listen to me. This marriage—it’s a good thing. I’m glad your dad is happy with someone new. And she’s a very nice person.”
I fixed my eyes on the mug on the coffee table, those two smiling children. I tried to remember life back then. Before the split. “We need to get you a new mug,” I said. “One with Claude.”
“Missy. I need you to listen to this. It’s important.”
I nodded. But inside something new was beginning to happen. I was suddenly alive and awake. The words that had been choked down earlier now turned into something else: something hard and cold and sharp.
“Missy—” Mom said again.
“I know, Mom. I know.” I sat up straight. Because right then I did know. I knew what I would do. I would mess it all up. I didn’t know how, but I would mess it all up, all their nice things. Their perfect house and perfect life and perfect wedding—I would make a big, ugly mess of it all.
That night, before I went to bed, I pulled out the clothes I would wear for the morning. But when I got underneath the covers, I couldn’t fall asleep. Finally, I made myself imagine I was standing in the middle of a blueberr
y field, where nothing could ever go wrong.
And the next thing I knew, it was morning.
CHAPTER 16
ACTUALLY, ONE THING COULD GO WRONG.
Shauna showed up after lunch on Monday, and before lunch on Tuesday, and just as the sun had dried off the dew on Wednesday.
The two of them were ridiculous.
They came up with games like Toss the Blueberry into the Other Person’s Mouth and How Long Can a Blueberry Stay in a Bellybutton While Doing the Hula. They whispered and they laughed together. I spied on them constantly and once, through the bottom of the bushes, saw their toes touching.
“What are you doing?” I yelled it, over and over, until their toes moved apart.
On Thursday before lunch, I pushed through the bushes and looked in Patrick’s big bucket. It was empty. “Patrick! You haven’t even filled up one little bucket yet?”
“So?” he said.
I went up to him and said right in his ear, “You’ll never get those jeans you want. And those shoes.”
“So?” he said again.
“So,” I said loudly. “You’ll look stupid in high school next year.”
Shauna laughed. “I guarantee that your brother will not look stupid in high school. I was a freshman last year, so I know what I’m talking about.”
Pretending she was invisible, I pushed back through to my own side of the row. But I continued to spy on them through the thick branches, watching like they were a TV show that I hated, but for some reason, couldn’t turn away from.
• • •
Friday afternoon was hot even before lunch, and the radios in the field clicked on early. Shauna shouted, “Whooo! Turn it up!”
“Whooo to you, Shauna!” a boy’s voice called back. “Come over here!”
“You come over here!”
“No!” I hissed it through the bushes. “Tell them no!”
“What row are you on?” the voices called out. “Tell us what row!”
“No!” I hissed again. “Please!”
The voices, they scared me. The times I saw other kids in the field, like at the weigh station or waiting for a ride by the office, they were silent. Or, if they spoke, it was in quiet voices, voices meant for hiding. But in the cover of the bushes, their voices changed. I could only imagine different kids attached to these voices. Big and unpredictable and full of awful shenanigans.
The Secrets of Blueberries, Brothers, Moose & Me Page 7