Dewey Fairchild, Parent Problem Solver

by Lorri Horn

  Dewey found Wolfie soft and comforting to touch as he mindlessly thought about his problem and tried to absorb the shock of what he’d just learned. If he moved, he’d never see Wolfie again. How could this be happening? And how come no one had asked him how he felt about it?

  He took a picture of Wolfie and sent it to Seraphina. #Fluffles.

  When Clara slid in, she could immediately tell something was amiss.

  “Sir? What’s wrong?”

  Wolfie bit down on his black and white skunk, gave it a shake and a toss. When no one joined in the game, he settled back into his cushion like a black and white comma, closed his eyes, and went to sleep.

  Though Dewey had known Clara for all his years growing up, he probably never would have considered her for an assistant had he not run into her in the department store that one summer.

  In Dewey’s home, the end of the school year meant swimming, popsicles, and free time! But it also signaled his mother to purge their drawers and closets, which meant Dewey had to stand in the middle of his room trying on pants, shorts, shirts, bathing trunks, pajamas—everything!—until his mother had finished making piles of things she would send to his little cousin, box up for Pooh Bear, or put back in his drawers.

  That’s how summers began. And summers ended with the family taking a trip to the department store to fill in the missing gaps. Dewey had no idea Clara even worked in a department store, and he was in the middle of complaining to his mother when Clara saved the day.

  “Why can’t you just order them online like a normal mother?” whined Dewey.

  “What? And miss out on this special time together? Not on your life, mister.”

  Uugh. He stood in the dressing room trying on some pants. This, in his opinion, remained the only thing worse than having to try on clothes at home. Dewey looked at himself in the wall-to-wall mirrors. He looked kind of pale, and his arms were too skinny.

  He came out to show his mom the third pair of corduroy pants. The other two, which he thought fit just right, his mom felt wouldn’t leave “enough room to grow.”

  “Okay?” he asked, with just a bit too much attitude.

  “Okay?!” replied a little old lady. “Well, I’d say that they’re more than okay. Those pants on that bottom is what I’d call a real lady catcher!”

  Dewey had looked around for his mom at that moment. And then looked behind and around him to be sure that this old lady was really talking to him. He did a double take and realized it was their longtime family friend and babysitter Clara Cottonwood!

  “Now come here so I can fix them up a bit.” She led Dewey to the middle of the dressing room like she worked there, and cuffed his pants a bit so they weren’t too long and untucked his shirt.

  “You don’t want to look like some sort of dweeb with your shirt tucked in,” she added, and gave a wink.

  What’s Clara doing here? And where did my mom go? Dewey had wondered.

  As if she could read his mind, Clara straightened his shirt and added, “Your mom is out at the clothing area looking for socks for you. Can I get you a shirt that I think would really make that outfit blue chip?”

  “Um, sure,” replied Dewey.

  Why, he wondered, wasn’t it Dad’s idea of a good time to take him shopping? This would be a whole lot less painful. Firstly, they’d be in and out in about ten minutes. Secondly . . . well, secondly, there’d be no secondly because his dad hated to shop as much as he did, and they’d be out eating pizza instead.

  Clara returned with a big pile of shirts.

  Much to Dewey’s surprise, the shirts actually looked pretty good. She’d brought him a red shirt with a sky high tower, one with some stick figure kid skateboarding, a shirt with one of his favorite computer game figures, and a plain, inoffensive, light blue one. He didn’t even know department stores had shirts like these.

  “Oh,” he said surprised. “These are actually pretty okay.”

  His mom returned and told him to come out and “model” each one of the outfits.

  In the privacy of his dressing room, he had to admit, he looked pretty good in the first one he put on. He didn’t look so pale or scrawny after all.

  “Oh, I like it!” his mom said as he came out to show her and gave Clara a hug hello. Clara gave a nod, and he went back in to try on the next one. Clara handed him some long shorts, which she called “deck pants,” instead of the corduroys his mother had chosen, reasoning that the fall weather is often warmer than the summer months and suggested getting the corduroy pants for the winter.

