Do You Know the Monkey Man?

by Dori Hillestad Butler

  Let Bob adopt me? She had to be kidding!

  “At least he’s nice. And I bet he really wants to adopt you. He’s not just doing it for your mom.”

  “But he’s not my dad. And I don’t want a piece of paper that says he is when he isn’t. I’ve got a real dad out there somewhere.”

  “Real fathers are overrated, Sam,” Angela said. “Look at mine.”

  Angela’s dad wouldn’t win any Father of the Year awards, but at least he was part of her life. Sort of. He sent birthday and Christmas gifts. She and her older brother even visited him in Minnesota sometimes. Well, okay, they hadn’t visited in a while. But that was because Mr. Hunter and his wife had a baby last year.

  “At least you know your dad,” I said.

  “Father,” Angela corrected. “Not dad. And yeah, I know him.” Her bike wobbled a little when she said that. “I know he ran off with some other woman, got married, and had another kid who is tons more important to him than Andrew and I are. He’s a selfish jerk. That’s what I know about him.”

  “You know more than that,” I pointed out. “You know whether you look like him or talk like him. You know which habits and personality quirks you got from him. You know what he does for a living, what he does in his spare time, what he eats for breakfast. I don’t know any of that about my dad.”

  Angela snorted. “I still say you’re better off.”

  “How?” How could a person ever be better off not knowing their dad?

  “Because right now, your father could be anyone. Anyone you want him to be. But once you find him, that’s it. There’s no more pretending. You’re stuck with whoever he is.”

  “That’s okay,” I insisted. “I don’t care who he is. He’s my dad. That’s all that matters.”

  “That’s easy for you to say now when you don’t know anything about him. Don’t get your hopes up. That’s all I’m saying.”

  I looked away. Sometimes Angela’s kind of negative. It’s easier for her that way. But me, I try to look on the bright side. I mean, if you don’t have hope, what do you have?

  There’s a For Sale sign in front of our little blue house on Hartman Lane. My mom and Bob are building a bigger house in one of the new developments, so we’re moving after the wedding.

  I’ll be closer to Angela when we move. I’ll have a bigger room with built-in bookshelves, a built-in window seat, and my own bathroom. But I’d still rather stay here. This is my house, you know? It’s the only place I’ve ever lived.

  Besides, if my dad ever came looking for me, this is where he’d come. This is where we lived when my parents were married. If I had a new name and a new house, he wouldn’t know where to look for me.

  I fumbled around in my purse for my house key, then unlocked the front door. Right away my cat padded over to me and meowed.

  “Hey, Sherlock,” I said, bending to pick him up. The motorboat in his gut revved up as I buried my face in his fur. My cat has the loudest purr of any cat I’ve ever heard. But I’m not complaining. When cats purr, they’re telling you they love you.

  I set Sherlock down on the floor and he followed me down the hall. One whole wall in our hallway is lined with pictures. Pictures of me, pictures of Mom, pictures of me and Mom, pictures of me and Mom and Grandma and Grandpa Sperling. But the other wall only has two pictures on it—an 8 × 10 of my eighth-grade school picture and an 8 × 10 of Sarah from when we were three.

  There were other pictures of Sarah in albums somewhere, but this was the only big one we had of her. And it was the only one that was out where people could see it. She’s got on a frilly white dress with a matching ribbon in her hair. She looks kind of shy because she’s not smiling very big and she’s got her hands folded neatly in her lap.

  Somewhere there was a picture of me that looked almost the same (like I said, we were twins), except I was wearing a frilly blue dress instead of a frilly white dress. At one time, that picture probably hung right next to the picture of Sarah. But Mom puts up my new school picture every year. Sarah’s picture always stays the same.

  Why was I still obsessing about my sister? There was no way she could still be alive. She’s out at Lakeview Cemetery right by the big oak tree. End of story.

  I headed to my room. Man, was I tired after all that biking. As I flopped down on my bed, I caught a glimpse of my hair in the mirror. It looked like someone had taken a mixer to it. I reached for my brush and immediately went to work.

