Linda trailed her arm out the window in a small wave, and then they were gone.
Martha looked at the house. The door was closed. No one had heard the car pull up, or, if they had, they had not come out. I am alone, Martha thought. Then, “I am alone,” she said out loud. “I am alone.”
Then she tried out another line: “I am alone. And lonely.”
Back straight, cement softened slightly, she marched up the walk toward her own front door.
CHAPTER 9
Alone
The Christmas season was not unfolding as usual. Martha did not need to be told that Christmas would not be normal. She could see it. The mess in the house got worse and worse. Meals got simpler and simpler.
No one went shopping or took Martha shopping. Martha had some money—weeks of allowances collected in her green-and-pink-beaded wallet. She even had some ideas. But she had no opportunities. Also, she knew that she needed to buy an extra gift this year. She needed to buy a gift for the new baby. And she didn’t want to.
“This is going to be her first Christmas,” Mom had said one morning, weeks ago.
Dad had looked up and grinned.
“But the baby’s not coming till the end of January,” Martha had protested.
Mom smiled and looked down. She put a hand on her stomach. “The baby might not be coming out till January, but she’s here right this minute. She’s been kicking and wiggling for months!”
I know! I know! I know! Martha wanted to shout. I felt her move, didn’t I? I did what you wanted. Now, shut up!
She squeezed her lips together and stared at her plate.
“Anyway,” Mom said, “let’s include her in Christmas. Let’s give her little gifts. And you can film it, Peter. We’ll have it to show her later.”
Dad had grinned some more, his hand plastered over Mom’s hand on that baby belly. Martha had finished her microwaved meal and escaped to the TV.
She had been feeling sad about Christmas ever since, but she couldn’t help but feel a little bit hopeful too. After all, it was Christmas! And even if they were going to give that baby presents, the baby still wouldn’t be there, not really. It was still Martha’s last Christmas as an only child.
But how could she get up on Christmas morning and enjoy herself if she had nothing to give? Mom and Dad probably hadn’t got her much. But she would get her stocking for sure and at least one or two presents. There had to be one or two!
Martha had tossed and turned a bit lately thinking about presents. When she got home from her night out with Linda and Brad, she almost decided that she didn’t care. Mom was in bed asleep when Martha got inside, and she didn’t even wake up to say goodnight. Dad was dozing in front of the TV. Martha wandered into the living room, dropped the bag with Linda’s gift and stood looking down at her father.
Almost immediately his eyes blinked open.
“How was your evening?” he said in his sleepy voice.
“I met Linda’s boyfriend, Brad,” Martha said.
“Brad, eh?” Dad said. His voice didn’t sound sleepy anymore. “Did you like him?”
That’s not the point, Martha screamed inside her head. But all she said was, “He was okay, I guess. They might be moving to Kelowna.” She watched his face, and he met her eyes.
“Kelowna? That’s a ways away.”
“Yes,” Martha said.
He sat up. “Well, I’m sure Linda will make the trip to the big city regularly, Martha,” he said. “Anyway, you haven’t seemed that keen on the visits recently.”
Keen on the visits? Her birth mother didn’t even care about her enough to stay in the same city, and that was all Dad could say?
“Goodnight, Dad,” Martha said.
He reached up, pulled her toward him and kissed the top of her head.
I used to love that, Martha thought, as she resisted the urge to stamp on his foot. “Night,” she said and darted away from him up the stairs.
She tossed and turned for a long time that night. Mom and Dad were clueless. Clueless! And they didn’t even care. All they cared about was that new baby. And she didn’t have presents for them. And Christmas was going to be awful!
She must have slept in the end, because she woke up and it was morning. It was Christmas Eve morning. And she had an idea.
