Holly's Heart Collection One

by Beverly Lewis

  I cringed inside. “He’s your daddy, too, Carrie.”

  “But I like Mr. Tate better.”

  “That’s only because you hardly know Daddy,” I said.

  “Well, you don’t, either,” she shot back, “or else you wouldn’t be going out there this summer.”

  “This summer is my business.”

  Carrie jabbered on. “You’ll miss Uncle Jack and the cousins if they come. You’ll miss all the fun with Stan and Stephie. And maybe Phil and Mark might get into your secret notebooks, and—”

  “Stop it, Carrie. You’re making me mad.”

  “I’m mad, too. I don’t want you to go to California. I don’t know why Grandma wants you to. She must not be thinking straight anymore.”

  “Watch what you say.”

  But she kept it up. “Grandma’s going to be seventy soon. Old people can’t think very clearly. I’m a kid. Listen to me, Holly.”

  “I’ve decided. That’s the way it is. Daddy should be mailing an airplane ticket any day now.” I wasn’t going to let her beat me with her Miss Know-it-all fit. Besides, saying it might help make it come true.

  “Holly-Heart.” Mom was home from work.

  I raced down to the kitchen, where she stood with my note in her hand.

  “We’ll have to talk fast,” she said. “I have to go out.”

  “Again?” I wailed.

  “Holly, please stop these outbursts.” She opened the freezer and reached for some pizzas.

  “I’m tired of frozen dinners. I want my mother back,” I whined.

  “I think you’re blowing things out of proportion.” She sat down. “But if that’s how you feel, we’d better talk.”

  I sat on a barstool and fiddled with the place mats. “First of all, you probably won’t believe it, but I’ve been praying about this summer. A lot.” I paused to check her reaction. I could usually tell how things were going over from her eyes. Nope, they weren’t all squinty yet. Breathe, Holly, breathe, I told myself.

  I continued. “I’ve been hoping you’d see how important it is for me to go to California. I want to get to know my dad,” I told her.

  She stared at me. No comment. No squinting.

  “Do my feelings count?” I asked bravely.

  “Of course they do,” Mom said.

  “Then it’s time I visit the other part of my family.”

  I could see the family word bugged her. The eye squinting started.

  I took a deep breath. “I feel all torn apart.”

  “You’re right, Holly,” Mom said. “An important part of our family is missing, and has been for a long time.”

  “But he’s still in my family,” I argued.

  “Holly, please don’t make this difficult,” she said, her voice trembling.

  I brought up the other forbidden topic. “Are you and Mr. Tate…?” I couldn’t finish.

  She brushed a crumb off the bar. “Perhaps. In time.”

  “Are you serious?”

  She nodded. “I would like to get married again someday…to the right man, of course.”

  My heart sank. “You’re kidding. Please say you are. I mean, it’s taken this long to get used to Daddy being gone, and—”

  “Holly, settle down. I’m not getting married next week. I promise you.” She slid off the stool and went to the refrigerator.

  “Good,” I said, hoping Mr. Tate and Mom would break up.

  Soon.

  While Mom cut into an apple, I returned to the subject of the summer visit. “I know you don’t approve of my summer plan, but it’s right, I know it is. I’m a good kid. You don’t have to worry about me linking up with the wrong crowd out there. Beach parties don’t excite me. Getting to know Daddy does.”

  Mom’s eyes were serious. I could see she was beginning to understand. Finally she was listening with her heart.

  “And there’s another reason,” I said softly.

  She tilted her head, encouraging me to go on.

  “I want to talk to Daddy about God.” Silently, I waited for her to say I could go. A yes was on the tip of her tongue. I was sure of it.

  Then the phone rang. She ran to get it, the way I do when I think it’s Danny Myers. “Hello?” I heard her say. “Hi, Mike.”

  What timing! Mr. Tate’s call had preempted me.

  SECRET SUMMER DREAMS

  Chapter 9

  Ripping the plastic off the pizzas, I slid them into the oven. Then I set the oven timer and stormed upstairs.