  Sherlock jumped up beside me and meowed. He turned around a couple times, then settled down right next to my favorite stuffed monkey. It’s just an old, floppy brown thing. I don’t even know where I got it. But it seems like I’ve always had it. I tickled Sherlock under the chin with the monkey’s tail and he purred. Silly cat.

  Then I went back to my hair. I’m not sure whether the trip to the psychic was worth this much damage. I don’t even know what I was thinking going to see a psychic in the first place. About all I can say about it is it worked in Who Is Victor Marsh? which is a really good book that I read last week. It was about a woman who was looking for her long-lost brother. The police were looking for him, too, because they thought he was a serial killer. But the woman thought they were wrong. She wanted to find her brother before the police did, so she hired this psychic. The psychic not only found the brother, she also found the real killer.

  I love books like that. I love all books, but I especially love mysteries. In fact, I think I’d like to be a mystery writer when I grow up.

  My mom says I’m dreaming if I think I can make a living as a writer. She loves to say stuff like that. She can be just as negative as Angela sometimes. I once asked her what was so bad about having dreams and she said, “You can’t live on them.” Maybe not, but I still think dreams are important.

  Slam!

  Speak of the devil.

  “Hello?” my mom called out. “Sam? Are you home?”

  “Yeah,” I called back. I put the finishing touches on my hair, then took a quick glance around my room. There wasn’t much she could complain about. A few books on the floor. And my nightshirt. I stacked the books on my desk next to my flute case and kicked the nightshirt under my bed.

  “Sam!” Mom yelled again from the main part of the house.

  “What?” I trotted down to the kitchen.

  Mom stood by the sink with her hands on her hips. She had on her nurse’s uniform—white pants, a pastel blue flowery shirt, and white shoes. She looked tired. “Why are the breakfast dishes still sitting in the sink?” she asked.

  Oops. “Um, I guess I didn’t get around to putting them in the dishwasher,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged.

  “What did you do all day?” She frowned at the pile of empty boxes that were still stacked up in the corner. She had asked me to start boxing up stuff that we weren’t likely to need in the next month, but well…I didn’t get to that either.

  What could I say? I just shrugged again.

  Mom sighed. “Could you at least take care of the dishes before we go?”

  “Go?” Where were we going?

  “Today’s Bob’s mother’s birthday,” Mom said, as though I should have known. “They’re having a big party at her house tonight. Everyone’s going to be there.”

  Everyone, of course, meant Bob’s brother and sisters and all their husbands and wives and small children.

  I tried not to groan. “Do I have to go?”

  “You don’t want to?” She sounded shocked.

  “Well, it’s just that …” I began. It’s just that I feel weird around Bob’s family. I don’t mean they’re horrible people. They’re okay. But there are so many of them. And they’re all so loud and so…I don’t know. Just different from me.

  “It’s just that what?” Mom asked.

  I kicked at a crumb on the floor. “Nothing. It’s fine. I’ll go.” It wasn’t like she’d let me stay home anyway.

  “We’ll leave in about an hour,” Mom said. “Pleas
e try to look presentable.”

  “So I should leave my nose ring at home?” I was joking. I don’t have a nose ring. I have earrings. I wear two in one earlobe and one in the other. But no nose ring, eyebrow ring, tongue ring, belly button ring—nothing like that.

  I honestly thought I was being funny. But Mom just walked away, shaking her head.

  See, that’s the thing about me and my mom. We just don’t understand each other. We haven’t for a long time.

  I think the problem is I’m not turning into the person she wants me to be. I’m a person with dreams. She wants me to be a person with “goals.” Dreams and goals are not the same thing.

  Maybe that was why I wanted to find my dad so bad. I had a feeling I wouldn’t ever have to explain things to him. He’d just understand.

  Chapter Three

  Bob’s mother lives in the Lyndhurst neighborhood. That’s the really old, nice neighborhood near downtown. The houses are big and close together. And the trees are so tall and thick they practically form an umbrella over the whole street.