The cardboard box was in the back of her closet. She pulled on her thick winter robe, slid her feet into fleecy slippers, turned the light on in her closet and crawled in right to the back, where the roof sloped down. She had to move a couple of other boxes to get at the one she wanted, and it was a bit dusty in there, but she managed. She lifted the lid off the box and settled down cross-legged to dig. The box contained books that she had supposedly outgrown. Some of them had belonged to Mom or Dad when they were little, but they had written For Martha in the front of the books, so they were hers now. One or two had even belonged to Mom’s mom. When We Were Very Young, Goodnight Moon, Possum Magic, Something From Nothing, Max and Ruby. All those books came out of the box. She had to keep digging to find the last one. There it was, right in the bottom: Where the Wild Things Are.
Martha tucked the lid of the box closed, gathered her selections together and made her way out of the closet. She sat with the books and a pen for a long time, uncertain, but at last she knew what words to inscribe, and she wrote them, feeling a surge of pleasure at the sight of her beautiful handwriting adorning a beloved book. Then she went downstairs and got wrapping paper from last Christmas, a big floppy ribbon, scissors and tape. Back in her room, she did her best to make a pretty package. It went out of sight under the bed, and she headed downstairs to get herself some cereal.
On the way to the kitchen, she stopped to plug in the tree—the one sign that Christmas was actually coming to their house.
Mom was already at the kitchen table when Martha walked in, and Martha never did get out the cereal, because Dad was making her favorite breakfast. Martha drizzled real maple syrup over her stack of three perfectly round banana pancakes. She took a bite and closed her eyes in bliss as she chewed and swallowed.
Dad made pancakes better than anyone!
Mom laughed. “Look at her, Peter!” she said.
Martha opened her eyes and watched her mother looking at her father and her father looking at her. Something big and warm swelled up and burst inside Martha’s chest. She took another bite, but this time she kept her eyes open, smiling her pleasure around the table to her family. So she was gazing right into her mother’s eyes when the smile dropped from her mother’s face. Two small lines appeared between Mom’s brows, and her hand went to her belly. Martha put down her fork. Dad was at Mom’s side instantly.
“Something’s happening,” Mom said. “Something’s not right.”
“Let’s get you to the couch,” Dad said. “I’m calling the doctor.”
Dad steered Mom out of the kitchen. In the doorway, Mom stopped and gave a small mew of pain. Like a kitten that’s been stepped on, Martha thought. What was that baby doing to her mother?
“I think she’s coming. The baby’s coming right now,” Mom said. “And she’s not due for more than a month.”
Mom was crying, actually crying. And every bit of the joy that Martha had felt over a stack of banana pancakes turned to fear. Even her knees and her elbows were afraid.
“All right,” Dad said. “Let’s go straight to the car. I’m taking you to the hospital right now.”
Martha stood by the kitchen table and watched her parents forget all about her. Fear for her mother blended with a surge of panicky loneliness. They were just going to leave her there!
No.
As they passed back through the kitchen on the way to the garage, Dad turned. The look on his face scared her more than anything. He was frightened too, that look said. It only lasted a moment.
“Come, Martha,” he said. “We’ll drop you at Doug and Angie’s.”
Martha didn’t even question the choice. She just grabbed her coat and went.
Mom
phoned Angie from the car while Dad drove. She was still making those little mewing sounds every little while, once right when she had Angie on the phone. And Angie and Doug and Chance were waiting outside when they pulled up.
“Goodbye, sweetie. We’ll call,” Dad said. He turned his head and smiled a wide smile at her, and she smiled a wide smile back, but both of their smiles were thin, just lips stretched across teeth.
Mom opened her car door, called Martha to her and hugged her, pulling her as close as she could with that baby belly in the way. Martha hugged back, clinging almost. How could they leave her here?
“All right, Martha. We’ve got to go,” Dad said, and Martha released her mother.
“Goodbye,” she said to them, her lower lip wobbling.
“Goodbye,” they said back to her, together. “We’ll call.”
She stood and watched them drive away, fingering the key in her pocket.
“Just in case,” Dad had said when he handed it to her. “If I can’t get back, Doug or Angie can take you home to pick up a few things.”