  Carrie met me in the hallway. “Did you have a fight with Mommy?”

  “Never mind.”

  “You gonna baby-sit me tonight?” she asked.

  “You guessed it.” I closed my bedroom door. Not a single second of peace passed before Carrie was pounding on my door.

  “What now?” I opened the door a crack.

  Tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “Aw, Carrie, what’s wrong?” I reached for her and gave her a big hug. She sobbed something into my chest. Something like if I were far away in California right now, she’d be stuck with Marcia Greene or somebody else for a baby-sitter.

  True. But it was Mom’s responsibility to look after Carrie, not mine. Carrie’s fears were growing, and something had to change that. I figured that if Mr. Tate were out of the picture, we’d have Mom back. And I could go to California without worrying about Carrie.

  There was one problem, though: Mom’s happiness. It might disappear right along with this man…and Zachary.

  Wiping my sister’s tear-streaked face, I pulled my box of school stuff closer. “Wanna help me sort through these papers from my school locker?”

  We sat on the floor, and I started digging through the box. It was full of important stuff. Like notes passed to me in history class.

  Other things, too. Like the English assignment titled, “My Secret Summer Dream Fantasy.” It was squashed down under the end-ofthe-year quizzes in math and science.

  “What’s that?” Carrie asked as I flipped through the pages of my essay.

  “The best English assignment I ever wrote,” I said, showing off the A-. “It was perfectly fabulous. About my secret summer dreams.”

  “Read it to me,” Carrie begged, her nose still stuffy from crying.

  “You sure?”

  “Uh-huh.” She nodded.

  “Okay, but you have to promise never to tell anyone about this. Okay?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”

  “That’s gross,” I said. “You don’t have to say that stuff.” Eight-year-olds could be far from cool.

  I began to read: “ ‘The dearest wish that ever could be is to spend the summer of my thirteenth year with my father, who lives in California near the Pacific Ocean in a house made of mostly glass windows, especially on the side facing the ocean.’ ”

  What a long sentence! I thought. Why didn’t Miss Wannamaker deduct points for that?

  I continued. “ ‘Leaving Dressel Hills, Colorado, behind will be a torturous thing for me, though. My best friend, Andie Martinez, and her family will go without me on their regular camping trip.

  And this year, an added feature to the normal adventure is a whitewater raft trip down the mighty Arkansas River. I will sacrifice the time of my life in order to get to know the father who left me when I was just a kid.

  “ ‘Then there is my little sister, Carrie, whom I must leave behind to face the trials of our mother’s momentary fascination with a certain man. Her interest is such that she chooses to spend most of her time with him, much to the dismay of her household, namely her two daughters and one cool cat named Goofey.’ ”

  Carrie interrupted. “Goofey doesn’t care about anything, Holly. He just eats and sleeps. That’s all.”

  She was right. The cat hadn’t been affected by Mom’s strange behavior in the least.

  I turned the page. “ ‘There is another certain person who I will miss a lot. He is the kindest, smartest, coolest guy friend a girl cou
ld have. He has a photographic memory, so all the important things like my favorite cookie and soda pop are right there on the tip of his tongue. Nature and strange animals interest him. His love for God makes me want to pray more, the way he does. I can’t reveal his name here, but the most fabulous thing that could happen, if I get my summer dream-come-true, is that he’ll agree to do something very weird. This is it: When I leave Dressel Hills for the summer, this special person will promise to read the same books I read while I’m in California. It will be a token of our special friendship. Our reading list will be five books he picks and five I pick.’ ”

  “Wow,” said Carrie. “That’s ten books.”

  “I know,” I said, “but listen to what happens next: ‘We’d make a reading schedule so that, even though we’re hundreds of miles apart, we’d be thinking about the exact same things, precisely at the same time, and we’d be closer to each other for having made this pact.’ ”

  Carrie had more ideas. “Would you seal it with a kiss behind the library?”

  “No, silly.” Little kids always seemed to bring up the kissing thing. “We’re good friends,” I explained. “Nothing more.”

