Take Charge

by Melody Carlson

  As usual, Amy was polite and helpful as she seated people and filled their water glasses and took their orders. She smiled as she brought them tea and eventually fortune cookies when they were finished with their meals. But she was a little bored with the work and wondered how all her siblings had managed to stick around so long, patiently working in the restaurant while attending college at a snail’s pace. She had a feeling that she would be the first one to break the tradition.

  Finally, it was after eight o’clock and the restaurant was empty. Amy wished she could go home. If An were here, she knew the two of them would sneak out on the pretext that Amy had homework. But Tu’ had to stay and help clean up. So Amy went to the kitchen to see how their new worker had fared.

  “Want some help?” asked Amy when she found Cara rinsing pots to go into the dishwasher.

  “Thank you,” said Cara.

  “How did it go tonight?” asked Amy as she sprayed a saucepan.

  “Good, I think.”

  “How long have you been in town?” asked Amy. “About a year.”

  “A year?” Amy was surprised. For some reason, she thought Cara had just arrived. “Where do you live?”

  “On Amelia Lane,” said Cara carefully, as if she was practicing her English. “Two mile from here.”

  “With your family?” asked Amy.

  “No. My family stay in California. I come here to work. I care for a woman. I cook and clean.”

  “Oh.” Amy nodded.

  “And now sometime I come here to help in restaurant too.” She smiled.

  Amy figured that must have more to do with her brother, Tu’, than anything else. Not that it was Amy’s business, but as far as she could tell, Tu’ didn’t seem the least bit interested in poor Cara.

  “So you live with the woman you care for?” said Amy, just trying to make small talk until they finished up the pans.

  “Yes. She is strange woman. She can do things … but she must have someone at night. She is scary.”

  “Scary?”

  “Afraid.”

  “Oh, you mean she’s scared.”

  “Yes. Scared. She say ghosts come to her house. But she is scary too. I call her Dragon Lady. Not so she can hear.”

  Amy chuckled. “Sounds interesting.”

  Cara smiled. “Some people say Miss McPhearson is crazy.”

  “Miss McPhearson?” said Amy eagerly. “You mean Viola McPhearson?”

  Cara clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, dear! Do you know her? Sorry, I do not mean she is real Dragon Lady; I just —”

  “No, that’s okay. I mean, I don’t really know her,” said Amy quickly. “But I know who she is. And I would really like to meet her.”

  Cara frowned. “She does not like people much.”

  “You don’t think it would be possible for me to meet her then?”

  She firmly shook her head. “No.”

  “Maybe I could send a message to her,” suggested Amy.

  Cara nodded now. “Yes. I could take her a message.”

  So Amy ran into the office and quickly wrote a note. Using her best handwriting, she told Miss McPhearson that she had an urgent need to meet her and to discuss something of great importance because McPhearson Park was in danger of being bulldozed for a parking lot. Sure, she knew it was a long shot, but it was worth a try. She put the note into an envelope and took it back to Cara.

  “I am not sure …” said Cara as she tucked the note into her purse, “that she will read it.”

  “That’s okay,” said Amy as she crossed both fingers behind her back. “But I can hope she will.”

  Amy knew that her friends would pray right now. But Amy had never really prayed before. And although Amy knew a lot about a lot of things, she knew next to nothing about prayer. Maybe she should ask An about it. She knew that An had become a Christian and that she went to a church in town. An had invited Amy to come with her, but her parents had made it clear that one daughter being tied up with church on Sunday morning was more than enough for their family!

  chapter three

  “Did you see the newspaper this morning?” Amy asked her friends as they met to walk to school together on Tuesday.

  “Were our letters in it?” asked Emily hopefully.

  “Yes!” exclaimed Amy.

  “Both of them?” asked Morgan.

  “Yes, both of them!”

  “That’s so cool,” said Morgan. “I’ve got my letter all ready to go now.”

  “Okay, Emily,” said Carlie. “You better help me get mine done too.”