“But you will get back. Right, Dad?” Martha had said.
“I’m sure I will, sweetheart, but just in case.”
Martha did not like the sound of that. Just in case. Just in case what?
Chance’s foster sister Louise toddled. She toddled and toddled and toddled. And everyone fell all over themselves in raptures about it. Everyone, that is, except Martha. Louise was fat and round all over. Her hair was fluffy and blond, like an Easter chick’s feathers. She laughed a lot. She screamed a lot. She cried a lot.
Martha looked at her. My mother is at the hospital having one of those, she told herself. More than a month early, she added. Surely Mom wasn’t actually going to have the baby now!
They were all at the kitchen table. Martha had a ham-and-cheese sandwich on a plate in front of her. She had managed to take one small bite out of it. Louise was in her high chair, not toddling now, but throwing bits of sandwich on the floor and smearing other bits around on her tray. Chance was coaxing her to take a bite by playing choo-choo with it. Doug and Angie’s “real” son Mark was wolfing down his lunch. He was on his way out and had wanted to take his sandwich with him, but Doug had insisted he sit down and eat with them.
“We have a guest,” Doug said.
“She’s not my guest,” Mark said, but he kept his eyes down and half swallowed the words, as if he didn’t really want anyone to hear them.
“You will sit down at that table, and you will eat your lunch,” Doug told his son.
Mark was shoving in his last bite and sliding out of his chair when Angie put a platter of cut-up fruit on the table and sat down beside Martha.
“Are you worried about your mother?” she said softly.
Martha gave a small nod. She hadn’t been thinking about Mom just then, but she was worried. Yes, she was.
“She’s going to be fine, you know. And one of these days—maybe even today—you’re going to have a baby sister.”
Martha nodded again and looked at Louise. Part of the choo-choo train had found its way into Louise’s mouth, and she was gumming it, with loud smacking noises, while she pounded her fist on her tray to some rhythm all her own.
How delightful, Martha thought, screwing up her nose in disgust. She would probably be scraping dried food off the kitchen floor for years after the baby came home. She gave her head a shake. Maybe she could banish mothers and babies once and for all.
Angie put a hand on her arm and smiled into her eyes. Martha smiled back as best she could, but she didn’t feel very smiley. She turned her head enough to put Louise out of her sight and took another bite of her sandwich.
What was happening at the hospital?
Lunch over, Mark out the door and Louise supposedly drifting off to sleep in her crib, Angie said, “I think we all deserve an early Christmas present. And I know just the one!” She went to the tree that towered crookedly in the living room’s bay window, and pulled a rectangular package out from under it.
Martha had spent a long time looking at that tree before lunch, doing her best to think bad things about it. It was nothing like any tree she had ever had at her house. First of all, it was real. It smelled outdoorsy, and the carpet and the presents were littered with needles. Second, the ornaments didn’t match, and you could tell that some of them were handmade. A Santa leered at her, his body misshapen, his mouth far too big for his face. Mark must have painted that in some long-ago year. Martha was pretty sure that this would be Chance’s first Christmas with Angie and Doug.
Some of the ornaments looked very, very old. A delicate wire-and-metal ship balanced on a branch, ready to sink forever at a mere touch. Two small angels, painted onto dark brown felt, twirled gently, almost as if they were flying.
It was a beautiful tree.
The presents, though…they were a disaster. They looked as if Louise had wrapped them blindfolded. And some were wrapped in newspaper, of all things! Martha turned to the couch, where Chance was pulling the color comics off the present that Angie had selected.
A game. They were going to play a game together.
All the way from the living room, Martha could hear Louise chattering away to herself in her bed. Perhaps she would interrupt them. Or maybe, even better—much, much better—the doorbell would ring, and Dad would be there with Mom in the car, and they would go home to their artificial tree, their red-andgold ornaments and maybe even a bright-ribboned gift or two.