  There were so many cars in front of Bob’s mother’s house that we had to drive around the corner to park. Mom found a spot in front of a police car. It probably belonged to one of Bob’s brothers. Just about everyone in his family is a cop. Bob’s dad was a cop, too. But he got killed during a robbery or something a long time ago.

  Before we got out of the car, Mom put her hand on my arm. “Please try and have a good time, Sam,” she said. “In another month, these people are going to be family.”

  They’re going to be her family, not mine. But I just said, “Sure.” Whatever.

  I tucked in my blouse and smoothed my skirt while Mom carefully picked up the gift-wrapped square box from the back seat. Then I grabbed the mystery I’d been reading and the birthday card I’d whipped up in about ten minutes on our computer before we left, and we trudged back to Bob’s mother’s house. As soon as we started up the walk, Bob came out onto the porch.

  My mom’s whole face lit up when she saw him. I have to tell you, for a middle-aged guy, Bob’s not bad looking. He’s got brown hair like my mom’s, blue eyes, and a really nice smile that makes you smile back whether you mean to or not.

  Bob’s nothing like the cops you see on TV. He’s kind of quiet. I can’t imagine him ever pulling a gun on anyone and yelling, “Stop! You’re under arrest!”

  “Hi, hon.” Bob bent down and hugged my mom. He glanced at me over her shoulder. “Sam, how are you?”

  “Okay.”

  “Suzanne!” Bob’s mother bellowed as she came to the door. She’s almost a whole head shorter than I am, but you’d never know it by her voice. People halfway down the block could probably hear her.

  My Grandma Sperling is totally different from Bob’s mom. She’s more quiet and reserved. And she wears polyester pantsuits all the time, even when she’s just sitting around the condo. Bob’s mother wears stained T-shirts that say “If Mom Says No, Ask Grandma.” It kind of makes me wonder how these two ladies are going to get along when Grandma and Grandpa Sperling come for the wedding in a few weeks.

  “I’m so glad you could come,” Bob’s mom said, reaching up to hug my mom.

  “Me, too.” My mom hugged her back. “Happy birthday, Mom.”

  Mom? When did she start calling Bob’s mother Mom?

  “And Samantha!” I tried not to stiffen when Bob’s mother reached out to hug me. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  Bob’s mother told me a long time ago that I should call her Grandma. But I don’t think of her as Grandma. I think of her as “Bob’s mother.” I don’t want to hurt her feelings, though, so I just avoid the whole issue by not calling her anything.

  I pasted a cheery smile on my face. “Happy birthday,” I said, handing her my card. I held tight to my book with my elbow.

  “Thank you, sweetie. You didn’t have to make me a card.”

  Well, yes, actually, I did, but whatever.

  I followed my mom into the living room. Something smelled good. Lasagna, I think. One thing I could say for this party, we’d be eating well. The people in Bob’s family are excellent cooks.

  We don’t do a lot of fancy cooking in our family. Mom never makes anything that requires more than ten minutes of work. I’m not sure my grandparents even know how to cook. We always eat out when we’re with them.

  Mom and I wound our way around all the TV trays and toys that were scattered around the living room. There was a bunch of ladies standing around talking and laughing in the kitchen. All the men except Bob and all the little kids (the next oldest kid after me is about seven) were running around out in the backyard.

  “Hey, everyone!” Bob’s mother announced. “Look who’s here.” As soon as Bob’s sisters and sisters-in-law saw my mom, the hugging started all over again. They’re really big on hugging in this family.

  I hung back in the living room. My mom looked so happy. So comfortable. Like she was already one of them. Me, I couldn’t imagine ever being one of them.

  “I see Rick’s kids are playing ball out back.” Bob touched my arm. “Do you want to go out?”

  Bob’s really trying here. I know that. He wants us all to be one big, happy family, just like my mom does. But no matter how hard we both try, he and his family are not my family. And going out in the backyard to play with a plastic ball and bat and run around some trees with all those little kids isn’t going to change that.

  “Thanks,” I said, holding up my book. “But I think maybe I’ll just stay in here and read.”

  “All by yourself?”

