A Summer of Sundays

by Lindsay Eland

  He groaned.

  “Why don’t we all lie down in Mom and Dad’s room and watch a movie? I think that couch pulls out.” Besides family movie nights, Mom and Dad banned the TV every summer, unplugging it from the wall and slipping it into one of the closets, so what I was suggesting was a huge deal.

  Henry lifted his head up. “Really?”

  I shrugged. “Sure. I can make some popcorn.”

  CJ whined. “No. No popcorn.”

  “CJ barfed up popcorn,” Bo said.

  “Yeah, and cotton candy, and two hot dogs, and French fries with cheese all over them. My throw-up looked like mashed-up oatmeal, and mashed potatoes, and there were chunks of pink stuff floating inside it.”

  “Don’t forget the green and yellow stuff, too.”

  I felt my own stomach heave. “Gross. Thanks for that description. We’ll have ginger ale. I saw some in the pantry.”

  “But what if I throw it up?” Henry moaned.

  “You won’t. Ginger ale is what you’re supposed to have when you don’t feel good.”

  “Why?”

  I shrugged. “Just because. Now, come on.”

  I opened the door to Mom and Dad’s room, pushed the couch that was against the window in front of the TV, and set Henry down. CJ fell onto the cushions, resting his head on one of the arms. Bo slouched in the middle.

  “I’ll go and get the ginger ale and then we’ll turn on something to watch, okay?”

  I returned with four golden, fizzy drinks, saltine crackers, and the phone in case Mom or Dad called. The boys lay where I’d left them, talking about food.

  “Eww,” Henry whined. “Could you eat a hot dog with mustard and ketchup and sauerkraut on top?”

  The other two moaned.

  CJ said, “How about macaroni and cheese?”

  “What about a big cinnamon roll with icing dripping off the sides?” Bo said. “Yuck!”

  I handed him a glass. “But that’s your favorite.”

  He took a sip. “I know. But now I can’t even think about it or I’ll throw up.”

  I handed the other two their glasses, the small bubbles rising to the top. “Then why are you guys talking about it?”

  CJ sat up. “I don’t know. Just ’cause.”

  I rolled my eyes, reached for the remote, and flipped on the TV.

  “Will Mom get mad?” Henry asked.

  I pressed the CHANNEL button until we came to a station that played cartoons all day. “She’ll understand. And we won’t watch too much.”

  The couch was cramped, but I grabbed a blanket for each of my brothers and then squeezed myself in between Bo and CJ. Henry, realizing that my lap was unoccupied, crawled up and leaned his head back against my shoulder.

  The cartoon was silly, and we found ourselves laughing at all the same parts. But within the hour, when the door to the room opened and Mom walked in, all three of my brothers were fast asleep. CJ and Bo rested their heads on my shoulders, and Henry breathed rhythmically against me. Mom smiled and flicked off the TV.

  “They look so sweet piled around you like that. You’d never be able to tell what a mess they can get themselves into when they wake up.”

  I nodded.

  My shoulders ached and my right arm and left leg had fallen asleep, but I felt strangely cold and alone when Dad carried them one by one to their beds.

  “Thanks, Sunday,” he said, bending down and kissing me on the forehead. “You know it’s still early. I could drive you back to the fair if you’d like. Jude’s there with his mom and Wally.”

  I shook my head, stood up, then helped him push the couch back underneath the window. Jude wouldn’t want to see me. “No thanks. I’ll just go upstairs and read.”

  As much as I didn’t want to think about what Ben had told me, and the guilt that kept nagging at me, I needed to finish the manuscript and listen to the parts of the tape I had missed.

  “If you’re sure, sweetheart.”

  I nodded.

  “We’ll see you in the morning. Lots to do to get ready for the party.”

  Upstairs in my room, I slipped the manuscript out from underneath the mattress and set the tape recorder and tapes beside me on the bed. I started to read but couldn’t concentrate. I kept thinking about the look on Jude’s face when I had yelled at him.

  I snuck downstairs, grabbing the phone and phone book. I’d never called Jude before, so I found his mom’s name in the phone book and dialed the number.