Louise settled down, neither the doorbell nor the phone rang, and the four of them played their game. It was all about building roads and towns and claiming farmland, stuff like that. Martha might have liked it at another time and with other people, but not then and there, with them. Not with the telephone sitting silent on the coffee table.
She was distracted, and as Chance pulled ahead in the game, her mood worsened. At one point, when Chance got excited about completing a small town, Martha lost her temper right in front of Angie and Doug. “It’s no big deal, you know,” she said, her tone mean. Chance shrugged.
“We know this is a hard day for you,” Angie said sweetly, “but there’s no need to take it out on Chance.”
“Sorry,” Martha squeezed through her teeth, thinking, I could take it out on him a lot worse than that!
And then, at last, at long last, the phone rang. Martha jumped up but had to wait while Doug answered the phone, which was infuriating because they all knew it was for her. He looked at the call display and said, “I think it’s your dad, Martha.”
Filled with relief and fear together, Martha held out her hand. But he didn’t even seem to see her. He just pressed Talk and put the phone to his own ear.
Martha stood right beside him, but he kept right on listening into the phone. “All right,” he said. And “Oh dear.” And “Yes, of course. She’s more than welcome here. We’ll take good care of her.” And finally, finally, when Martha was getting set to use force, he handed over the phone.
“Hi, Dad,” she said softly, walking through to the empty kitchen and trying not to think about Doug’s words, We’ll take good care of her. “When are you coming to get me?”
“I’m sorry, honey, but we’re not,” Dad said. “Not for a while. Your mom needs to stay in the hospital for a few days. She needs some extra special care so that the baby can come at the right time. And she needs me with her.”
Martha stood up against the kitchen counter, rigid, the phone pressed hard against her ear. Need. Need. Need.
“But, Dad, you can’t leave me here. You can’t!” she whispered. Then, almost so quiet he wouldn’t hear, “It’s Christmas.”
Silence at the other end for a long moment, and then two deep breaths. “I know this is hard for you, Martha, but I need you to stay strong.” He paused. And Martha stood, listening, breathing, until he spoke again. “Listen, honey, I have to go. Can you pass the phone to Doug? I’ll get him to take you to the house to pick up your pajamas and things.”
M
ute, Martha walked back into the dining room, where the game was laid out on the big table, clutter pushed aside to make space. Mute, she handed the phone over. Mute, she wandered through the big archway into the living room and sat down on the couch. Mute, she listened to Doug’s end of the rest of the conversation.
She could feel Angie and Chance looking at her. Her chin gave a wobble, and she steadied it. Her will was strong. “Yes,” Doug was saying into the phone. Pause.
“Yes…Yes. All right. Goodbye, Peter. Take care of yourself and Denise. It’s all going to be fine. You’ll see.”
Another pause, a short laugh, and he hung up the phone.
“Martha,” he said, his voice warm and kind.
She stared at the tree, wishing she could jump up and kick him.
“Your mom and the baby are going to be just fine, but your mom needs to be in hospital right now, and she needs your dad with her.”
Martha looked up at him from the couch. She did not say, “What about what I need?” Or, “I don’t care about the baby. I just want my mom back.” Or, “But it’s Christmas!” She did not shout, “How can they do this to me?” Or scream, “I hate you guys!”
But she wanted to. How she wanted to!
“Get your coat, and we’ll go and pack you a bag. What do you say?”
“All right,” Martha said, her voice hardly more than a squeak.
CHAPTER 10
In the Finite Forest
The house, when they got there, felt as if it had been empty for years. It felt like a sad house, a lonely house. Martha charged up the stairs of the sad, lonely house, turning her head away from the row of photos as she ran.
Her small suitcase was in her closet. It only took a minute to fill it up with stuff: a flannel nightgown, slippers and a robe, some clothes, her hairbrush. She went into the bathroom and got her toothbrush. Back in her bedroom, she stopped and thought for a moment. Then, because that was what she always did when she packed for overnight, she turned to her bookshelf.
Somebody's Girl (Orca Young Readers) Page 6