She covered her mouth with her hands, but the giggles poured out. Then Stephanie stepped out from behind her.
“You! Both of you are in trouble,” I shouted. “Why do you keep breaking the rules? You don’t see me in your room, do you, Carrie?”
Stephanie disappeared quickly, leaving Carrie only half grinning in the fading light of evening.
“We heard you talking in the dark. It was Stephie’s idea to sneak in. Honest, Holly.”
“You’re older than Stephie. Better spell out the rules of our house to her,” I said, putting Bearie-O back on his shelf.
“It’s dark in here.” She flicked on the light switch. “Why are you sitting in the dark talking to your stuffed animals?”
“None of your business.”
“Fine, don’t tell me,” she said. “But I’ve got a message for you from Mommy. She wants you to set the table. Mr. Tate and Zachary are coming for supper.” Carrie left, closing the door behind her.
I stomped over to the light switch. Sitting in the dark was good for the soul sometimes. Maybe when Carrie grew up she’d understand.
Opening the bottom drawer of my dresser, I slid my journal into its hiding place. My notebook of secret prayers was underneath. So were copies of my letters to pen pals, including Lucas Wadsworth Leigh, all stored in an old legal file, a reject from the law firm where Mom was a paralegal. Another folder held his letters to me. Writing an answer to his last letter would be my first project tonight after supper.
This whole thing of “snail mail” pen pals had been Andie’s idea. She was so bored last month, she challenged me to a contest. “Let’s see who can get the most pen pals before school starts,” she’d said. “And no fair getting extra money from parents for postage.”
Andie was like that. Very bossy.
Not wanting to miss out on the fun, I had agreed. Soon I was ahead with six pen friends. Then she moved ahead, adding two girls from Panama. Quickly, I sent off for a girl in Rome. Tied!
Counting Lucas, I was actually winning. But for some reason, keeping this male pal a secret from Andie was important to me.
One week after Andie’s challenge, I had discovered Lucas Leigh’s name in the personal ads in a writer’s magazine at the library.
Lucas Wadsworth Leigh, nephew to mystery writer Marty Leigh, is interested in corresponding with aspiring fiction writers, the ad read.
I couldn’t resist. Marty Leigh was tops. I owned every book she’d ever written. If she was even remotely related to this Lucas person, well…I had to know more. So I’d sent my first letter off to Lucas W. Leigh.
Promptly, I received a letter back. A fancy seal was affixed to the back of the envelope with LWL on display in calligraphy, as if he were royalty or something. I’d learned Lucas was a junior in college—much older than I’d supposed. I realized then I’d never declared my own age of thirteen. What difference did age make in a writer, anyway? I’d told myself. Andie’s daring nature was beginning to rub off on me.
“Holly!” called Carrie. “Mom’s waiting.”
I pushed my dresser drawer shut, wishing I could put it under lock and key. Especially with an immature younger sister and giggly cousin snooping around. “Coming, Mom,” I called as I hurried downstairs.
Delicious aromas filled the kitchen. Mom had baked meat loaf with her yummy brown sugar and ketchup topping. And there were two yellow candles lying on the counter.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked suspiciously.
Mom motioned for me to help. “Time to dish up.”
“Celebrating Zachary’s remission?” I asked.
“Good idea,” she said, evading my question.
“Mom, you’re not announcing something important, are you?” I held the forks in my right hand, suspended in time and space, waiting…
Please, dear God, don’t let this be what I’m thinking.
I turned to face her, my heart beating wildly. Did I dare tell her what I thought of Mr. Tate becoming her husband?
The doorbell rang. “It’s Mike and Zachary.” Mom rushed to the door the way she once did when Daddy awaited her.
My heart sank. Was Mom in love?
I wanted to scatter the utensils around the dining room table.
Instead I forced myself to fold the napkins neatly, placing two forks to the left of each plate.
“Hi, girls,” Zach said, lugging a duffel bag full of toy planes and missiles and things. It was good to see him looking so cheerful. And healthy.
“Hungry?” I asked him.
