The Summer We Found the Baby

by Amy Hest

  1. The Baby

  2. Leaving the Scene

  3. You Need a Plan

  4. Camp Mitchel

  5. The Dogs of Belle Beach

  6. Summer People

  7. Binoculars

  8. Martha, Queen of Ice Cream

  9. The Jeep and the Yellow Convertible

  10. Starry Nights

  11. Kevin’s Three Brothers

  12. Eleanor and Eleanor

  13. Excellent Pen Pals and Other Disasters

  14. The Thing About Secrets

  15. Inside and Out at the Library

  16. Bread and Cheese and Big Purple Plums

  17. Tess

  18. What-Ifs

  19. Things You Don’t Necessarily Tell

  20. The Thing About Friends

  I’m the one who found her. A real, live baby girl and I saw her first. I saw the basket. Right over there, on the steps of the new children’s library. A tiny little baby! All by herself in that basket! She was so brave, though. She wasn’t even crying.

  I just wanted to hold her awhile. I didn’t mean to take the baby.

  You know what I thought? I thought it was a doll! And I don’t even like dolls! Then something happened. Which is this. It moved. And made a gurgle-a-gurgle-a sound. HELP! I screamed. HELP! Then Julie was holding it and their noses were touching and you know what else? There was a little green pig inside the basket. HERE’S YOUR NICE PIG, I said. LOOK AT PIGGY DANCING! The baby only looked at Julie. She didn’t love her pig — oh, poor little pig — so I put it in my pocket for a while.

  It was August 31, that’s when everything happened. That morning, while they were working, I wrote my parents a goodbye note. It was my first time writing a goodbye note, but I like what I wrote. I like how it shows my thoughtful side. Here are my exact words.

  Dear Mom and Dear Dad,

  I have to go somewhere immediately but not forever. Can’t say more, sorry.

  Your son, Bruno

  P.S. Don’t worry, I’m not running away from home. I would never do that, don’t worry.

  See what I mean? Thoughtful. I left it on my pillow, along with a nice little picture of me for my parents to look at. Then, at exactly 7:45 a.m., I was ready to leave. So I left.

  My house is right on the beach, and you can walk on the beach all the way to town if you want. It’s a pretty long walk, but I had plenty of time. I knew I had plenty of time because I kept checking my watch. Which is not in actual fact my watch, but I wear it every day. Ben said I could. Ben. That’s my brother. Private Benjamin Ben-Eli, bravest soldier in the war. BRUNO, CATCH! That’s what he called from the train that day — his leaving day — and the train whistle blew and his watch came sailing out the window, and the train pulled out, and then he was gone. Gone to war.

  Before the war, I never wrote a letter to Ben. Now I write one a week. My mother’s idea, not mine, but I don’t mind. Mostly I think up funny jokes to stick in my letters to Ben. In case he’s sad over there. Even brave soldiers are sad sometimes. My father told me that.

  You know what’s the best day? A day when there’s a letter from Ben. And that morning I had one in my pocket, a top-secret letter, just to me, not my parents and me. I know I can count on you, Bruno. That’s what he wrote, and that’s why I was going away. Seventy miles away. To New York City. I had to find someone there — somewhere in the city — and give her a message from Ben. It would be my first time alone on the train. My first time alone in the city. A lot of kids would be scared. Not me. Ben was counting on me. I couldn’t be scared. And I couldn’t stop thinking about the secret he told me in that letter. It was huge.

  The train station is on Front Street. So is the library. Which is where I saw the basket. High up, near the door. Then I saw Julie Sweet, in all her unfriendly glory, and she was holding this baby, of all things, and no one else was around. Not one single person. Unless you count Martha. That’s Julie’s little sister, and the minute she saw me, she was waving her arms in a way that meant: Bruno, Bruno! Come on up! I shook my head: Not possible, not now, I have to go somewhere. But Martha kept at it: Look, Bruno, look! We found this little baby!

  It’s a good thing I changed my mind. Because I’m the one who saw the envelope that came in the basket with the baby. Please open immediately. Instructions inside. That’s what it said on the envelope. Open immediately? Instructions inside? I picked up the envelope. Obviously, my services were needed.

  It’s true. I loved her. I loved everything about her. Kissing her cheek. Rubbing my nose on her soft little neck. And the smell of her, that baby smell. I loved that, too. Then Bruno, of all people, showed up, with his stupid comments (WOW, IT’S BALD), stupid advice (BETTER NOT DROP IT), and stupid question (WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITH IT?). What are you going to do with it? As soon as those words blew out of his mouth, I knew what I had to do. So I put the baby in the basket, picked up the basket, and left.