  “Have you heard anything back from Miss McPhearson yet?” asked Morgan.

  Amy shook her head. “Not a word.”

  “How about the girl who works for her?”

  “Cara hasn’t called either. And unless someone in my family gets sick or has a date, I don’t think she’ll be working at the restaurant much.” Amy laughed. “Unless I can somehow convince my brother that he’s really in love with her after all.”

  “Your parents actually hired her because they thought Tu’ would fall for her?” said Emily.

  “Like I told you,” said Amy, not wanting to go into the whole story again, “they are very old-fashioned.”

  “Hey, don’t feel bad,” said Carlie. “My family is like that about some things too. According to my mom, it hasn’t been that long since the people in her family arranged marriages for their children. Can you believe it?”

  “Who knows?” said Emily. “Maybe it would be better for some people than letting them arrange their own marriages.” She frowned. “My parents sure didn’t do too well.”

  “And my parents never even got married,” said Morgan.

  “What?” Amy turned and looked at Morgan. “Are you serious?”

  Suddenly Morgan seemed embarrassed. But she nodded.

  “It’s not that big of a deal,” said Emily quickly. “Lots of people have kids without getting married.”

  “Not in my family,” said Amy.

  “Or mine,” added Carlie.

  “Well, I’m not saying it was a good thing,” admitted Morgan. “And there are lots of times when I really wish my dad was around … but I know my mom had her reasons. And she’s not perfect, but I love her.”

  Amy considered this. “Whose parents are perfect?”

  “Not mine,” said Carlie.

  “Not mine either,” added Morgan.

  “For sure not mine,” said Emily.

  “I used to think that Chelsea had perfect parents,” said Carlie. “But after I got to know them a little better … well, I know they’re not.”

  They turned down the street to Washington Middle School and Amy began to walk a little faster.

  “Hey, what’s the hurry?” asked Morgan.

  “Sorry,” said Amy. “Just an old habit.” Amy used to take pride in being the first one at school each day. She liked helping their teacher and getting herself ready for the day. Now that they had lots of teachers and lots of classes, it didn’t seem to matter so much whether she was early or not. Still, she didn’t want to be late for English.

  “We’ve got plenty of time,” Carlie assured her.

  “So what are we going to do about McPhearson Park?” asked Morgan. “I mean, if we can’t contact Viola McPhearson — what’s our next plan of action?”

  “You mean besides writing letters to the editor?” said Emily.

  “Yeah,” said Morgan. “That’s a good start and it might get some attention, but we need to do more.”

  “Especially if the city only gives Miss McPhearson a month to respond to their letter,” added Carlie.

  “That means the park could be turned into a parking lot by the middle of October,” said Amy.

  “Should we make a plan to start raising money?” asked Carlie.

  “I think we should have a meeting after school today,” said Morgan as they started up the steps to the school. “To discuss this further.”

  “Hey, you guys!” called Chelsea as
she popped out of a white Mercedes and waved. “Wait up!”

  So the four of them waited as Chelsea jogged on over.

  “I saw your letters in the paper,” said Chelsea breathlessly as she joined them at the top of the stairs.

  “Cool, huh?” said Amy.

  “Yeah.” Then Chelsea frowned. “But my dad didn’t like it.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He wanted to know if I knew you guys.” She giggled. “That’s like my dad, you know … so checked out. Well, Mom set him straight and then he got really grumpy. He said we should mind our own business.”

  “Like the park’s not our business?” demanded Amy.

  “Yeah,” said Morgan. “If the park’s not our business and we’re kids, then whose business is it anyway?”

  Chelsea laughed. “Yeah, that’s kinda what I told him.”

  “Well, we’re going to have a meeting after school,” said Morgan.

  “Today?” asked Chelsea.

  “Yeah, why not?”

  “Today’s soccer tryouts.”

  “That’s right,” said Carlie. “I totally forgot!”

  “Oh, why do you guys want to do that?” asked Amy. She’d never been very into sports and didn’t know why her friends would want to go get all sweaty and dirty on purpose.