  I didn’t know what I was going to say, but maybe if I called he’d say something first. Maybe he’d tell me that I was right to call the newspapers. A woman picked up the phone on the third ring. “The Trist residence.”

  “Um, hi, Ms. Trist,” I managed to say. “Is Jude there?”

  “Yes, may I ask who’s calling?”

  “It’s Sunday. Sunday Fowler.”

  “Oh hi, Sunday. Just a minute.”

  I heard the phone being set down and then two voices talking, though I couldn’t understand them. Then someone picked up the phone again.

  “Sunday?” It wasn’t Jude. My heart dropped.

  “Yeah?”

  “Jude can’t come to the phone. We just got back from the fair and, well … maybe you could try back tomorrow.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said. “Thanks. Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye.”

  The phone clicked and the line went dead. He didn’t want to talk to me. Fine. Whatever. I needed to figure out what I was going to tell the TV stations and the newspapers anyway.

  Whether Ben and Jude liked it or not, reporters were coming all the way to Alma for a story, and I couldn’t just not tell them.

  Right?

  I sighed, stuffing the guilt away, and then picked up the manuscript to finish reading.

  And so Mark and Lilly tucked themselves away in the hometown Lilly swore she’d never return to. They created a life in a little corner that was just theirs. Away from the hounding reporters and the fame that had, at first, felt like a gentle rain but quickly became the painful pelting of hail.

  Their story may not read as “happily ever after.” But it is their ever after.

  Each night they climb out onto the rooftop of their little home. They find Orion’s Belt. And then, in the morning, when Lilly rolls over to greet the sun, a daisy rests on the windowsill.

  Please don’t show this to anyone. This is only for you and me.

  Daisies and hearts,

  Lee

  I tried to ignore the last line. I had my proof, and I was going to tell the media about what I’d found.

  Why wasn’t I more excited?

  Ben might be upset for a little bit, but he would get over everything eventually, and maybe he’d even find that he liked the fame. The town would get a lot more attention—that was good for business—and the library would get publicity, which was good for my dad, my family, and the entire town of Alma.

  I yawned and set the tape recorder and manuscript on the floor, then flipped off the light. Actually I was doing everyone a huge favor and sooner or later they’d realize it, too.

  Wouldn’t they?

  “CJ, please stop talking about your throw-up,” Mom said the next morning. She flipped over a pancake dotted with chocolate chips.

  All the boys had woken early that morning, their appetites and mischief returning as strong as ever. CJ slathered butter on the top of one of his pancakes. “Okay. But it was just so nasty. All those chunks, and the pink—”

  “CJ!”

  He plugged up his mouth with a large bite.

  “Are you feeling okay, Sunday?” Mom asked when I brought my plate over.

  My pancake consumption could usually rival CJ’s, but that morning, my stomach anxiously fluttered over my announcement.

  “I’m good. Just excited for the party tomorrow.”

  “Are you still up for helping me decorate and cook today?”

  “Yep.”

  Mom looked around as if she were missing someone or so
mething. “Is Jude coming over?” She looked down at her watch. “He’s usually here by now.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.” Honestly I had hoped that he would just show up and neither of us would need to say anything. Then everything would just go back to being the way it had been.

  I turned away from his empty chair. He wasn’t going to spoil the event that was going to change things for me.

  “We have a busy day, so I need all of you to help. Emma’s play is tonight at seven o’clock, and May is going for her driving test after lunch.” Mom ran her fingers through her hair. “I can’t believe this is all falling on the same day. Maybe we should move the party to next week.”

  “No!” I said a little too loudly. Mom glanced over at me. “It’s just that we’ve already … we’ve told people that it’s tomorrow. We’ll get it all done. It’s not that much when you really think about it. The decorating and cooking will take the longest, but I know that Ms. Bodnar is bringing food, and so are Muzzy and Papa Gil. And we can do some of the cooking tomorrow before the party.”

  Mom sighed and flipped over six more pancakes. “I guess you’re right. And your dad will be done with cleaning the library this morning, so he should be able to help decorate before he has to take May for her test.”

