Holly's Heart Collection One

by Beverly Lewis

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “At church…teacher’s meeting.”

  “Can we have French toast?” she asked.

  “I already ate, but I’ll make you some.”

  “With Mr. Tate’s honey?” She grinned.

  I wondered why he was the first thing on her mind this morning. “Is there any honey left?” I asked.

  “There better be,” she said, jumping out of bed.

  “Meet you downstairs in ten minutes,” I said, heading for the stairs.

  After a noon meal of pot roast and the works, I excused myself since it was Carrie’s turn to do the dishes. Fifteen minutes later, I was standing at Andie’s front door. Her curly-haired brothers toddled near Andie’s mom as she welcomed me inside.

  “Hi, Chris and Jon,” I said, leaning over to hug the twins.

  “Andie’s upstairs,” Mrs. Martinez said, adjusting Jon’s blue suspenders. I took the steps two at a time.

  “In here, Holly,” Andie called to me from her room.

  With the grace of a ballerina, I stepped into her bedroom. It was decorated in shades of pink. Streams of sunlight enhanced the colors as it poured into the window like a spotlight. Pausing there for a moment, I pulled my hair back dramatically, holding it up.

  “Now what are you up to?” Andie said, laughing.

  “Look closely. See anything different?” I posed this way and that, like a model.

  Andie leaned on her arm, playing along. “Hmm, there’s something new on your chin. Is that your first zit?”

  I swung my hair around. “That doesn’t count.”

  “Let your hair down and turn around,” she said.

  I did.

  “Aagh!” she said, pretending to be shocked. “You’ve trimmed your hair.”

  I shook my head.

  “Something is different,” she said, scratching her head.

  I stood up straighter. “Are you ready for this?” I said, prolonging the announcement.

  “Out with it,” she said.

  “Feast your eyes on a full-fledged woman.”

  She let out a little squeal, jumped off her bed, and flung her arms around me. She nearly knocked over the floor lamp beside her beanbag.

  Andie’s mom walked past her room just then, carrying one of the twins. “Everything okay in there?” she called.

  “The monthly miracle! It’s finally happened to you,” Andie said, her brown eyes sparkling.

  “Shh! Don’t tell the whole world,” I said, enjoying Andie’s definition—the monthly miracle. It had a unique twist to it.

  “Now, what’s this news Billy told you?” I asked, changing the subject and going to sit on the beanbag.

  Andie threw herself on the bed and lay there with a silly grin on her round face. “Danny likes you. He thinks you’re pretty special.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Billy said so.” Andie propped herself up on one arm.

  “Really?” I said, my heart in my throat. “What’ll Kayla think when she finds out?”

  “Just be ready for anything,” Andie said, rolling over.

  “I don’t get it. I wouldn’t try to break up a friendship she had with a church boy.” I leaned forward.

  Andie held up her hands. “Better stay away from me if you want to enjoy the last three weeks of summer vacation.”

  I pulled my T-shirt up over my nose. “How’s that?”

  Andie reached for a tissue, stuffing it up her left nostril. It hung down out of her nose while she sat there staring at me.

  Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. “You’re too much,” I said, laughing hysterically.

  “What a lousy way to spend the end of summer,” she said, her voice more nasal sounding than before. “Hey, which reminds me, I just sent off for two more pen pals. And that makes me the winner of our contest.”

  “Not yet. There’s still time,” I insisted.

  “Hey, we never planned the award for the winner. What should it be?” she asked.

  “How about a year’s worth of postage?”

  “You must be running out of allowance money,” she said, leaning against her hot-pink pillows.

  “I can always baby-sit for Zach while Mr. Tate and Mom go house hunting.”

  “Sounds serious.”

  “Not for long.” I was sure my Plan to Save the Meredith Family was the answer. Thank goodness for secret admirers and anonymous phone calls!

  SEALED WITH A KISS

  Chapter 9

  Five days passed. It was Friday, August twentieth, the day before my practice session with Danny Myers.