  All my life I wanted a baby sister and now she was finally here! JULIE, JULIE! I said. LET’S CALL HER NANCY AND LET’S TAKE HER HOME! But Julie was bossy and shushing me. TOO MUCH TALKING, MARTHA, WE HAVE TO GO, MARTHA, FOLLOW ME, MARTHA. Then we were running away from the library! With my baby sister, Nancy!

  Usually I don’t even care that much about babies. But this was different. This one came in an actual basket. With actual instructions. Like some mystery you see in the movies, one I could easily solve in ten minutes flat. Only I didn’t have ten minutes. Or even two, the reason being Julie. The same Julie who hadn’t said a single word to me in sixteen days, all of a sudden she’s leaving the scene. And here’s the kicker — she’s doing it with the baby. I repeat, with the baby. Holy everything, I thought, Julie Sweet is a kidnapper. She was really moving, too. Away from the library. Step after step and without looking back. Now crossing Front Street. Now turning into Gary Lane, this short little street that stops at the beach. The beach! I thought. She’s going to the beach!

  Once last summer, the summer he enlisted, I followed Ben somewhere. I feel kind of bad about that now. About following Ben that time. Maybe I’ll tell him. After the war, when he comes home, I’ll tell him then. He won’t be too mad. Ben is never too mad. Julie’s the opposite of Ben. Do one little thing she doesn’t like and she’s mad at you for the rest of your life. Who knows, maybe that’s just what girls do.

  I stuffed the envelope in my pocket, crouched low, and kept out of sight. I moved left, right, left. Ducked low. And followed her onto the foggy beach.

  To tell you the truth, I don’t even like to cook. But that morning I got out of bed on the dot of six, all because I had this plan to bake a cake. A very important cake. For a very important person. It was my first time baking a cake, but I wasn’t too worried. When I got to the hard parts, such as beating the egg whites until they stand up in peaks, I just kept telling myself keep calm and concentrate. Then Martha woke up and it was nonstop I WANT TO HELP! YOU NEVER LET ME HELP! I WANT TO STIR BATTER! YOU NEVER LET ME STIR BATTER! Finally, a long time later, there was cake. Pink clouds on angel food cake. Did it look like the beautiful picture in the magazine? Honestly, it did not. Thanks to a certain dog in my life. Warning: Never trust your dog around a cake. I rescued most of it, though, and took it all the way to town, to the library. I took it in my wagon. Exactly the way I’d planned it.

  But then she was there, at the top of the steps.

  Maybe some things just happen and there is no plan for what happens next. You are five years old and there’s a new baby in the house — WE’LL CALL HER MARTHA, says Pop. A new baby sister but no mother in the house — THEIR MOMMY DIED, someone whispers, IMPOSSIBLY SAD, they say. You cry with Pop. You cry alone. But somehow you go to kindergarten every day. And brush your t
eeth every day, and attend story hour at the New York Public Library. The baby wails in the night. You run to her crib and pat her head. HERE I AM, MARTHA! SISTER JULIE IS HERE! You cry with Pop. You cry alone. But somehow chocolate ice cream still tastes like chocolate ice cream. And skating is still skating, under the stars in Central Park. Martha? Well, she’s six now, and you sleep in twin beds, but she climbs into yours quite often. TELL ME A STORY, STARRING MOMMY, she says. No plan, but you talk about a soft pink bathrobe and silver-dollar pancakes on Sundays, and you both fall asleep, nose-to-nose, on your pillow.

  Julie promised. She promised George. Like this: OF COURSE YOU CAN COME WITH US, GEORGE. THE LIBRARY PARTY IS FOR EVERYONE, EVEN DOGS. But that was before he ate Julie’s cake. Not the whole cake, George would never do that. Just one bite. NOBODY WILL NOTICE. IT’S SUCH A PRETTY CAKE! WE CAN EVEN PATCH IT IF YOU WANT. I AM REALLY GOOD AT PATCHING! That’s what I told Julie, and I tried to smooth the cake. Only Julie didn’t care about that. All she cared about was being mad. Julie being mad: BAD DOG, YOU ATE MY CAKE! NO PARTY FOR YOU! BAD DOGS STAY HOME! George hates when someone’s mad at him. I never get mad at George. And I never break a promise.