  “Why doesn’t she just try for her driver’s license at home? We only have another week here.”

  “She thinks that maybe the test will be easier here.”

  CJ laughed, splattering orange juice across the tablecloth. “She just wants to fail here instead of back home.”

  “CJ, just eat, please,” Mom said. “And Sunday, could you go over to Jude’s house and see if he’d like to come and help? We can use all the hands we can get today.”

  “Really. Mom? I—” I stopped when she shot me a desperate look. “I’ll be right back.”

  On my way through town, I checked with Ms. Bodnar to see if she was still bringing something. “Of course, sweetie! A friend is going to help me bring my whole setup to the library. Crepes for everyone!”

  Muzzy and Papa Gil remembered, too. I saw Papa Gil out riding an old bicycle, Mr. Castor trotting along beside him. “Pies,” Papa Gil said, coming to a halt. Mr. Castor was panting. “She’s making every kind of pie you can imagine. And I thought that since the lawn needs mowing, I’d give rides to kids who want to jump on board.”

  “Great. How is Mr. Castor doing?”

  “You’re a genius, Sunday Fowler. He’s like a brand-new dog. Hasn’t had enough energy to run away, and he’s getting better about not chewing on everything in sight.”

  “Good,” I said, and then started toward Jude’s house.

  I had been hoping to find Jude on my way over, but he hadn’t been at the café or anywhere else. I walked up to the door and knocked.

  Nothing.

  I knocked louder. He woke up just as early as my brothers, so I knew he wasn’t still sleeping.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw a curtain flutter. I knocked again, louder and longer. “Come on, Jude,” I said. “I know you’re in there. My mom needs help.”

  Nothing.

  I shoved my way through a bush and peered into the window. He was standing by his bedroom door like he was listening, just waiting for me to go away. I rapped on the glass, sending him about a foot into the air. “Come on!” I yelled.

  He stared at me for a moment, walked over to the window, stuck out his tongue just like CJ would do, and closed the blinds.

  Now I was just plain angry. “JUDE! You come out here. You’re being a big old baby.”

  Nothing again. “Fine!” I yelled, and stomped through the grass and down the sidewalk toward home. I guess he wouldn’t be helping us today.

  Mom, Dad, Miss Jenny, my brothers, and I decorated the rest of the morning. We hung balloons on the outside of the refinished door, wound streamers around the cleaned stone banisters, and set up long tables on the grass.

  Though I had been in the library on and off throughout the weeks that Dad worked on remodeling, it still took my breath away when I stepped inside. The floors and stairs shone glossy in the light that poured in through the cleaned, trimmed windows. I walked among the shelves, letting my fingers run along the colorful spines. I noticed that there was a new copy of The Life and Death of Birds. It was because of Lee Wren that I was finally going to mean something. I smiled and slid it back in place.

  I walked to the circulation desk, where Mom was placing a large jar of jelly beans with a GUESS HOW MANY? sign, and Bo was taping balloons every which way. Above the desk hung the newly framed picture of Lee Wren. Now that I knew her story, her smile seemed mischievous, and in the sparkle of her eye I could picture the girl serving coffee and eggs and toast at a diner in New York City. But there was something I hadn’t noticed until now. Her hands rested on her lap, her fingers wrapped around a bright and cheery daisy.

  A daisy that Ben had given her.

  Maybe he’d stood off to the side when they took the picture. Maybe the smile was not so mischievous after all, but meant for him. I tried to ignore the thorn of guilt that pricked me in the chest.

  “Sunday, could you arrange the flowers?” Mom asked. “I brought over all the vases that I could find in the house. It needs to look bright and cheery tomorrow, so put them everywhere.”

  She slid two large boxes of flowers over to me and pointed to a table in the corner that was filled with vases of every kind. As I began to arrange the flowers, I felt Lee Wren’s gaze on my back.

  Was her picture one of the ones that followed you wherever you were in the room? I turned and looked. Her eyes were definitely on me. The guilt I had tried to stuff away returned. Would she really mind? Did it matter that she minded? I shook my head and turned back to the flowers, placing a daisy in each vase. She would like that.

