Baby-Sitters Club 090

by Ann M. Martin

  "Do you need any help?" asked one of the people in line behind me.

  I shook my head. Maybe Mom hadn't left her office yet, I thought. She probably forgot about her train. Yeah, that's it. She forgot. She's always forgetting what time it is.

  By some miracle, the first pay phone I found was free. I dropped the change in with trembling fingers.

  A voice I didn't recognize answered the phone at my mother's office.

  "Mrs. Stevenson? Oh, she left almost two hours ago. Said she had a very important date. May I take a message?" "No, thank you," I whispered. I hung up the phone.

  I leaned against the phone for a few moments, trying not to throw up. When I looked up again, I was dizzy.

  Stay calm, I told myself. Find Anna.

  I hurried back to our booth and pulled Anna aside. I told her what had happened.

  "You called the office," she repeated, just to make sure.

  "She'd already left," I said again. "She told them she had an important date." By unspoken agreement, we began closing up the booth. Then we headed off to find Kristy and tell her the news. Maybe someone in her family could give us a ride to the local train station. They might know more there.

  At the BSC booth we learned that Kristy had gone with her mother to take Karen and David Michael on the bumper cars.

  "What's wrong?" asked Claudia.

  "Can't stop now," I gasped. "We'll explain later." We hurried toward the bumper cars. As we pushed through the crowd I could hear myself starting to wheeze.

  "Kristy!" said Anna, grabbing her by the arm as she came out of the bumper car ride.

  I fished in my pocket for my inhaler. I held it to my lips and took a deep breath.

  "Oh, no!" cried Kristy, running to me. "Another asthma attack?" Ill Chapter 13.

  The inhaler almost always works if you use it in time. It worked fine this time. I took another breath from it, then folded it up and put it away.

  "No," I said. I took a deep, slow breath. I forced myself to be calm. "No." "You're okay?" asked Kristy.

  "Yes!" I said impatiently.

  "It's Mom," Anna burst out. "There's been a train derailment and it was her train." "I called her office when we heard about it," I explained. "They said she left. And I know the train she was planning on taking was the twelve forty-five." Kristy's mother hurried over to us. "Charlie told me. Come on. We'll drive to the station and see if they know anything there." Kristy said, "I'll get on the phones here. We can take turns calling when we're not at our booth. Your booth is closed?" Anna and I nodded. "We left the money at the BSC booth," I said.

  "Fine," replied Kristy briskly. "We'll meet back at the BSC booth. And we'll take care of your booth. Don't worry, guys." "Thanks, Kristy," I said.

  But when we reached the train station, no one was at the ticket window. Closed Saturdays, the sign at the window read.

  We called the local police from the train station, but they didn't know anything. Then Mrs. Brewer phoned the local newspaper and the local news station. We also called the railroad line.

  No one knew more than what we'd already heard.

  "They'd know by now if there were any really serious injuries," said Kristy's mother reassuringly as we returned to the car. She didn't add, "or fatalities." But that's what I was thinking.

  By six o'clock, we were pretty sure no one had been killed. But that was about all we knew. We'd stayed at the carnival because that's where we were supposed to meet Mom. But Mrs. Brewer had driven back to our house and left a note on our door about where we were, just in case.

  "Mom has a cellular phone," I said. "Why hasn't she called? She could use it to call from the train." "I'm sure there's a good reason," said Anna.

  Or a bad one, I thought. But I kept my mouth shut.

  Like zombies, Anna and I packed up the stuff from our booth. All around us people were laughing and talking and having a great time. The carnival was at its peak.

  We carried the coolers to Mr. Brewer's car. We were about to turn around to retrieve the rest of the stuff when I heard the most wonderful sound in the world.

  Our mother's voice, calling our names.

  "Abby! Anna! Oh, thank goodness you're here!" We shrieked like crazy people. There was Mom, running across the parking lot, her scarf flying, her briefcase banging against her leg. I honestly didn't know Mom could run that fast.

  Anna and I covered some ground pretty fast, too. It's a wonder the three of us crashing together didn't cause a minor earthquake.

  We almost fell over from the impact.

  "What about you? We thought you were dead!" "Where were you?" cried Anna. "Why didn't you call?" "Oh, Abby. Oh, Anna." Mom squeezed each of us hard, and gave us a kiss. Normally I would have pulled away. But this was not a normal time.