  We walked to town. Julie was grumpy. And she walked too fast. And she wouldn’t let me pull the wagon. Or sit in the wagon with the cake. And she made me wear shoes because IT’S A PARTY, MARTHA. EVERYONE WEARS SHOES TO A PARTY.

  I know who made a hole in Julie’s cake. Which wasn’t George. I only meant to smell it, maybe lick it, but then I was sticking my finger in Julie’s cake and it was the best thing you ever want to eat! But then I got scared about what if Julie finds out, so I ran upstairs to put on my dress and my pretty red shoes for the party.

  I was going to tell Julie about who didn’t eat the cake, but then we found the baby and Julie forgot to be mad at George. Oh, and you know what else she forgot? The cake! She left it at the library, in my wagon!

  You know the type: never does anything wrong, always does everything right. That’s Julie Sweet for you, and that’s why stealing a baby made no sense. She wasn’t the type. Go back to library! Take it back now, I thought, before you get caught! Take back the baby! But Julie, being Julie — translation: annoying — just kept going. The responsible side of my brain was saying things like kidnapping is a criminal act . . . better keep an eye on that baby. So I did the responsible thing: I stayed back but not too far back. I ran when they ran, Julie and Martha, in and out of the fog. I stopped when they stopped and kept out of sight. You could hear them, though, and you could practically predict what they would say, kind of like this: First Julie says something along the lines of COME ON, MARTHA, HURRY! Then Martha says something like I WANT TO HOLD THE BABY! Then Julie goes: I HOLD THE BABY, ONLY ME. And Martha goes: YOU ALWAYS HAVE FUN AND I NEVER HAVE FUN! Like I said, pretty predictable. But when Julie said, WE HAVE A LONG WAY TO GO, MARTHA, ARE YOU COMING OR NOT, that’s when it hit me. Where Julie was taking the baby. She was taking it to Camp Mitchel.

  If the subject is Bruno Ben-Eli, sorry, no compliments. Not even one. But I’ll tell you this little fact. Bruno runs fast. Mostly on the beach, and always showing off. Oh, and here’s another little fact. He brags. About everything. Including what a great track star he is. I’M A VERY ATHLETIC PERSON — brag, brag. Including what a great dog trainer he is. JUST HAND OVER YOUR DOG FOR A DAY. I GUARANTEE RESULTS — brag, brag. It gets on your nerves, all that showing off and bragging.

  Once in a while, when I have nothing better to do, I run a little on the beach. Not that I could ever keep up with someone like Bruno. IF YOU WANT SOME GOOD COMPANY, I say, YOU’LL HAVE TO SLOW DOWN. Or at least I used to say that, when we were friends. Which we aren’t anymore. Sometimes, before Bruno managed to ruin everything, we’d go all the way down to the army base at Camp Mitchel. They learn how to be good soldiers there, how to be brave. There’s a really tall fence, and a big front gate and a whole bunch of guards guarding the gate, but if you hide behind the right sand dune, you can watch. You know what’s embarrassing? When you cry in front of a boy. Which I did, unfortunately, in front of Bruno. I did it a bunch of times. It’s the wounded ones, the soldiers they send back from the war. Some of them can’t even walk anymore, or see anymore. You try not to stare. But you wind up crying anyway.

  Most of the time I look kind of regular: red shorts, checkered shirts, streaky blond ponytail, skinny feet. That’s my regular self. But the day we found the baby, I was, well, a prettier version of me in my powder-blue dress for the party. Usually I don’t go to a lot of parties, not the way some girls do, the popular ones. But this was different. This was a library party. The whole town was invited — even summer people — and no one’s left out. I’d been waiting and waiting for August 31 and finally it was here. WE HAVE TO LEAVE, MARTHA. NOW, MARTHA. WE HAVE TO BE THE FIRST ONES THERE. OUR PICTURE MIGHT BE IN THE BELLE BEACH PRESS! That’s what I told Martha. I had to tell her a bunch of times, but it worked. We were the first ones there.

  Except, of course, for the baby.

  I picked her up. And the minute I did — the minute I picked up the baby — I forgot about the library, the Belle Beach Press, and everything else. She needed me. And I needed to go someplace to think. That’s when I thought of the beach. And once I was on the beach, I figured I’d just keep going . . . all the way to Camp Mitchel.