He sniffed the air. “Smells good.” He plopped down at the head of the table.
Mr. Tate carried a square white box. Zach pointed to it, acting excited about what was inside.
“What’s in there?” Carrie asked, touching the lid.
“Uh, that’s a surprise,” Mr. Tate said, shooing her away.
I hoped it wasn’t a wedding cake. The excitement in my mother’s eyes worried me. She’d met Mr. Tate for breakfast early this morning. Had she gone and eloped?
With a grand wave of her hand, Mom announced, “Please be seated, everyone. Look for your name card beside each plate.”
Name cards? This was special.
Zach found his place, next to Mom. Stephie was on the other side of her. Mr. Tate sat at the head of the table, the empty spot where Daddy used to sit years ago.
Mom carried the food to the table. Then Mr. Tate prayed without Mom asking, like he was in charge or something.
When the baked potatoes came around, I unwrapped the foil from mine, scrunching it into a ball. “Please pass the butter,” I said.
I watched, almost jealously, as Mom worked first on Zach’s potato, then Stephie’s. She seemed so fond of Zach.
Mr. Tate waited for everyone to start eating before he tapped his fork lightly on his water glass. “I’d like to propose a toast.”
Propose? Sounded scary.
He held up his glass. “Children, this is a toast to our new life together as a family. Susan, this is a toast to our new investment endeavor.”
Mom looked scared, like something had just dawned on her. “Ah, wait a minute, Mike,” she said. “I thought you were going to give me time to discuss this with the girls.”
Mr. Tate lowered his glass. “You’d like their permission?” He looked at Carrie, then me. “Well, girls. What do you think?”
Carrie grinned. “When are you getting married?”
Mr. Tate’s eyes shone. “Soon,” he said, gazing at Mom.
Carrie smiled. “Goody. I’ll have a brother,” she said, pointing to Zach, who grabbed his throat, pretending to gag.
“Calm down, young man,” Mr. Tate reprimanded him. “Your little friend is only being polite.”
Now I felt like I might choke. Mr. Tate was much too serious. Couldn’t he take a joke?
Mr. Tate turned and smiled at me. “How do you feel about this news, Holly, uh, Heart, is it?”
I coughed, despising him for putting me on the spot like this. Where were his manners?
“Excuse me, please,” I said, leaving the table and rushing to the bathroom.
“Holly?” Mom called. “Are you all right, dear?”
All right was for kids with boring, uneventful lives. Kids with a dad who lived with them. Kids who didn’t have to worry about possible stepfathers like Mr. Tate. Not kids like me.
I closed the door to the bathroom. Locked inside, I felt like I was drowning. Now I knew how Andie had felt with the mighty Arkansas River rushing around her. Pulling her into its powerful current. Grabbing her, thrusting her into its whirling waves, while she worked…pounding, thrashing…fighting to survive.
Exhausted, I sat on the edge of the tub. Why was I fighting so hard? This was Mom’s choice. If Mr. Tate was right for her, why did I dislike him?
A light tapping came at the door. “Holly-Heart, it’s me, Mom.”
“I’m okay,” I said, knowing full well that I preferred to stay in here, nursing my pain for the rest of my life.<
br />
“You don’t sound okay,” she said.
Mom was persistent—one of the many things I loved about her. She always knew when I needed to be alone, and when I needed her there, even the times I told her to leave me alone.
“Honey?” She was still waiting.
The tears came, so I couldn’t answer. Besides, I didn’t want to spoil her special night.
“Something must be very wrong,” she said. “Are you sick?”
Oh yeah, I was sick, all right. Sick for all the years I’d missed Daddy. Sick that he left in the first place. Sick that he’d remarried. Sick that if Mr. Tate and Mom got together, Daddy would never be able to marry Mom again if he ever had the chance.
I ran the hot and cold water together. Fast. I blew my nose and muttered something about joining her for dessert.
“Are you sure, Holly?” She knew me well.
“Yes,” I managed to say, turning the water off.
I heard her footsteps fade away as she went back downstairs.