  Dewey went back into the dressing room and got dressed. He was actually pretty pleased with the new clothes, and not too annoyed about the time he’d invested in getting them.

  Months passed, but when Dewey opened his new office and started to get so busy it was obvious he needed an assistant to help run things, kind of to his own surprise, Clara Cottonwood immediately came to mind. Now that he was getting older, he didn’t go over as often to her house for babysitting as he used to, so when he spotted her walking a new dog while he and Colin played hide and seek tag in the park, he took a time-out to go greet the puppy and approach her about the topic.

  There were “No Dogs Allowed” signs posted all around the park. Clara Cottonwood felt that those rules were made for folks who didn’t clean up after their dogs, and since she knew she always cleaned up after her dog, and even other people’s sometimes for that matter, it was just fine if she broke that particular regulation.

  Dewey greeted her and asked all about Wolfie. She had been talking about getting a puppy for years.

  “You did it! You got a new dog! He’s really cute!” he’d said as Wolfie brought out that now infamous pink tongue and licked, licked, licked Dewey’s chin. “What kind is he?”

  “A Havanese—the national dog of Cuba! Their ancestors were raised to be lap dogs hundreds of years ago.”

  His plumed, little tail curled over his small rump, and he ran in circles.

  Colin, who realized that Dewey was no longer seeking him, had come out of hiding to see what was going on.

  “Hello,” said Colin, stooping down to also pet Wolfie, who immediately jumped up and wagged his tail.

  “Off, boy,” admonished Clara. “No jumping.”

  “What the narwhal, he feels like a rabbit!” Colin said once he could catch Wolfie in his hands again.

  Dewey stood and tried to figure out the best way to broach the subject of employment with her.

  “Have you named him yet? He’s so soft. You should call him Narwhal,” Colin said while petting him and looking up at Clara.

  “OK, that makes no sense,” said Dewey.

  Clara chuckled. “Not ‘Narwhal.’ ‘Wolfie.’ Just wait until you feel how sharp his teeth are. He’s a hunter with a toy skunk, alright. Needed a more ferocious name.”

  Colin and Dewey looked at that little black and white ball of fluff and laughed. He looked a lot more like a baby panda bear than a wolf! But then again, he didn’t look much like a whale with a uni-horn either so “Wolfie” certainly made as much sense as “Narwhal.” Dewey was just about to say so to Colin, but he could see that Clara was getting ready to go, so he just blurted out, “I have this business, see.”

  Clara and Wolfie cocked their heads sideways with interest, and Dewey felt encouraged to continue.

  “I kind of help kids solve problems they have with their parents. And I could really use an assistant because, well, it just seems like there are a lot of difficult parents out there! The paperwork is killing me. I’m still a kid in school, ya know? And it’s just too much for me to handle alone. Would you possibly be interested?”

  Was she ever. Her position at the department store was over, having only been temporary for the seasonal sale, and Clara welcomed the companionship the job offered. At first, it was pretty part-time. As Dewey became busier, her cookie baking b
ecame more central to their operation, and Clara became an integral part of the business.

  And now, after all they’d been through, they were about to lose it all. Dewey didn’t know how to tell Clara, even though she’d be the one who would understand the most.

  Physician, Heal Thyself

  Dewey told Seraphina his secret first instead.

  She put her arm around him, and he felt the blood from his shoulders rush to his cheeks.

  “I’ll meet you at your place after dinner, and we’ll tell Clara together. Then we’ll figure it out. Don’t worry. Something will give.”

  But Seraphina wasn’t so sure. She felt a little lump of sadness in her throat and behind her eyes at the thought of Dewey actually leaving for good.

  After all they’d been through, Dewey decided he needed to tell Clara himself, so he asked her to meet him a bit earlier than he expected Seraphina to show up.

  So, here she was now, looking directly at him and asking him what was wrong. He didn’t know how he was going to tell her.