  “Because it’ll be fun,” said Carlie.

  “I always do soccer,” said Chelsea.

  “You guys should try out too,” said Carlie. “Especially you, Morgan. Besides me, you’re the fastest runner I know.”

  Morgan smiled. “Thanks. But I don’t know much about soccer.” She pointed to her glasses. “And it’s kind of hard with these.”

  “You can get special sports glasses,” said Chelsea. “My friend back in Minnesota had them. They look kind of dorky, but they do protect your eyes.”

  “Come on,” urged Carlie. “You’d probably like it, if you just gave it a chance.”

  “I used to play soccer,” said Emily in a quiet voice.

  “See,” said Chelsea. “You should try out too, Emily! Come on, everyone, it’ll be fun.”

  So it was agreed — or so it seemed — they should all try out for soccer. Still, Amy wasn’t so sure. She wasn’t very athletic, and she didn’t like looking stupid. She’d already made a fool of herself once this year when she tried out for seventh-grade cheerleading during the first week of school. What had she been thinking? Even though she’d learned the routine and performed it without one single mistake, she just didn’t seem to have that “special something” that won the other girls spots on the small cheerleading team. Still, it had been some consolation when her friends had cheered her on and told her she was brave to try out.

  At the end of the day Amy begged out. “I just don’t want to,” she told her friends. “I have music to practice and schoolwork to do and I sometimes help at the restaurant. I don’t see how I’d have time for soccer too.”

  But she felt left out when she started for home after school by herself. Part of her wished that she’d gone ahead and tried out. Like Carlie had assured the others, “Don’t worry, no one gets cut from seventh-grade soccer.” Still, Amy felt pretty sure she might’ve been cut. Especially if she fell on her face like she figured she would. Instead of going directly home, she decided to go through town and stop by the restaurant. She knew that Tuesday was almond cookie day, and she figured at least she could get a good snack.

  But before going into the restaurant, she stopped to look at what used to be McPhearson Park. It was still cordoned off with yellow police tape. And it looked even more dismal than when she’d seen it before. It seemed that no one really cared whether or not it was turned into a parking lot.

  Determined not to cry, Amy swallowed hard against a lump that was growing in her throat. Maybe this was like so many other things to do with childhood. Maybe it was just time for her to grow up and move on.

  “This used to be such a pretty park,” said a voice to her left.

  Amy turned to see an older woman standing by a white car. She was looking out over the devastated park and sadly shaking her head.

  “Yes,” said Amy. “I was just thinking that exact same thing.” She walked over to the woman. “I used to play here when I was a little girl.”

  “So did I,” said the woman. Then she laughed. “Of course that was long, long ago. But I can remember when bands would play over there.” She pointed to an empty spot in the center of the park. “Oh, it’s not there now, but there used to be a lovely white gazebo. And on a warm summer Sunday afternoon, they would have concerts here. Sometimes a brass band would play jazz or swing. And sometimes we would have dances in the evening. It was really grand.”

  “That sounds nice,” said Amy. “I’m a musician too. I think it would be fun to have a concert here.”

  “Oh, it would be wonderful. Something for young people to do. Like when I was a girl. We had such fun here.”

  Suddenly Amy got this crazy wave of hope. Could it be possible that this was old Viola McPhearson standing right here before her? Could Amy have gotten that lucky?

  “I don’t remember seeing a gazebo here before,” she told the woman, studying her closely, hoping against hope that this was the mysterious Viola.

  “Of course not, dear. It was taken down long ago, back in the fifties, I believe. They thought it was dangerous. And I suppose it was falling apart some — the way old things tend to do. The city refused to pay to have it replaced. And now it’s simply a memory. Although I believe there may be photographs of it somewhere. I may even have some of them myself.”

  “I’ve been doing some historical research on the park,” said Amy. “I understand that it belongs to the McPhearson family.”

  The woman nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I even spoke to the mayor about it,” she continued.