  I stared at my clothes closet. Time for new stuff. Mom and I had planned to go clothes shopping next week for school, but I needed something new…soon.

  A knock came at my door. “Enter,” I said, holding up two pairs of jeans.

  Carrie held a stack of mail. “Looks like you got something from Lucas,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “LWL.” She grinned.

  “Sit down,” I said sternly, pointing her to sit on my window seat. “How do you know about him?”

  “Uh, that night I sneaked in here, I read your letter from him.”

  I squinted my eyes, like Mom. “You better keep this quiet, you hear?”

  “What’s the big secret?” she asked.

  “It’s not a secret,” I said. “Not really, it’s…”

  “You just said it was.”

  “Andie doesn’t know about him yet, that’s all.”

  Carrie stood up to leave. “Have fun reading your mail.”

  “Wait a minute. What’s this?” I pulled out a letter addressed to Mom.

  Carrie noticed the stamp first. “Hong Kong?”

  “Hey, look. It’s the same handwriting as the Japan letter.”

  “How can this guy be in so many places at once?” Carrie asked. “Did he sign his name this time?”

  I held it up to the window. “Hard to tell. Guess we’ll have to wait till Mom comes home.”

  “Mr. Tate’s picking her up from work,” Carrie said.

  Perfect timing, I thought, snickering.

  “I forgot to tell you that Stephanie wants to come stay over here next week,” she said, going downstairs.

  “Just please keep her out of my room,” I hollered down.

  On my window seat, I curled up, holding the letter from Lucas. The seal with the initials was a greenish color this time. Same postmark, though—Cincinnati, Ohio.

  I read each word carefully. He liked my story, “Love Times Two,” and complimented me on my story line. There was even a separate critique sheet with suggestions for characterization and setting. And he asked my permission to send it to his aunt, Marty Leigh. I think this story has great possibilities, he wrote.

  Another surprise was he had just purchased a new Corvette. And…gulp!…he was requesting my picture. Could I please send one in my next letter?

  Did I dare send a picture of myself? Maybe a head shot would make me look more grown-up.

  Gathering up the mail, I carried it down to the kitchen, placing it on the desk in the corner. A brochure on log homes fell out of the pile. Peeking at it, I shivered as I thought of Mom and Mr. Tate’s plans. Quickly, I placed the letter from Hong Kong on top of the stack.

  Let’s see how Mr. Tate reacts to this, I thought.

  In the family room, in search of a picture for Lucas, I dug out our family photo albums from the large cupboard under the TV. Beginning with last year’s school picture, I studied one snapshot after another. There was one of me with my stepbrother, Tyler, on the beach beside the fabulous sand castle we’d made this summer. Another one at Andie’s, goofing off in the big tree behind her house. So many to choose from, and none of them right. The words I chose to write on paper had convinced Lucas I was at least his age. But a visual image—that might bring a quick end to our literary correspondence. Unless…

  A plan…to make me look older!

  I closed the scrapbook and slid it bac
k into its place in the cupboard. Heading upstairs, I had a fabulous idea. “We’re going downtown, Carrie. Come ride bikes with me,” I called.

  “I’m reading.” She was sitting at the kitchen bar with a handful of graham crackers. “Let me finish this chapter.”

  “Can’t. Stores won’t be open much longer.”

  Reluctantly, she closed the book and followed me to the garage, where we hopped on our bikes.

  Leading the way, I pedaled down the bricked sidewalk, past the mailbox at the end of our block, through the tree-lined streets to Aspen Street, the main thoroughfare.

  Turning left, we raced toward Center Square, a quaint area off the main drag where merchants sold their wares. The smell of warm cinnamon rolls lured me toward The World’s Best Donut Shop. But Lottie’s Boutique called silently from two blocks away.

  “Where are we going?” Carrie asked, pedaling hard to catch up.

  “You’ll see.” I glanced back at her. Carrie was out of breath trying to match my pace.

  “Slow down, Holly,” she begged.

  “We don’t have much time. Lottie’s closes at five-thirty.”

  “I should’ve stayed home,” she complained.

