Back on the Map

by Lisa Ann Scott

  I shot him my dirtiest, nastiest warning look. Course, he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “Certainly, dear,” Mrs. Carlson said, while Parker loaded his plate with food.

  “We’re fine here with Grauntie, really,” I said. “The three of us handle everything. We don’t need any help at all.”

  Mrs. Carlson scrunched her eyebrows together and continued eating her dinner.

  I stuffed my mouth with food, too, so I couldn’t say anything else to worry them.

  When everyone was done eating, I stood to clear the dishes.

  “Sit, child. You’ve had a long day. We’ll get it,” Mrs. Carlson said. “We’ll join you in the living room shortly.”

  I have to admit, it was a treat not being in charge of everything. I sat on the couch, bouncing my foot to the beat of the song. The setting sun shone through the window, making the room look bright and warm, different than I’d ever seen it before. With the music in the background, I felt like I was somewhere entirely different, not in Grauntie’s faded living room. Surprising how the sound of music can change the way you look at a place.

  When Mr. and Mrs. Carlson came out of the kitchen, Mr. Carlson grabbed her by the hand, and started twirling her around the room.

  Parker yanked me up from the couch by both hands, and we bounced and jumped to the tune. Of course, we didn’t look as good as the Carlsons did, grooving around the room together, but soon all four of us were laughing and smiling like the second-helping discussion had never happened.

  After a few songs, Parker and I plopped into chairs, while the Carlsons settled on the couch. “Is there anything you’d like to watch on TV?” Mrs. Carlson asked.

  Parker shook his head. “I don’t know what’s on. Grauntie is always watching her shows. And her shows are boring.”

  “So what do you kids do here?” she asked.

  “Work on stuff for the trading cart,” I offered. “Read.”

  “Why don’t we read a book together?” she offered. “Mr. Carlson does great character voices.” She flashed him a smile.

  “Oh, we don’t have books like that. We’ve got encyclopedias,” I explained.

  “No children’s storybooks?” Mrs. Carlson sounded surprised.

  “No, ma’am. But encyclopedias are better. They teach you stuff. Oh, and I did get a Great Americans book from Mr. Hanes before he left. We could read that.”

  “We can do that later. How about we tell you a story?” Mrs. Carlson said. “Let’s tell them about Charlie.”

  “That was your dog, right?” I asked. “The one who looked like the critter I made?”

  “That’s right!” Mr. Carlson said. “Oh, he had so many adventures, that rascal. There should be a dozen children’s books about him.”

  So Mr. Carlson started telling us about their black Labrador retriever named Charlie, who was blind, but made his way around just fine. He told us all about the time Charlie brought home a baby bunny.

  “Not sure how a blind dog found an itty-bitty rabbit,” Mrs. Carlson said.

  “Did he kill it?” I asked.

  “Oh, no.” Mr. Carlson said. “He kept it for a pet!”

  “What do you mean?” Parker asked.

  “We fed and cared for the bunny, and planned to let it back in the wild. But Charlie would sit by its box like he was protecting it. And one day, we noticed the box had been knocked over. We expected the worst. Retrievers are hunting dogs, after all. But Charlie hadn’t hurt the bunny. He was napping with it! That little fur ball was all curled up under Charlie’s chin.”

  “Really?”

  Mrs. Carlson nodded. “We tried letting it go, but it would always hop back to the door, waiting for us to let it in. Darndest thing.”

  “No wonder you loved Charlie so much,” I said. “I’ve never had a pet.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Animals are a joy,” Mr. Carlson said. He told us how Charlie would play with kittens, too, and let Mary dress him up in clothes she sewed special for him.

  “That poor thing was always wearing a kerchief,” Mrs. Carlson said.

  “Was he blind even when he was a puppy?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. We didn’t have him as a puppy,” she said. “We were going to the shelter to get ourselves a puppy when we saw Charlie. The folks told us he’d been there for six months, and they were going to have to put him to sleep. So we took him instead. And what a fine, fine dog he was. Lived for six years after we brought him home.”

  “That’s the saddest thing, putting down a dog just because he couldn’t find a home.” My voice sounded thick, even to my ears. “I wish there was a home for every cast-aside dog.”