I wiped my face and stared at the washcloth. I stared at it. There were no M’s for Meredith on these towels like the M’s for Myers at Danny’s house. The stuck-up Miller twins probably had monogrammed M’s on their towels, too.
What if someone gave Mom a wedding gift of towels with T for Tate stitched on them? Instantly, I knew I would never, ever use those towels if we got any. My last name was Meredith, and nothing could change that.
Slowly, I took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door. One by one, I descended the stairs.
Everyone was almost finished eating. I sat down and picked at my meat loaf, feeling Carrie’s eyes on me. My eyes were probably red.
This minute I wished I were a little girl again, with Daddy sitting across from me at the head of the table.
Mom made small talk until I finally finished eating. Then Mr. Tate brought the white box over, setting it down in the middle of the table. I held my breath, certain there’d be a layer cake with white curlicues dancing around the edges and a miniature bride and groom smiling on the tip-top.
Slowly, he reached inside the box and lifted the plate up. “This,” he said, “is a honeycomb.”
I stared at the tiny cubicles of wax.
Mr. Tate cut a small portion off and gave it to Mom. One after another we were served the waxy stuff, heavy with honey.
Next came a demonstration. Mr. Tate picked up a bite-sized piece and began to chew it. “You work the honey out of the comb and spit out the wax.”
“That’s gross,” said Carrie.
Zach was getting the hang of it, however. “Mmm, it’s good.”
Mom beamed down at Zach, putting her arm around him. “It’s good for you,” she said. Then, looking around the table, “It’s good for all of us.”
“Which brings me to some exciting news.” Mr. Tate sat down and directed his gaze to me. “Your mother and I are planning to purchase some land north of here.”
Mom nodded. “We spoke to a real-estate broker during breakfast this morning.”
North of here? I swallowed hard. The mountains were north of here.
Mr. Tate continued, “This five-acre plot of land we’re considering is a choice spot for a log home. And the perfect place for a bee farm, among other things.”
Carrie’s eyes widened. “Bees make honey. We’re going to have bees?”
“Yes, we’re going to become beekeepers and gather honey. And,” he paused, breathing deeply, “get in touch with nature.”
I stared at this man. Not only did he want to marry my mother, he wanted to ruin my life!
SEALED WITH A KISS
Chapter 6
I managed to speak at last, addressing only Mom. “Why do we have to move?”
“We don’t have to, Holly,” she said firmly. “But things are better in the country, uh, in the mountains. The air is cleaner and—”
Mr. Tate interrupted. “There are certain things you don’t know, Holly. Your mother and I will discuss them with you in private.” Here, he glanced at Zachary, who was picking the waxy honeycomb out of his teeth.
Anger boiled in me. Then Mom suggested Carrie and I clear the table.
Gladly. Anything to get away from this man. Mr. Tate was turning out to be someone great to hate.
“We’ll have family devotions in one hour,” he announced.
I looked at Carrie. “Family devotions?” I whispered.
“Yeah, isn’t it cool? Zach’s gonna be our brother.”
Stunned at her response, I opened the dishwasher. Carrie, my own flesh and blood, was in favor of this nightmare.
I waited till Mr. Tate left the room. A sad lump stuck in my throat as Zach put his arm around my mother. Together, they headed downstairs to the family room.
I grabbed Carrie’s arm. “Listen to me. This is serious.”
“Ouch, you’re hurting me,” she wailed.
“I am not,” I said, letting go.
“Holly, what’s wrong with you?”
“I’m worried. Mom’s going to marry Mr. Tate and move us out of town. We’ll leave this house—Daddy’s house—and live in some drafty log cabin where we won’t even have our own bedrooms and we’ll have to gather honey and berries for food like the pilgrims.”
Carrie stared at me. “I’m telling. You’re wrong…that’s not what we’re gonna do.” And she raced downstairs, whining the whole time.
Betrayed. That’s how I felt. I couldn’t even share my greatest fears with my sister. She was off blabbing it to Mom and Mr. Tate this minute.