  "Well," I demanded. "What happened?" "You're not hurt, are you?" asked Anna.

  "No, no," said Mom. "It wasn't my train . . ." "But they said you'd left your office . . ." "There were two trains," explained Mom. "Because of the crowds heading out of town for leaf season. I got stuck on the second train. And it got stuck in the tunnel behind the train that derailed. We couldn't get out of the train and the cellular phones didn't work in the tunnel. But I had forgotten mine, anyway. For awhile, the lights didn't work either." "How awful," gasped Anna. "To be trapped in the tunnel in the dark." Mom's lips twisted in a wry grin. "It was pretty bad. But not as bad as being on the derailed train. Anyway, after hours and hours, they evacuated us. We had to walk back to the station. And then they finally put us on a bus, and of course the bus had to make a million stops." She heaved a deep sigh. "I knew you'd be_ worried. But I didn't know how to reach you." "Well, you're here now. That's what's important/' I said.

  Mom hugged us again, then straightened up. Mr. Brewer patted her on the shoulder. "They've been very calm and brave," he said.

  "Let's go home," said Anna.

  "Home?" Mom's smile was shaky, but her eyes were shiny with enthusiasm as well as unshed tears. "I came to work in a carnival and that's what I'm going to do." "Really?" I asked.

  "You better believe it," Mom said. "Come on." So the Cupcake Lady was back in business - only this time there were three of us. Somehow, none of us wanted to go wandering around the carnival without the others.

  Kristy and Mary Anne came over and gave us a break so we could show Mom the sights. And, okay, so we could have our photograph taken with Elvira.

  But we spent most of the rest of the carnival in our booth. The Cupcake Family. Can you believe it?

  And it was pretty sweet.

  Chapter 14.

  "Shannon says she heard the carnival was so successful that people are saying they should make it an annual event. She says people already want to sign up for booths for next year," Anna said, hanging up the phone.

  It was Sunday evening. The carnival had closed late that afternoon. We'd spent the rest of Saturday evening at our booth, then stayed up most of Saturday night baking cupcakes and cakes. I showed Mom how I made the piano cake. And she and Anna and 1 had designed and made a three-layer cake that looked like an artist's palette. Pretty cool. Pretty delicious, too.

  We had had fun. Just plain fun.

  And I was tired. Just plain wiped out.

  We were finishing a late dinner of what Mom called Sandwich Du Jour. That means "sandwich of the day" and it means that anything in the refrigerator is fair game. I was actually eating chicken dogs that I had nuked in the microwave, with baked beans and mustard mixed together.

  Anna finished her sandwich and said, "Cupcakes, anyone?" "Ugh!" I groaned.

  Mom said, "I'm not worried. I happen to know we sold every last one." "Yup," I said.

  "It was Abby's idea," said Anna, "to make fancy cakes and the cupcakes for the kids to decorate. Fingerpaint food." "Brilliant," said Mom.

  "You gave me the idea," I said. "Or, I guess, those did." I pointed to the shining copper molds that were lining the space above the cabinets in our kitchen.

  Mom looked up. "Oh!
You know, I meant to tell you how good those looked up there. I hadn't seen or thought about them in years." "Yeah," I said dryly. "And that's not all." Anna knew where I was headed. She joined in. "Yup. We've unpacked all the cartons now. All of them." "Except one," I added. "There's one more in the attic. ... If you'll excuse me." "I'll clear the table," said Anna.

  Leaving Mom looking puzzled, I bounded up the stairs to the attic and returned as quickly as possible holding the box with our father's things in it.

  I didn't think our mother recognized it even then.

  "We, ah, found this with all the other boxes," I said. I set it down on the empty table. Anna cut the masking tape we'd sealed the box with such a short time before.

  Did she smell Dad's cologne before we opened the box? She might have, because her face changed. For one instant it looked soft and young and smiling, the way I remembered Mom from when we were kids.

  From when Dad was still alive.

  But then the moment passed and she drew her breath in sharply and closed her eyes and put her hand over her heart as if to protect it.

  "It's Dad's stuff," said Anna. "All kinds of things. Special things. . . . We thought you gave away all his stuff when he, when the accident happened." "Why didn't you tell us?" I asked.