  I doubted anybody in this family ever did anything by themselves. None of them were readers, either.

  I shrugged. “I like to read.” Besides, it was kind of hard to play in a skirt.

  “Okay,” Bob said, sounding really disappointed. “But come and join us if you change your mind.”

  As soon as he left, I plopped down on the couch. It was one of those poufy couches with lots of pillows that you sort of sink into. I love couches like this. I pulled my feet up under me and opened my book. But I’d barely read two pages before my mom burst into the room. Bob’s mother and all his sisters and sisters-in-law were right behind her, all smiles and excitement.

  “Guess what, Sam!” Mom said. Her face glowed. “Bob’s mother finished your bridesmaid’s dress!”

  “She did?”

  “Why don’t you come try it on so we can see how it fits?” Bob’s mother said.

  “Okay.” I had to admit I was curious about this dress. And I’m always up for trying on clothes. Who wouldn’t be? So I set my book down and followed everyone up to Bob’s mother’s bedroom. I had to dodge a bunch of Matchbox cars and Beanie Babies along the way. Geez, you’d think ten kids lived here instead of one lady.

  “Oh my goodness!” Mom clasped her hands to her cheeks when she saw the blue dress that hung on a hanger over the back of the bedroom door. Everyone else oohed and aahed, too.

  I was pretty amazed myself. I’d seen the shiny blue taffeta fabric my mom had picked out. And I’d seen the dress pattern. But seeing the whole thing together for the first time…Wow! I didn’t know what to say.

  “Do you like it?” Mom asked me.

  “Oh, yeah. Definitely.” Mom and I hardly ever have the same taste in clothes, but I did like this dress. It was simple, but elegant. There was no lace, just the smooth taffeta. You could wear it on the shoulders or off, but if I knew my mom, I’d be wearing it up.

  Bob’s mother carefully took the dress down from the hanger. “Let’s see how it looks on you,” she said, holding it out to me.

  She didn’t expect me to actually get undressed in front of all these people, did she? I didn’t mind my mom being there, but I don’t like to undress in front of strangers.

  “You did a great job on this, Mom,” one of the sisters or sisters-in-law said as she ran her finger along the smooth skirt.

  “You sure did,” my mom agreed. She unzipped the dress. “Come on, Sam,�
� she said impatiently. “Try it on.”

  Apparently no one was leaving. I kicked my shoes off, slid my skirt down, and unbuttoned my blouse. Unfortunately, I wasn’t wearing a strapless bra, so I had to take my regular old bra off. I tried to cover up a little.

  Mom sighed. “Move your arms, Sam. How are we going to get a dress on when your arms are crossed?”

  I moved my arms. Then my mom and Bob’s mother carefully eased the dress over my head. It made kind of a crinkly, swishy sound as it dropped into place. I reached back to lift my hair, then looked down. The dress hung all the way to the floor.

  “Oh, Sam.” My mom had tears in her eyes.

  I turned to look at myself in the mirror and my eyeballs nearly popped out of my head. I looked so different. Older, definitely. But sort of mature, too. Like I’d had all these huge life experiences or something.

  Mom gathered my hair and held it on top of my head. “Here. You hold your hair and I’ll zip you up,” she said.

  The dress tightened around my chest as the zipper went up.

  “You look …” Mom stopped. She was at a loss for words.

  “She looks absolutely breathtaking,” Bob’s mother said.

  Breathtaking? Me?

  “Yes, she does,” the sisters-in-law all agreed.

  Bob’s mother had me climb up on a chair so she could pin the hem. Then they all started talking about what a beautiful wedding it was going to be and how nice it was that Grandpa Sperling was coming all the way from Florida to walk Mom down the aisle.

  Even though it was a second marriage for my mom, it was a first marriage for Bob, so they were going all out on the ceremony. My mom says that maybe if she does the wedding up right this time, maybe the marriage will work out better.

  I do hope the marriage works out. Really, I do. I want my mom to be happy. But…I want to be happy, too. Is that so wrong? And the one thing that could really, truly make me happy would be finding my dad.

  Chapter Four