So what. Let her tell. And when I got in trouble for expressing my opinion, I’d announce that I was staying in Dressel Hills. Maybe Danny’s rich parents would adopt me. Or there was always Andie. I rinsed and stacked the dishes, drawing the water for the pots and pans.
Just then Carrie came stomping up the steps. “They want to talk to you after the kitchen’s clean, but before devotions.” She seemed to enjoy ordering me around.
“You have an attitude problem, Carrie,” I retorted. “Go play with Stephie.”
“I can’t. She’s going back to the Millers’ house tonight.”
“Well, then, go do something else, unless you want to scrub these pans.” I knew that would make her disappear. And I was right. She skipped out of the room.
Watching the minute hand on the clock above the fridge, I became more and more furious. Mom was supposed to be on my side. But it was obvious she was attached to Zachary. Sure, he was a motherless cancer patient, but now that he was in remission, couldn’t she pay attention to her own kids for a change?
I tried to force the Tate-hate away by concentrating on the good things in my life, like Andie’s surviving the icy Arkansas River, and how loyal she’d been, standing out in the rain for me. And school starting soon, with volleyball tryouts just around the corner.
And there was my literary pen pal, Lucas Wadsworth Leigh. What a cool name. He even sounded like an author, a best-selling one at that. I could hardly wait to write back to him. I had planned to tonight after supper, but that was before Mr. Tate ordered family devotions.
“Holly,” Mom said, now in the kitchen.
Startled, I jumped. “Hew long have you been standing there?”
“Not long.”
I rinsed off the meat loaf pan, wondering how long I’d scrubbed the same spot. “You wanted to talk to me?”
“We do,” she said. “When you’re finished.”
“Mom?” I hesitated. “I don’t want to live in the mountains. Can’t we stay here?” I dried my hands.
“Mike and I have already made an offer on the property. It’s truly beautiful up there, you’ll see.”
“I don’t want to see. It’s too far away. Besides, how will I get to school?”
“Those are things we’ll discuss. Perhaps we can get a permit for you to continue at your school. It won’t happen immediately. We’ll have to build the house first, and winter’s coming on soon.”
Three cheers for winter. For a
nything that would slow down this ridiculous process.
“Let’s talk downstairs,” she said, putting her arm around me.
Mr. Tate was fooling with the sound system installed in our entertainment center. He pushed the Play button on the CD player. Holy Voltage interrupted the stillness. He jerked his bald head back, glaring at me. “What in the world is that?”
It was time to defend myself. “That’s Christian rap. It’s totally cool.”
Mr. Tate frowned. “Cool? Let’s have something soothing instead.” He fumbled around with the system, obviously confused.
I waited, prolonging his frustration. The heavy rap beat made me want to dance across the room and turn up the volume so he could really get the message. It was a Christian group, after all.
A pleading look crossed his face. “Please turn it off, Holly.”
In a flash, I pressed the correct button, wondering if this was how things would be when Mr. Tate was forever calling the shots.
He sat on the chair across from me. “There are some things you need to know about Zachary’s remission, Holly,” he began. “It is difficult for the doctors to project into the future. Of course, we’re hoping for the best. But the best might only be a few years.”
What does this have to do with anything? I wondered.
Mom continued, “We want to change our way of living, for Zach’s sake. Perhaps prolong his life with the way we eat and things like that.”
“The stress in the city alone can add to a person’s susceptibility to disease,” Mr. Tate stated.
Oh please, I thought. Dressel Hills was hardly a city. A ski village of ten thousand people wasn’t stressful in the least.
“We’ll have our own raw honey as well as plant herbs for teas,” Mom said.
This didn’t sound like the mother I knew and loved. The only herbs she cared about were in the tea bags she used to make peppermint tea every day after work. And honey…what was wrong with the stuff in our plastic bear?
“You’re so quiet, Holly,” Mom said.
I was thinking hard. “What about your long drive to work?” I asked.
“That’s something else that must be considered,” she said.
“Are you quitting?” I asked.
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