  Mom didn't move. Didn't speak. Then she slowly opened her eyes and they filled with tears. Huge, silent tears that spilled over and fell down her cheeks.

  "Oh, Mom," cried Anna. She leaned forward, but Mom held out her hand and shook her head slightly.

  "It's okay," she said. Her voice was hoarse and very low. She grew silent again.

  "Mom?" I said.

  She seemed to be coming back from far away. Then she leaned forward and began to take things out of the box.

  "His bathrobe/' she murmured. She stroked it, put it on her lap, held it there. "Oh, Jon. I never washed it, you know. It was hanging on the back of the door when I came home from the hospital after he ... died. I put it on. I slept in it every night for weeks. But then I realized that no matter how much I slept, I'd always wake up and it wouldn't be a bad dream. It would be real.

  "And I realized I had two children. Our two children. So I put the robe away. I went around our room that morning just sweeping things into this box. And I took it to the attic and left it there. The next day I brought home more boxes. I threw away everything that was his. I didn't want to be reminded.

  "It made me remember. And I was afraid remembering would make me weak." "Did you cry?" asked Anna.

  "Yes." Mom lifted out the glasses. "I took these to the hospital with me. I thought he might need them. I didn't know how - how bad it was." I reached past her and pulled out the en- velope. A sudden smile lit up Mom's sad face. "Your father," she said, "was at Woodstock. The first Woodstock ... I wonder what he would have thought of the second one." She held up the ticket. "It's probably a collector's item now. He did always say he was probably one of the few people on earth who had actually bought and paid for a ticket to what turned out to be one of the most famous free concerts of all time. And that shirt. I tried to get him to throw it away. But he wouldn't." I had lifted the watch out of the box. "He wasn't wearing his watch when the accident happened?" She shook her head. "He'd been looking for it for two days. I found it in the drain cup in the sink that morning after he left for work." Holding the harmonica, Mom said, "That's where your ear for music comes from, Anna. You remember him playing this?" Anna nodded. "Of course I do." "He'd be so proud of you both. Two is better than twice as much. That's what he said when he saw you, right after you were born. He could mix words around so that even if they didn't make sense, they sounded as if they did. The way you do, Abby. You both remind me of him so much sometimes, in different ways." Her voice trailed off again. She stroked the soft worn flannel of the robe.

  "You never talked about him after you told us he had died," said Anna. "I never knew why." "I couldn't. I always meant to. But it hurt. And then when it stopped hurting quite so much, I was afraid I would start to hurt all over again if I did talk about him. It was like being in the dark in that tunnel and not being sure I was going to make it out again. And then I was so glad . . .

  "But I didn't forget. Not one single day have I forgotten. I might have forgotten about that carton, maybe even deliberately.

  "But never about Jonathan." Mom looked down at the box. "It's time these things had new homes." For one awful moment, I thought Mom was going to give away our father's things.

  She saw my face and reached out and patted my hand. "Don't worry. I'm not going to throw anything away. In fact," she lifted up the watch and slid it over my wrist. It was big and clunky and heavy and old fashioned. I loved it.

  "Thanks, Mom," I said.

  She turned to Anna. "I expect someday you will write a symphony for violin and harmonica," she said, handing Anna the harmonica.

  Anna clutched the harmonica, her eyes shining.

  "We're a family," Mom said. "And don't you forget it, you hear? We support each other, we stick together. We talk." Anna and I nodded.

  Mom held up the bathrobe. "I have a place on the back of my bedroom door where this will hang nicely. And the picture can go on the piano in the living room." She set the glasses aside. "The old roll-top desk," she murmured.

  Then she held up the Woodstock T-shirt and the ticket stub. "Hmm," she said. "I see this in a frame. A sort of collage ..." She gave Anna and me a mischievous look. "Art. I see this as art. What do you girls think?" We burst out laughing. Shaky, good laughter.

  I thought Dad would be pleased.

  Chapter 15.

  "Hey, is this meeting coming to order or what?" I asked, cramming a handful of potato chips in my mouth. Since the cupcake weekend, I'd sworn off sweets, at least for a while. But not junk food.

  Kristy, who was lowering herself into the director's chair in Claudia's room, gave me an outraged look.