  “Clara,” he blurted out, “I overheard my parents say we are moving to Alaska this summer for my dad’s work.”

  There. He’d said it.

  “Hmmm. That’s bad,” she said as if it were any other bit of news. “I need to grab some paperwork off my desk,” she muttered as she headed over to it and busied herself. “Oh, there it is.”

  Dewey felt confused by her response. Hadn’t she heard him? “Clara. Did you hear what I said?”

  “I heard you, Boss. Hang on one second. I need to print something.”

  Dewey was shocked. After all they’d been through. No tears? No upset?

  Clara handed him a piece of paper and a pen and led him to sit down on the cushion opposite his desk where his clients usually sat.

  “Here,” she said. “Fill this out, please.”

  It was their client information form.

  “Aw, come on, Clara. What are you doing?” Dewey complained.

  Just then, Seraphina came sliding into the room.

  “Sorry. Am I late? Is it my fault she plants little cookie stops along the way to distract me?”

  “No. You’re not late. Just in time to help me understand what the fruit Clara is doing.”

  “Sir, please. The paperwork.”

  “This is dumb, Clara.”

  “Indulge me, sir.”

  So, Dewey filled it out:

  Name: Dewey Fairchild

  Grade: 5th

  School: Franklin Elementary

  “Do I really need to fill in my address, Clara?”

  “Sir, please. The entire form,” insisted Clara.

  Seraphina just sat down next to Wolfie and stroked him and watched with great curiosity.

  Home Address: 5555 Franklin Way

  Best Entry to Your Home Without Being Noticed:

  “Ha! The attic,” he laughed. “OK, sorry. Laundry room door?” he scribbled that down instead.

  Top Three Hiding/Observing Places in Your Home: living room closet, behind the couch in family room, under my bed

  Siblings (names and ages): Stephanie-fourteen, Pooh Bear-five

  Pets: just Wolfie ☺

  Parents’ Names: Karen and Don Fairchild

  Problem Parent(s) Cause You: They have to move. Don’t know why—has to do with my dad’s job.

  Dewey let out a big sigh. “Happy now?”

  “Yes,” replied Clara. “Because now I know you aren’t moving.”

  “Oh yeah? And why is that?” asked Dewey, half-amused and half-annoyed.

  “Because this is what you do! This is what we do! We solve parent problems. Now this kid Dewey and his parents have a big problem. Let’s get to it.”

  “Oh yay!” exclaimed Seraphina and clapped her hands together.

  “Hmmm,” said Dewey.

  Dewey Picks a Tough Case

  It would be nice if the world revolved around him right now, but unfortunately, while Dewey was hiding out under his bed, trying to gather information about why his father’s job was making them move, Clara still had a backlog of client cases for him to solve.

  Tommy’s mom yells too much; Georgina’s dad picks his nose in public; Ken’s parents force him to play the piano and practice all the time. Dewey had promised poor Georgina he’d pick her case first. “Get it, Clara?! I’m picking her case first!” Dewey amused himself, but he had to admit, having a public nose picker for a father pretty much nosed ahead of other people’s problems.

  When he finally got around to her paperwork, he saw it wasn’t just about nose-picking but also loud public burping.

  “He thinks just because he says ‘excuse me’ that it’s OK to burp like that. I don’t think he really realizes when he’s picking his nose though,” Georgina clarified when they met.

  Having Georgina as a client represented just how far-reaching Dewey’s reputation had spread. Georgina attended a private school down the street from where Dewey and his friends attended school. She wasn’t a stranger to them, as they’d all been together on the preschool circuit, but it had been years.

  “I think we should tackle one issue at a time here,” began Dewey. “Let’s start with the belching, and then we’ll move on to the nose picking.” Somehow, that felt more doable.

  Georgina began to squirm a bit in her cushion, blushing at the mention of the nose picking.

  Clara keyed right into her discomfort and took the opportunity to pass around her newest invention: cookie dough cookies. They were baked cookies with chunks of cookie dough in them.