  “Mom doesn’t want you home alone yet. You’re only eight. That’s too young to baby-sit yourself.”

  “I’ll be nine next month,” she said.

  I signaled for a right-hand turn. Carrie did, too.

  “We’re almost there,” I called to her as we rode onto the widened sidewalks of the county courthouse. Clusters of aspen trees grew along the street, framing the area.

  “Look, there’s Mommy and Mr. Tate,” Carrie said, slowing her bike down.

  I kept riding. “Where?”

  “Coming out of the courthouse, over there.”

  I braked to slow down, catching a glimpse of them as they walked toward Mr. Tate’s car.

  “What’re they doing?” Carrie asked, waving to them. But they couldn’t see us here under the aspen trees. Just as well.

  My heart pounded as I stared in disbelief. Couples often got married in front of a judge. Had they united in holy matrimony in some judge’s deep, dark chamber?

  I watched as Mr. Tate helped Mom into the car, a white envelope tucked under his arm. Oh no. Had he talked Mom into a quick wedding?

  Still, they didn’t exactly look like “Just Married” to me. They weren’t even holding hands.

  I felt like a spy, watching Mr. Tate walk around his car and get in on the driver’s side. Inside, he leaned over and gave Mom a peck on the cheek. I could see her buckle her seat belt. If they were husband and wife, it didn’t look like their marriage was off to a dazzling start. The kind Mom deserved. After all those lonely years without Daddy, working hard at the law firm, never even thinking of dating until a few months ago. Mom deserved a hearts-and-flowers kind of romance.

  Wait…. Mom wasn’t dressed like a bride! She wore a blue-and-white summer suit, her office clothes. No way would Mom get married in that.

  I felt so confused, I almost turned around and rode home. But I had to check out the wigs at Lottie’s Boutique. Lucas was going to have his picture of me, whether Mom had tied the knot with Mr. Tate or not.

  Carrie and I rode side by side in silence. Past the Explore Bookstore. Past Footloose and Fancy Things.

  “Stop!” I yelled, backing up.

  Carrie hit her brakes. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” I pushed the kickstand down. “Check out those shorts and tops to match. That’s exactly what I need for tomorrow.” I gazed at the cute pink outfit. “I have to see it up close. Stay here, Carrie, and watch our bikes,” I said.

  According to Andie, Danny really liked me. If that was true, I wanted to look extra special for him.

  Skipping into the shop, I asked the sales clerk how much for the outfit in the window.

  “It’s on sale for $59.95,” she said, pointing to the mannequin.

  My heart sank. I had $75.50 in my savings account. How could I afford both the outfit and a wig?

  “Thanks anyway,” I said, turning to go. Now I had to choose between the new outfit for practicing volleyball with Danny Myers and a wig to make me look older for a photo to impress Lucas Leigh.

  “Well, how much?” Carrie asked when I emerged from the shop.

  “Too much,” I said, getting back on my bike and pedaling fast.

  We arrived in front of Lottie’s Boutique with only ten minutes to closing.

  “What are we doing here?” Carrie asked.

  “Window shopping,” I said, concentrating on the short brunette wig in the corner of the window.

  “For wigs?”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, trying to imagine myself as a brunette.

  “Who needs a dumb thing like that?”

  Without thinking I said, “Mr. Tate.”

  Carrie giggled. “No, he doesn’t. He’d look real funny with hair.”

  “It’s a thought,” I said, laughing.

  Lottie’s Boutique wasn’t exactly hopping with customers. There was only one patron in the store, and she was trying on a blond wig. When she turned to admire it in the mirror, I recognized her. It was Danny’s mom!

  She recognized me, too. “Hi, Holly,” she said, waving.

  “Hello, Mrs. Myers,” I said, eyeing the wig. “You look pretty as a blonde.”

  “Well, thank you.” She beamed. “If I were twenty years younger, I’d buy a blond fall down to my waist, like your hair. Now, that’s pretty.”

  I could feel my face growing warm. “Thanks.”

  “Danny says you hope to make the girls’ volleyball team.”