  But the manuscript and the tapes and the letters and her husband. Would she like all that being brought into the open?

  “Sunday,” Mom said. “I know I keep asking, but are you okay? Did something happen with you and Jude?”

  Jude. I had managed to forget about him for most of the morning. Now he and Lee Wren and Ben Folger were coming at me from all sides.

  “Oh, I think he’s mad at me. It’ll be fine, though.”

  Mom pulled a few stray leaves from one of the arrangements. “Anything you want to talk about?”

  I shrugged. It would be nice to talk to her about everything, but I …

  “Mom!” Bo yelled. “Can I have a snack?”

  “Yeah, me too, me too!”

  I sighed and watched her walk over to the boys. I couldn’t talk to her. Besides, everyone would know everything tomorrow. “It’s fine,” I said halfheartedly, knowing she couldn’t hear me.

  “Sunday,” she called back to me, “once you’re done with the flowers, why don’t you fold these brochures in half and put them in this basket. They’re just for people to see the ‘before’ pictures of the library so they know all that your dad, and everyone, did.”

  “Okay,” I said, and then went back to arranging flowers.

  The decorating was finished by lunchtime, and then it was on to the baking.

  “We’ll bake the cookies and brownies and cakes today, and then tomorrow I’ll throw the appetizers in the oven and the Crock-Pot,” Mom said. I slathered another celery stick with peanut butter and lined it with raisins.

  “Can you put a few more raisins on that one, Sunday?” Henry asked. “I love raisins.”

  CJ picked his off and tossed them onto Henry’s plate. “Have mine. I hate raisins. They look like rat poop.”

  Bo giggled and popped one in his mouth. “Look! I’m eating rat poop, I’m eating rat poop.”

  Mom sighed. “Really, CJ? Do you have to get them started?”

  He crunched down on the celery, a look of satisfaction on his face.

  Dad strolled into the kitchen, May behind him, looking pale and nervous. “Well, May and I are off to her driver’s test. We’ll be back in about an hour or
two with a new driver in the family.”

  “Hopefully not,” CJ whispered.

  Mom knocked him on the shoulder, then went and kissed my sister on the cheek. “You’ll do fine, sweetheart. Just relax and try your best.”

  May nodded, and I watched as her bottom lip trembled..

  “Good luck,” I said. She was going to need a whole lot of luck or maybe a driving instructor who was blind and didn’t mind getting whiplash.

  May glared at CJ, then turned to me and smiled. “Thanks, Sunday.”

  “We’ll be back,” Dad said, and they disappeared out the front door.

  I thought I heard Mom mutter “She’s going to need a miracle” as they backed out of the driveway, but I wasn’t sure.

  “Should we make a sign for May when she comes back?” Bo asked, licking the peanut butter out of his celery stick.

  “That would be really nice, Bo,” Mom said. “Go find some paper and you can make her one.”

  Bo hopped down from his chair, licked his fingers, and ran off. “I’ll make her the bestest sign ever.”

  “Wash your hands!” Mom called after him.

  Mom set to work baking, and the kitchen turned into a hurricane of flour, sugar, oil, eggs, and butter.

  As she popped a tray of cookies into the oven, CJ, Bo, and Henry tumbled through the kitchen.

  “I’m going to hang up the signs I made,” Bo said. He clutched a stack of papers and proudly held up one with a large A written on it. “All the letters spell out ‘Congratulations May on Getting Your Driver’s License.’ CJ helped me spell it out.”

  CJ rummaged in the kitchen drawer, pulling out a roll of clear tape, a box of nails, and a hammer. “Yep. Now we’re going to hang them up.” He held the hammer and the nails behind his back while Mom busied herself with stirring a humongous bowl of thick, black brownie batter.

  “Looks great, Bo,” I said. “Where are you going to put them?” I handed him and Henry oatmeal cookies from the cooling rack.

  “On the porch.”

  They started out of the kitchen when Mom said, not turning from the counter, “I know you are not about to take that hammer and those nails outside, CJ.”

  “But Mom, tape never works. And don’t you want May to see what we made for her? You know, her brothers supporting her and stuff like that.”