  She had two varieties, crunchy and chewy, and since these were prototypes, she handed out both and asked Dewey and Georgina’s opinions. This distraction, Clara reasoned, would help take some pressure off of poor Georgina as she answered the tough questions.

  “So, what kinds of places or situations does he tend to burp?” asked Dewey.

  “Cookie?” asked Clara.

  “Yes, please. Thank you. Well, I guess for sure at our kitchen table. And that always makes my mom mad. My brother seems to think it’s funny, but I hate it too.”

  “Where else?” asked Dewey, taking notes.

  “Well, he’ll also do it at a restaurant, which is bad because people turn in their seats and look. Or, say, at a baseball game. Or wherever there’s food, really. He eats, he burps. He drinks, he burps. And they are loud! And long ones! It’s really bad. Sometimes they even, um, smell.” She wriggled around in her seat again.

  “How did you enjoy that cookie?” asked Clara. “That was the crunchy one. I’m going to get you the chewy ones soon, but they have to come out of the oven.”

  “OK . . . and now, the nose picking?” continued Dewey.

  “Uugh. It’s the worst. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing it. It’s always while he has some faraway look on his face, and then, before you know it, he is working his fat finger into that hole like . . . like . . . like Winnie the Pooh trying wriggle himself into Rabbit’s hole for honey.” Georgina voice got bizarrely loud as she said “for honey,” as if she were yelling it across the room.

  “Hey, that’s funny! Pooh Bear is my sister’s name. Well, nickname.”

  “What? Really! That’s really weird. Sorry! No offense intended,” Georgina reddened.

  “Ha! None taken,” Dewey reassured. “So, when would you say this excavation most often occurs?” asked Dewey, scribbling as quickly as he could in his notebook.

  “Well, let’s see. Driving. Watching TV or out at a movie. Sometimes, if my grandma starts going on and on about something, he’ll just start up then, too.”

  “Now I know this last bit of information may seem graphic and insensitive, and I am sorry in advance, but if you can tell me, it will save a lot of stakeout time and let us get started a lot quicker. Do you know what he does with the boogers? I mean, he do
esn’t eat them, does he?”

  “The chewy cookies are hot out of the oven and ready for you to try!” sang Clara with delight, handing them each a small plate with two cookie dough cookies on it and a mini glass of cold milk.

  Dewey rolled his eyes. Timing, Clara! Timing!

  In fact, the timing proved to be good and so did the cookies. They both agreed that they liked the cookie dough chunks in the crunchy cookie better.

  Georgina admitted that she didn’t know what her dad did with the boogers, because as soon as his finger started doing its crawl, she looked the other way. But she sure feared that others did not, and that’s why she’d come for help—that, and because their dinner table sounded a lot like a beached elephant seal sat with them.

  Dewey shook Georgina’s hand and then so did Clara.

  “Don’t worry, Georgina. We’ll crack this case, or my name isn’t Dewey Fairchild,” and out Georgina went the way she came, a little more hopeful and a lot more satiated.

  Clara looked over at Dewey and gave him a wink. “Boogers and burps, eh? Well, eat slugs! This case ought to be fun, Boss.”

  “Yeah. You sure can pick ’em, Clara,” he wisecracked as he walked out.

  “Ah ha ha ha ha ha! Oh, pick ’em. Yeah. I get it. Pick ’em!”

  Wolfie just rolled over for a belly rub, and if she wasn’t mistaken, let out a “BUUURRRP.”

  A Nickel for Your Thoughts

  Under his bed was an excellent spot to gather new information from his parents. Dewey’s bedroom was next to the kitchen, where conversations between his parents often occurred, and, as he’d already learned, he could also hear a lot coming through the vent when they were in the living room.

  His parents were in the kitchen husking and chopping up tomatillos for some sort of white bean chili recipe his dad wanted to try, which Dewey would never consider eating.

  It made no sense to Dewey that they were moving. His dad and Dr. Bernard had worked together in the dentist practice as long as Dewey could remember. Surely he didn’t want to go to Alaska?