  ONE TIME ONLY, MARTHA. That’s what they said. I could come with them one time only. Also they made me promise and swear. I PROMISE AND SWEAR NOT TO TELL ON YOU, JULIE. I PROMISE AND SWEAR NOT TO TELL ON YOU, BRUNO. Then we walked a million miles in the hot sand to a tall fence. Bruno read the big, scary sign: CAMP MITCHEL ARMY BASE AND HOSPITAL KEEP OUT BY ORDER OF THE U.S. ARMY. Then we were spying. We saw brave soldiers. And pretty nurses. I waved to the nurses, but Julie said, NO WAVING, MARTHA. SPIES DON’T WAVE.

  Ever since I was a little kid, I like running. I’m pretty fast. I was even kind of famous last spring — for a few hours, anyway — due to this thing I did in gym. Two hundred meters in 26.81 seconds. Which might have set some school record. Not that anyone thought to give me a trophy. My favorite place for running is the beach. Even in winter. My friend Kevin, he runs a lot, too. Lately, though, he’s only interested in one thing. Which is talking to girls. Believe it or not, a lot of them talk back. Not that it matters to me. Let him talk to a thousand girls, I’ll just run alone. When you run alone on the beach, alongside the big old Atlantic Ocean, you get happy for a while, even if you’re not a great conversation starter like Kevin. When it’s windy, I like that — the wind in my face. My legs are skinny but strong. Ben, my brother, he’s twenty and strong everywhere, lots of muscles. He shaves every other day. I’ve watched him do it a million times, so if I ever get lucky and find some hairs on my face, I know what to do. Those posters you see around town, the ones that say things like I WANT YOU FOR THE U.S. ARMY, I love those. I’ll definitely be enlisting in the U.S. Army. I might fly planes. I’ve always wanted to fly a plane. My parents won’t like that, I guess. Two sons in the war, all those letters they have to write, and who knows when I have time to write back. But they’ll be proud of me, too, the way they’re proud of Ben. I’ll be a big shot with the girls.

  Girls. I’m no expert, if that’s what you’re thinking. I should be used to them by now but lately they have this weird effect on me, starting with my face burning up. Even if a girl says something ordinary such as HI, BRUNO, my face burns up, and if I say something back, it sounds completely idiotic. Or just the opposite happens and nothing comes out. It’s like I can’t even concentrate. Some girls, they get all personal. I hate that. Julie Sweet, she’s like that, showing up on the beach, asking all these questions such as HEY, WHERE’RE YOU GOING, BRUNO? NOWHERE? FINE, I’LL COME, TOO. So then I’m walking on the beach — where everyone can see me — with Julie. She does 100 percent of the talking. About boring stuff, such as school (who talks about school in summer?), or some park in New York, or how she once got lost in the Museum of Natural History, as if I care. One time,
she shows up on the beach with muffins. Normally, that would be a nice thing to do. But her muffins come with rules: THEY’RE BLUEBERRY, BRUNO, AND I MADE THEM MYSELF. HERE, SMELL, DON’T THEY SMELL GOOD! NOT NOW, BRUNO! WE CAN’T EAT THEM NOW. NOT YET, NOT UNTIL WE GET TO CAMP MITCHEL. So we finally get there, and I’m overly starving by this time, and she finally gives me one. It’s really good. Not that I go out of my way to tell her that. We eat and watch the soldiers marching around, saluting. If you get hurt bad in the war, they send you to the hospital there for R & R. Rest and rehabilitation. Once, we saw a soldier with one arm. Once we saw a soldier, no legs. I thought about Ben’s arms. Ben’s legs. Julie said, LET’S PRAY. And we did. Not out loud or anything. I guess you call that silent praying.

  That was before she got mad at me. Before she stole the baby and took it to the beach. Before this old lady stepped out of the car that was parked on the beach.

  George would never run away. Not in a million years; he’s not that kind of dog. All his life, his whole entire life in the city, he never even tried it. Then we came to Belle Beach. We came for the summer, to this cottage on the beach, and on the very first day, George ran away.

  It’s because he didn’t like it here. Whenever George doesn’t like something, he pouts. Which is just like Martha. Whenever she doesn’t like something, same thing. So as soon as we arrived, the very first minute practically, he got pouty and moody, and refused to eat. He also refused to take a walk on the beach or swim in the ocean. Or make friends with other dogs. It was frustrating but I gave him a nice little pep talk, the way Pop talks to me when I’m nervous sometimes, such as the night before the first day of school. I was gentle. DON’T WORRY, GEORGE. I was sweet. IT’S TRUE YOU’RE A CITY DOG, BUT YOU’LL GET USED TO IT HERE. George licked my salty fingers for a while.