  My heart was clogging my throat. I guess Parker and I would’ve been put down years ago if we were dogs. I crossed my arms. “I’m going to adopt ten dogs someday, when I have a home of my own. And not the pretty, fluffy ones. The dogs no one wants.”

  Mrs. Carlson smiled. “I hope you do, Penny. Now, why don’t you get that book and we’ll do some reading?”

  I scooted to my room, enjoying how the music filled all the empty spaces in the house. When I had a house someday with my ten dogs, I’d leave the music on for them all day when I was gone.

  I grabbed the book from my nightstand and settled onto the couch next to Mr. and Mrs. Carlson.

  Parker sat on the arm of the couch next to Mr. Carlson, who put his arm around Parker and pulled him on to his lap.

  “Where shall we start?” Mrs. Carlson asked.

  “I’m reading the whole thing again. I’m up to Amelia Earhart, the famous female pilot,” I explained.

  “Oh, yes, let’s learn about her,” Mr. Carlson said.

  I knew her story already, but it sounded more exciting with Mrs. Carlson reading it. I loved hearing about Amelia’s childhood—how she went on lots of adventures with her sister, and enjoyed the outdoors. I’m pretty sure we would’ve been friends.

  She became very famous in the early 1900s when there weren’t many female pilots. She was the first woman to fly across the Atlantic by herself. Seems like that would be pretty scary. Then she tried flying around the globe and disappeared over the Pacific Ocean. I hated that part. She had a dream, and it didn’t come true. Still, she should go on my family tree, I figured. I’m the descendant of a famous pilot.

  “What an interesting life,” Mrs. Carlson said, closing the book.

  “This reminds me of our bedtime stories for Mary,” Mr. Carlson said. “She loved nonfiction the best. True stories about special people and the things they did. We could’ve read to her all night.”

  I sat up straighter. “Those are the kind of stories I love!”

  “It’s interesting to read about the people who’ve built up this world for us,” Mrs. Carlson said.

  “You used to read to her every night?” I asked.

  “Why, yes,” Mr. Carlson said.

  “So all your nights were like this one? This wasn’t just special ’cause of what happened to Grauntie?” I asked.

  Mr. Carlson squeezed his wife’s shoulder. “We had a nice meal and music and reading every night. It was lovely.”

  Oh, did that make my heart hurt. This is what real families were like? This is what we were missing? I crossed my arms, and I knew I had a mean look on my face.

  Mrs. Carlson set the book down and clapped her hands. “My, how time has flown this evening. I’d say it’s time for you two to get to bed.”

  Parker launched himself into Mrs. Carlson’s arms, and she hugged him tight, rocking him back and forth in her lap. I stood and took a few steps away from the couch. I didn’t want a hug. Not after all the goodness we’d been sharing. It was too much. Knowing some families had music and laughter and candles filling their homes every night made me sad, ’cause we’d never had that.

  And now that I knew about it, I’d be wanting it and never getting it. The Carlsons wouldn’t be here forever. Grauntie would come home, and everything would go back to the same quiet, boring, lonely way it had bee
n before. No stories or songs. No candles or second helpings. It was like living your life without knowing about candy—and then getting your first and last taste of chocolate.

  I swallowed hard and said, “Good night.” Then I dashed to the bathroom to clean up and brush my teeth before putting on my pajamas and diving into bed. I wanted to pretend I was asleep already if the Carlsons peeked in.

  I was in bed when Mrs. Carlson knocked softly on my open door.

  “Come in,” I said gruffly.

  “Is everything all right, dear?”

  “Yes. I’m just worried about Grauntie, is all. Seems wrong for us to be having all this fun while she’s in the hospital.” It sounded like a good excuse. I wasn’t going to tell her the truth: that I was hurting now that I knew what a family could be like.

  Mrs. Carlson tugged my blanket up to my chin. “Well, don’t you worry. She’ll be back home shortly, and I’m sure things will be back to normal soon enough. I’m sorry if we weren’t sensitive enough tonight to realize how you must be feeling.”