  I nodded.

  “He tells me you’re a natural at sports.”

  “He does?” She was so easy to talk to. Like Danny.

  “Yes, and he says you’re a writer. Maybe you can tell me more about that tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Danny wants to bring you over for refreshments after you practice at the school. Is that okay with you?”

  “That sounds nice,” I said.

  Nice? It was perfectly fabulous!

  She studied the wig in the window. “Do you like this one?” she asked, coming near the showcase.

  “It looks great on the model, but I doubt it’s my style,” I said.

  “Well, you won’t know unless you try it,” she said, motioning for the sales clerk.

  Before I knew it, I was wearing the wig. Mrs. Myers held up two mirrors behind my head. “Simply lovely,” she said.

  I moved my head around, examining all sides of the new me. “I, uh, I don’t know. The color makes my face look pale.”

  “And older, too,” the clerk said.

  Mrs. Myers agreed. “You could get the same look with your own hair,” she said. “A simple French twist is easy enough.”

  “Really?” I said. “It’s easy?”

  “If you’d like, I’ll show you tomorrow,” Mrs. Myers said.

  In the mirrors, I saw Carrie standing behind me. She’d abandoned the bikes and followed me inside. Picking up a short, curly wig, she held it high. “Here,” she said. “This one’s perfect for Mr. Tate.”

  Danny’s mom nodded, smiling. “I hear congratulations are in order for you girls.”

  Carrie piped up. “They are?”

  “I saw your mother and Mike Tate at the courthouse this afternoon. They said they were picking up a marriage license.”

  Carrie pulled the wig on, her own long hair hanging down out of it. The news hadn’t fazed her one bit.

  For me, this bit of news meant hope. After all, a marriage license wasn’t a marriage. Besides that, it was good only for thirty days.

  SEALED WITH A KISS

  Chapter 10

  Mr. Tate was waiting as Carrie and I rode our bikes into the garage. “Your mother’s ready to dish up supper,” he said sternly, moving Carrie’s bike away from Mom’s car.

  “It was Holly’s idea to go downtown,” Carrie volunteered.<
br />
  Just great…blame me, I thought.

  Mr. Tate stared, no…he actually glared at me. “Holly, you’re in charge of things while your mother’s at work. I’m quite sure you know when suppertime is around here.” He checked his watch.

  There was no use arguing. Obviously, the man couldn’t remember having been a kid. Ever!

  Yet he waited for my answer. Finally I said, “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

  “Well, I should hope not,” he said. “As soon as your mother and I are married, she’ll be here, at home, for you children. Now, before you do anything, you must apologize to her.”

  Must…should. This routine was too harsh. On top of that, Mr. Tate never cracked a smile. Was life so serious he couldn’t enjoy living? And what was this about Mom quitting work? Wasn’t that her decision?

  Going inside, I washed up, thinking how to apologize to Mom.

  A dark cloud hung over me at supper as Mr. Tate announced his wedding plans to my mother. Zach sat beside her while his father did all the talking. I noticed Mom’s ring finger was still bare. No sparkling diamond.

  After supper, when Mr. Tate went into the living room to read the paper, I told Mom I was sorry about being late.

  “No problem,” she said.

  Surprised, I asked, “Did Mr. Tate talk to you about me being late for supper?”

  “Not exactly,” she said, helping Carrie clear the table. “But Mike’s a stickler for promptness.”

  No kidding.

  “Did you see the letter from Hong Kong?” I changed the subject. “Carrie and I are dying to know if it was signed.” I put the leftovers away.

  “No, as a matter of fact, it isn’t,” she said. “Which is strange.”

  I was more curious than ever, but I kept quiet.

  “There’s another joke in the letter,” she said, looking for it on the desk nearby. “Here, listen to this. ‘What did the worker bee say to the queen bee?’ ”

  “I give up,” I said. “What?”

  Mom walked to the sink as she read, “ ‘Good day, your honeyness.’ ”

  I laughed. “Why would someone write a joke about bees? Does this guy know you and Mr. Tate want to keep bees?”