  "Whaf s the matter, Kristy? Getting a little behind in the job?" I asked. I pointed to the seat of the chair, which had just connected with the seat of her jeans, and burst out laughing at my own humor.

  Kristy's mouth dropped open. Then Mary Anne snorted and a spray of potato chips flew out of her mouth.

  That did it. Everyone started laughing. We were still laughing a few moments later when Mal rushed in saying, "I'm sorry I'm late, "It's okay," said Jessi. "We all get a little behind." That set us off again, until the phone rang.

  Instantly Kristy was all business. We stifled our laughter and Jessi leaned over to whisper something to Mal.

  But Kristy had no sooner taken down the information and hung up, then Mal said to me, "That's a terrible joke. I'll have to tell the triplets." We assigned the job and then Mal said, "Guess what. The carnival-- raised enough money to fund the arts programs in the Sto-neybrook public schools for an entire year." Claudia jumped up and did a little dance on her bed. Jessi applauded. Kristy let out a whistle between her teeth.

  "What will happen when the year is up and the money runs out?" demanded Stacey.

  Claudia stopped bouncing. "I guess we will have to hold another carnival." "Piece of cake," said Jessi, smiling at me.

  I groaned. "Not till next year!" Mal took a call and Mary Anne flipped open the book. "The Papadakises for next Saturday night. Hmmmm. Kristy, you or Abby?" I unconsciously tensed. Did Kristy still think I didn't have what it took to be a baby-sitter? I found myself staring at her, trying to read her thoughts.

  But Kristy didn't even hesitate. "Abby can handle it. I have something to do." "Kristy has a date/' Stacey whispered very loudly.

  I didn't hear Kristy's quick retort or join in the round of gentle laughter that followed. I was busy feeling good. I was off probation with Kristy.

  And feeling at home with my friends in the BSC.

  Just as Kristy was about to end the meeting, the phone rang. She picked it up. A grin spread across her face.

  "Dawn!" she cried.

  Everyone passed the phone around to say hello and tell Dawn about the
carnival. When Mary Anne was finished, she handed the phone to me.

  I was so surprised that I just sat there.

  "Say hello to Dawn," Mary Anne prompted me. "You know about each other. So you might as well talk." I held the phone to my ear. "Hello?" "Hello!" Dawn's voice was friendly. I liked the sound of it immediately. We talked for a minute and then I said, "I've got to go. But I want you to know that I'm glad I'm the one who got to join the BSC." "It's great, isn't it?" said Dawn cheerfully. "Good luck!',' I handed the phone back to Mary Anne so she could say good-bye.

  Somehow, I felt that talking to Dawn had made me an official member of the BSC. I might not have a best friend in Stoneybrook, I might be a fast-moving, wisecracking sort of inexplicable blur to the others, but however I might seem, however different I might be, 1 belonged.

  Not bad. Not bad at all.

  That night, Anna and I had a domestic attack and decided to make dinner. From a recipe, not from a can or a box, okay?

  "Let's make something that will keep till Mom gets home," Anna said.

  "And something that will make the house smell good," I added, thinking of the nice smell of cupcakes baking. And the faint smell of old cologne.

  We looked through Mom's cookbooks until we found a recipe that didn't seem too hard - turkey loaf.

  "With peas," I said happily. I read from the suggested menu in the old cookbook, " 'In a nest of mashed potatoes.' " "Toffuti splits for dessert," said Anna.

  Anna and I talked while we made dinner. I told her about the BSC and about Kristy's deciding I'd Passed the Test.

  "She had a date on Saturday night, I think," I concluded.

  Anna ducked her head. "I've met a guy in the orchestra that I kind of like," she said.

  I looked at my sister. My eyes opened wide. "Really? Seriously?" "Not seriously!" said Anna. "Just as friends. I like him, but I don't like like him." "Hmmm," I murmured.

  The phone rang as we were putting the turkey in the oven.

  "I'm calling from the station in the city," Mom said. "I just wanted to let you know I'm on my way home. I'll be there in a couple of hours." I lifted my arm and pushed back my sleeve. I checked the heavy old watch on my wrist. "We've made dinner," I told Mom. "Whenever you get here, you'll be right on time." I hung up the phone, smiling.