  “It’s all right.” I felt lousy that Mrs. Carlson had a hint of sadness in her voice. That I had put it there. “Thanks for taking care of us tonight.”

  “It’s our pleasure. Truly.”

  That night, for the first time in a long time, I fell right asleep.

  CHAPTER 17

  I woke to the smell of something sweet and warm. I followed my nose to the kitchen, where I found Mrs. Carlson flipping pancakes on the stove. “I’ve got cinnamon buns cooking in the oven,” she said with a smile. Bacon sizzled in a pan, too.

  My stomach gurgled, and my mouth watered. That was like years’ worth of yummy breakfast food from Grauntie. And Grauntie wouldn’t have cooked stuff like that to be nice. She would have done it ’cause it was in the fridge from a trade. And lately, I probably would’ve done the cooking myself. I shook my head to clear it and sat at the table with a huff. I didn’t want another bite of that can’t-ever-have-it-again-chocolate. “Can I have cereal instead?”

  “Of course, if that’s what you’d like.” She got out our only box of cereal—cornflakes—and poured me a bowl.

  “I’ll take what Penny doesn’t eat,” Parker offered, his voice all helpful, like he was promising to rake the front yard.

  I glared at him, but he wouldn’t meet my gaze. He knew what I was thinking: that we shouldn’t be enjoying all this, getting used to it. I stirred my cornflakes with the spoon, trying to stop smelling the wonderful aromas in the kitchen. Turns out, there’s no way to stop your nose from working—unless you’re willing to squeeze it closed with your fingers, and that seemed rude.

  “Mr. Carlson’s working at the diner,” Mrs. Carlson said. “And I thought it might be time to see what you kids are up to at the Finest.”

  I dropped my spoon. “You’re going to come to the Finest?”

  She nodded.

  “Really? Are you sure?”

  “I want to see what’s got everyone in town so excited. There’s a change in the air, I can feel it.” She smiled at me, and I knew my sorry, crooked teeth were flashing back at her. I pressed my lips together.

  Once we had everything cleaned up from breakfast, we walked together to the building. Mrs. Carlson told us the names of all the flowers growing in the fields along the road. “And look at that beautiful swallowtail butterfly! I haven’t taken a good long look at all the beauty outside in a long time. I’m so grateful for this time with you two.”

  Parker reached for her hand. They linked their fingers together, swinging their arms as they walked. I pushed past them, walking faster and farther ahead so no one would go grabbing my hand.

  When we got close to the Finest, Mrs. Carlson slowed down. I figured we must be near the place where Mary had died. There were probably kind words of comfort I should’ve been saying. I just didn’t know what they were.

  But Mrs. Carlson lifted her head, looked up to the sky, and let out a long, long breath. Then we walked up the driveway together.

  She clasped her hands in front of her as she looked across the lot filled with new treasures. “I just don’t believe it.”

  “Isn’t it great?”

  “It truly is. Greater than I imagined. The murals, the sculptures, and a flower garden!” She sighed. “I can’t believe you all banded together to do this.”

  “Me neither. But there’s still so much to do.” I looked around, trying to figure out what would be the best project for Mrs. Carlson. The tires piled up by a tree seemed to be spinning, revving up to become something new. That was the job for Mrs. Carlson. I walked toward them. “Getting rid of all these tires is my biggest problem. I just don’t know what to do with them.”

  Mrs. Carlson walked over to the pile of tires and ran her hands over them. She stepped back and cupped her chin, examining them. I wondered if her fingers were tingling with ideas. I was too embarrassed to ask though. Maybe that only happened to me—like how I saw people in shades.

  She turned to me. “I’ve got some ideas for these. Mind if I try a few things?”

  “Sure! What are you thinking about?”

  She tapped a finger against her nose. “Chairs, to start with. We can stack two on top of each other and paint them up nice and pretty. Use one for a back. I can even sew some cushions and attach legs. Some other ideas are niggling at my brain, working their way up.”

  “Give it time; they’ll come,” I said. “That’s how it works for me.”

  She set her hand on my shoulder. “There’s just something about being up here in the midst of all this … this … busyness and excitement. I’m so glad I came.”