  “Really?” The woman peered curiously at Amy now. “You spoke to the mayor yourself?”

  Amy nodded, standing a little taller. “He told me that a letter would be sent to Miss Viola McPhearson, asking her to take care of repairing the park within thirty days.”

  “And then what?”

  “If she doesn’t, the city will take it over. And most likely it will become a parking lot.” Amy watched for the woman’s reaction.

  But she just made a tsk-tsk sound. “Well, I have a feeling that poor old Viola won’t pay much heed to that letter.”

  “Do you know her?” asked Amy.

  “I knew her once … long ago. She’s a few years older than me. But she was a good friend of my oldest sister, Margaret, when they were in school together. Of course, Margaret’s been gone a few years now. Not that she and Viola stayed in touch. Viola is a bit of a recluse.” She looked at Amy. “Do you know what a recluse is, dear?”

  “Of course,” said Amy. “That’s a person who keeps to herself.”

  The woman smiled. “You sound like a smart young lady.”

  Amy smiled back.

  Now the woman extended her hand. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? My name is Martha Watson.”

  “I am Amy Ngo,” she told her, nodding across the street. “My family owns Asian Garden.”

  “Oh, yes,” said the woman. “I ate there once when I was passing through town.”

  “You don’t live here?”

  “Oh, no. I haven’t lived here for years. I just like to come through from time to time. Just for memory’s sake.”

  “Oh …”

  “But I’m sorry to hear you may be losing the park. It’s a pity.”

  Amy nodded. “Yes, it is. My friends and I are going to do everything we can to save it. We’re writing letters to the editor, and we plan to raise money, and we’d like to get people in town to support our cause.”

  “Well, it’s a good cause. And if I lived in town, I’d certainly support it.”

  “Thanks,” said Amy. “That’s something.”

  “But not much,” admitted the woman. Then she opened her purse. “How about
if I give you my address,” she said as she opened a little notepad and wrote something down. “And if your campaign to save the park gets off the ground, you can write to me and I’ll do what I can to help.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Watson,” said Amy as she slipped the paper into her backpack.

  “And now I think I’d like to find a place to get a cup of tea.”

  “We have tea,” said Amy. “At the restaurant, I mean.”

  Mrs. Watson smiled. “Yes, I’m sure you do.”

  “And my mother makes almond cookies on Tuesdays,” continued Amy.

  “Almond cookies?” Mrs. Watson looked interested.

  “Do you want to join me?” asked Amy.

  Mrs. Watson nodded. “I think that I would.”

  Soon Amy and her new friend were seated at the restaurant. An had tossed Amy a curious look when they came in, but Amy had introduced Mrs. Watson as if it wasn’t the least bit strange that she was having tea and cookies with a woman more than seven times older than her. Amy had already done the math.

  “These are delicious,” said Mrs. Watson as she picked up another cookie and examined it. “Your mother could probably package these and sell them.”

  Amy smiled. “I’ll make sure to tell her that.”

  “And now I’m thinking …” Mrs. Watson sighed. “If Viola still lives in the family home, which I’m guessing she must, maybe it would be worthwhile to pay her a little visit.”

  Amy’s hopes soared. “Do you think —”

  “And if your parents will let you go, I could take you along with me.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they won’t mind.”

  “But we may get the brush-off, Amy.” Mrs. Watson studied Amy’s face.

  “That’s okay,” said Amy. “I’ve heard that she’s not very hospitable.”

  Mrs. Watson laughed. “I’m afraid that may be putting it mildly.”

  So Amy and Mrs. Watson talked to Amy’s mother — with Amy working as translator — and it was agreed that Amy could accompany the older woman to the McPhearson house. Of course, it didn’t hurt matters that Mrs. Watson wanted to buy two dozen almond cookies to take home with her.

  Once again, Amy wished that she knew how to pray as Mrs. Watson drove them up the coast highway. And she was tempted to pull out her cell phone to call Morgan — via Chelsea’s cell phone — and ask her to pray. But she didn’t.