  She giggled and snuggled up to me, anxious for more.

  I kept reading. “ ‘But the very best and most secret summer fantasy is this: spending time getting to know my father. And hoping that when he gets to know me better, he’ll love me as much as I remember loving him.’ ”

  Carrie was stone still.

  “Now you know why it’s so important for me to go away.” I tucked the English assignment away in my bottom dresser drawer.

  Slowly, Carrie spoke, “I wish I could say the same thing about our daddy.”

  It was the first time she’d claimed him as ours. Hers.

  “Someday you will. I’m sure of it,” I said, leading her downstairs just as the timer buzzed for the pizza.

  She pulled at my hand. “Want some advice?”

  “Sure.”

  “Let Mom read your fantasy story.”

  Carrie was way off on that idea. Besides, Mom wouldn’t appreciate what I’d written about her.

  “You always let her read your stories and stuff,” Carrie said.

  Not always, I thought. There were secret lists and secret journals. Secret prayer lists and…secret secrets.

  When Mr. Tate arrived for his date with Mom, he looked exhausted. Worried.

  Mom came downstairs, wearing her light-blue shirtwaist dress. She looked pretty, but somewhat preoccupied. “We’ll be attending a meeting at the hospital tonight,” she informed me, “in case you need to call for any reason.” Her words sounded stiff.

  Carrie ran to hug her good-bye. I wanted to do the same. But as I crossed the room toward her, Mr. Tate said, “Holly, could you please watch Zachary while we’re gone? It’ll only be about two hours.”

  A totally outrageous request. He should’ve called hours ago! I wanted to say no, but Mom’s eyes were squinting almost all the way shut. Something was wrong. I could feel it.

  “Next time could you call me ahead of time, please?” I said coldly. Inside I felt like screaming at him. How dare he take my mother and leave me with his spoiled, vomity kid!

  Mr. Tate ignored my request, handing me a bottle of pills. “Zach will need one of these thirty minutes from now.”

  “Do they make him throw up?” Carrie asked as I squeezed the bottle in my hand.

  Leave it to Carrie.

  I fumed while Mr. Tate explained, “He’s fairly nauseated all the time, but that can’t be helped. Not immediately. We trust he’s improving.”

  He turned and headed for the car, helping Zachary into the house. Sitting beside him on the sofa, Mr. Tate leaned over and kissed his son. Zachary reached his skinny arms up to his dad and hugged him limply.

  “I’ll be back soon, Zach,” Mr. Tate said.

  The boy held his thumbs up, just like Andie always did. Seeing him, Mom made some high-pitched sobbing sounds and rushed out the door.

  Mr. Tate kept talking as though nothing had happened. “Zachary should be fine. Just keep him quiet, Holly. No excitement, please.” He glanced out the window at Mom, who appeared to have lost it for some unknown reason.

  “How am I supposed to do that when it’s impossible to know what’s going to happen next around here?” I said, stuffing the pills into my pocket.

  Mr. Tate glared back at me. “Don’t do this now,” he said.

  “Do what?” I said, my teeth clenched.

  “You know what I mean,” he said so sternly I was immediately convinced to cool it.

  I hurried outside to Mom. “Are you okay?”

  She dabbed at her eyes and shook her head.

  “Mom?” I held her hand. “What’s wrong?”

  She could only cry.

  Mr. Tate came then. He put his arm around her shoulder.

  “The meeting is about Zachary,” he said. “We hope and pray this medication will help him.”

  Carrie squeezed in between Mom and Mr. Tate, hugging them both.

  Mr. Tate studied me with his beady eyes. “We’re going to hear a specialist discuss Zachary’s illness. We won’t be late.”

  Zillions of questions zigzagged back and forth in my brain. When Mom and Mr. Tate turned to go, I wanted to shout them out, one by one. Most of all: What is making Mom cry?

  Carrie waved as they backed out of the driveway. Then we hurried inside to find Zachary leaning against the green plaid throw pillows on the sofa, sound asleep.

  “Are you gonna wake him up for his pill when it’s time?” Carrie asked.