  “Me, too,” I told her. She felt it. She felt that energy coming back to life here!

  I left Mrs. Carlson looking at the tires, and headed over to the tree where Joe was working. The tree house was complete now, and he was working on the stairs.

  I waved to him, and he climbed down his ladder.

  “Penny, just in time. I could use a break.” He grabbed a soda from a red cooler at the base of the tree, and handed me one, too.

  “Looks really good.” I paused. “Do you think Wren would be happy with how it’s turning out?”

  “I do. We sketched quite a few plans for tree houses, and this is quite similar to the design that was our favorite.”

  A warm feeling filled me. “Maybe he’s an architect now, making important buildings all around the world.”

  “Maybe,” Joe said softly.

  “Penny!” Miss Meriwether was walking up the driveway, waving to me.

  “I gotta go!” I hurried over.

  “Your Grauntie is going to be fine,” Miss Meriwether said.

  Relief whooshed through me. “Thank goodness.”

  “She injured her shoulder and hip, but they aren’t broken. But she’ll be coming home in a few days with an aide who’ll stay with her for a few weeks. After that, though …”

  “We’ll be there. We’ll help like we always do,” I quickly said. “It’ll be fine. I promise. I’ll do a better job.” I crossed my fingers for good measure.

  Miss Meriwether took on a serious tone. “Penny, it’s not that simple. I didn’t realize how bad your Grauntie’s health was. How much you two children have been taking on yourselves to keep the house running.” She shook her head. “It shouldn’t be like that. And, well … there’s someone you need to talk to. Parker, too. Can you get him?”

  I nodded, but my stomach tumbled. I found Parker helping Mrs. Carlson paint some of the tires. “Miss Meriwether wants to talk to us. About Grauntie.”

  He dropped his paintbrush and raised his sunglasses off his eyes.

  When we hurried back to Miss Meriwether, another woman was standing by her. That buzz that lived inside me kicked up a notch.

  “Parker, Penny, this is Nancy Rydell. When the nurses at the hospital found out Grauntie’s been taking care of you, they had to call social services.” Miss Meriwether looked at the ground.

  “The system?” I whispered.
>
  Miss Meriwether nodded. “I guess you could call it that. My friend Nancy works for them, so I pulled a few strings and asked if she could oversee your case. You kids don’t have anyone looking out for you right now, and I want to be sure we get the very best outcome for you.”

  “Thank you,” I said, not entirely sure what that all meant.

  Nancy folded her hands in front of her. “Children, given your great-aunt’s health and age, continuing to live with her is not in your best interest—or hers.”

  The nervous hum was ringing inside me like an alarm. “It’s fine. Parker and I are just fine with Grauntie. We can work harder. Do more. We didn’t fix the railing the right way. It’s our fault she fell, and I’m so sorry.” We couldn’t leave. Not until we got New Hope back on the map. That would keep us here forever—I just knew it.

  The mayor let out a long breath. “You need someone to take care of you. Your Grauntie is experiencing memory loss. I’m sad to say, her condition is going to get worse. And what if she falls again?”

  Parker leaned against me and wrapped his arms around my waist. I rubbed his back. “So what are you trying to say?” I asked, even though I knew.

  We were getting bounced again.

  “We need to find you a new home,” Mrs. Rydell said.

  I shook my head. “Mrs. Rydell, we like it here. We don’t want to leave.”

  “It’s more important to get you in a suitable home,” she said.

  “No, please. We need to stay here. Here in New Hope.”

  “Maybe a relative would be willing to move here for you,” Miss Meriwhether suggested. “Maybe your Grauntie’s daughter?”

  “She already took us once, and she doesn’t want us. Mama left us to her mama, but that didn’t work out. And everyone else tried us, but we’re just too much for everybody, I guess. I don’t even know if there are any more family members to take us in.” I bit my lip.

  Parker buried his face in my shirt.

  “Well, we can investigate that,” Mrs. Rydell said. “We always prefer to place children with kin.”

  “And if you can’t find any more family?” I asked.

  Mrs. Rydell blinked at me a few times. “We’ll have to look into other scenarios.”