  “Guess so. Must be pretty powerful stuff to make him so sick,”

  I said, trying to read the label. “What’s methotrexate?”

  “Never heard of it,” Carrie said. She raced to the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” I called after her.

  In a flash, she came downstairs with a huge book. “Here, Mommy reads out of this sometimes.”

  It was an important-looking medical book. “Where’d you get this?” I asked, touching the tan hardcover.

  “Mommy had it in her room this morning. I heard her praying, so I sneaked into the hall to see. She was sitting on the bed, holding it.”

  I looked in the index under the M’s. There it was—methotrexate. A drug prescribed in the maintenance therapy of…

  I held my breath. Zachary had cancer!

  SECRET SUMMER DREAMS

  Chapter 10

  Slowly, I closed the book and handed it to Carrie. “Put this back where you found it,” I said.

  “What’s wrong?” Carrie asked.

  “I’ll tell you later.” I hoped she wouldn’t hassle me about it in front of Zach. He looked wiped out. I could tell by the way his arm was flung off to the side.

  Gently untying his Nikes, I pulled them off. I was surprised by the lightness of his body as I lifted his legs onto the sofa. His red baseball cap slipped off to the side as he moved in his sleep. He was mostly bald underneath. No wonder he wore the cap everywhere.

  All at once, I felt dreadfully wicked. Here was a very sick boy—not a spoiled brat—who hung all over his dad at mealtime. Who raced to the bathroom for vomiting sessions. Who’d lost all his hair to some powerful drug that was doing damage to his body while attempting to save his life. No wonder my mother sobbed when Zach gave his thumbs-up sign. No wonder!

  “Stay here with Zach, will you?” I said to Carrie. Tears blinded my eyes. I ran upstairs to my room and threw myself on my knees. How could God forgive my selfishness?

  I cried out for forgiveness.

  “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love; according to your great compassion blot out my transgressions.” I recited the first verse of Psalm 51 from memory. Mom had taught it to me when I first became a Christian.

  Verse two was the part I really needed: “Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin.”

  “Holly? You all right?” Carrie asked, coming into my room. She�
�d broken our rule about entering without knocking, but it didn’t matter. Not today.

  “I’ve been a real jerk about Zachary,” I confessed. “But you, Carrie, you’ve been his friend.” I reached up and hugged her there on the floor.

  “I wanna be his best friend. But…what’s wrong with him?” she asked.

  B-E-E-P! the smoke detector wailed.

  “Yikes, the pizza!” I yelled as I skipped down the steps two at a time. I grabbed two potholders and pulled the black pizza out of the hot oven.

  “Carrie, get Zachary out of this smoke!” I shouted as I rushed the burnt mess out to the trash behind the house. Leaving the baking tray and potholders on top of the trash can, I raced back to the front of the house.

  What a relief to see Zachary sitting with Carrie on the porch swing out front. He adjusted his baseball cap and grinned at me. “Now what’s for supper?” he asked.

  “I’ll think of something. But first you need one of these,” I said, pulling the pills out of my pocket.

  Carrie ran to get a glass of water.

  “Open all the kitchen windows,” I called to her, propping the screen door open.

  Here I was, alone with Mr. Tate’s kid. He was pushing off the redwood porch with his toe, making the swing sway gently. He looked up at me and adjusted his cap.

  “Uh, Zachary,” I began. “I’ve treated you pretty lousy lately, and I’m sorry. You probably don’t know it, but I think you’re really brave.” It felt good to apologize. I reached out my hand to him. “Friends?”

  He nodded and smiled a toothless grin. His hand was much hotter than I expected.

  “You’re warm.” I touched his forehead like Mom always did when I had a fever. My hand felt cool against his face. He was feverish.

  “My neck hurts,” he said.

  “Where?” I was surprised to feel the swollen glands where he pointed. Really swollen. “How long has it hurt?” My heart pounded in my ears.

  “Since this morning,” he said, his face pink.

  I helped him inside and told Carrie to bring the thermometer, not the glass of cold water.