The Summer We Found the Baby
Page 2
Then he ran away.
Well, he didn’t get too far. Just to the house next door. You could see him rolling around on the porch over there with his tongue hanging out, and some boy was there, too, rubbing George’s ears. (The boy, it turns out, was Bruno. But I didn’t know that until later.) I told George to come on home, he was disturbing the neighbors, but he completely ignored me as usual, and stayed where he was with his feet in the air. Fine, I thought. Go live with him if you think he’s so great. See if I care.
That was the one and only time George ran away. Until that morning, the morning we found the baby. This time, he was mad. I bet he was really mad when we left for the library without him. And lonely. I bet he was so lonely. And that’s why he ran away. So he could find us. And we all found each other on the beach! And you can’t believe all the licking and kissing and making up! George even rolled over when I said ROLL OVER, GEORGE, which is the first time he ever did that! Then all of a sudden someone is climbing out of this car on the beach, and I guess I’m in shock or something, due to the shock of seeing her. It’s possible I even stop breathing for a while. Yes, I definitely stop breathing when I see her.
My dog George eats sand, even when you say a thousand times in a row DON’T EAT SAND, GEORGE . . . and he’s too scared to go in the ocean, even when you say a thousand times in a row TRY IT, YOU’LL LIKE IT, GEORGE! Once he ate a library book, chewed it bad, and we had to pay a fine at the library. But he would never eat a baby. And you know what? That morning on the beach, he sniffed our little baby — sniff, sniff — and wagged — wag, wag — and licked — lick, lick — her two big toes! The baby loved George. Everybody loves my George.
We don’t even have a dog. We used to. We used to have Doc, and Doc was totally great. But then he broke my father’s heart — Doc did — and that’s why the Ben-Eli family will never have another dog. Because of my father’s broken heart.
Last year, my teacher Mrs. Miller made us write a short, interesting biography about someone in your family. It had to be three pages long. Can you believe that? And spelling counts, and punctuation. THIS IS SO STUPID AND SO UNFAIR AND STUPID. That’s what I told my mother, who gave me her usual mom advice. I SUGGEST YOU SIT YOURSELF DOWN, BRUNO, AND START WRITING. She was in the middle of a letter to Ben. Every night after dinner, my mom writes to Ben. She writes at the kitchen table. Which is where I do my homework. So does Ben, when he’s not in the war. I closed my eyes and tried to picture my brother, but you know who popped up instead? Doc. Next thing you know, I’m writing a short, interesting biography about Doc. Here’s how it starts. DOC WENT TO WORK WITH MY DAD EVERY DAY AND THEY LEFT AT SIX IN THE MORNING. Exactly three pages later, here’s how it ends. ONCE DOC’S RED BALL WAS LOST AT SEA. HE WAITED AND WATCHED THE SEA AND WAITED AND WATCHED, AND FINALLY, ONE HOUR LATER, IT WASHED UP ON THE BEACH. DOC HAD FAITH. Not bad, right? And nothing sad. Not a word about the truck coming out of nowhere that day. Nobody cries, not in this biography — no broken hearts. It’s 100 percent happy. Still, my mom got all mushy when she read it, and Dad. Mrs. Miller gave me a B+ instead of the A+ I deserved, due to SOME RATHER CAREFREE SPELLING, BRUNO, AND HANDWRITING ISSUES. Then she made me read it out loud at Friday Assembly. Which I didn’t appreciate. BRUNO WRITES FROM THE HEART, she told the entire assembly. Which I also didn’t appreciate. Afterward, I stuffed all three pages in a shoebox in my closet with Doc’s red ball.
ALL DOGS SHOULD LIVE TO BE A THOUSAND. I said that to Julie one time. It’s maybe the only time she agreed with anything I said. I said it during one of the training sessions I was giving George, free of charge. Training him was my idea. George needed help getting used to the beach life. Free of charge — not my idea. Especially when you are doing the hard work of teaching him not to eat sand. I don’t mind helping George, but let’s face facts: money is money. Which I tried explaining to Julie. USUALLY I GET PAID FOR MY SERVICES — hint, hint — I GET PAID A LOT. But Julie didn’t care about money. Especially my money. All she cared about was how soon I could get George to be a proper Belle Beach dog. Which just wasn’t happening. Not until we got to Lesson #4, the title of which is “Heel, George.” I gave him the usual pep talk. OKAY, PAL! HERE’S YOUR BIG CHANCE TO LEARN SOMETHING FROM A MASTER. Only this time when I said HEEL, GEORGE, he actually did it. Even Julie could see I was making him smart. She still didn’t pay up, in case you were wondering about that.
Basically, George is a little on the lazy side, for a dog. But that morning, the morning everything happened, I discovered this whole other side of George. He looked real serious when I spotted him coming down the beach — that’s the first thing that got my attention. Because George never looks serious. He wasn’t racing down the beach or anything like that, but it’s true he was moving a whole lot faster than usual, as if he had something important to do. Which also got my attention since George never has something important to do. Anyway, George didn’t see me. Not yet. He was too busy checking out this big black car on the beach. I was also checking it out, from my own little vantage point behind a dune, and by the way, there’s a law about cars on the beach. NO CARS ON THE BEACH, that’s a Belle Beach law. Someone was breaking it, and the question is who. Who’s in that car? Maybe some spy, some enemy spy. Well, I’m about to find out because someone (he might be an actual chauffeur, the kind you see in the movies) is opening the back door of the car. An old lady gets out. She gets out slowly, feetfirst, and when all of her is out, I’m thinking not your typical spy. I take note of her clunky brown shoes and long blue dress. In case I need that information for later. I also take note of the fact that she’s really tall. Most of the old ladies you see around town are pretty short.
Company. All of a sudden the spy’s got company. More specifically, it’s Julie, Martha, the baby, and George. I’m too far away to hear what they’re saying, but I know there’s a whole lot of talking going on. Meanwhile, the chauffeur — or whatever he is — is unfolding this blanket next to the car. He puts down this big picnic basket. Shoes come off, and next thing you know, everyone’s sitting on the blanket. Even George. Even the tall lady. Speaking of which, I’m beginning to get this weird feeling: Hey, don’t I know that old lady? I’m pretty sure I’ve seen her before! The real question is where. Where have I seen her before? Then a whole bunch of things happen really fast. Beginning with me sneezing, and it’s a pretty loud sneeze. George looks up and starts barking hello. Julie looks up and gives me this ferocious I know you’ve been following me face. Martha whispers something to the lady, who immediately starts waving the kind of wave that means, Come on over here, young man . . . seems to me we have something to talk about. Well, I don’t have much of a choice, do I? So I go on over there.
We took the train to Belle Beach. Pop, me, Martha, plus George. We took the 11:05 from Pennsylvania Station, and there were so many soldiers on the train. They all loved George! HEY, BUDDY, YOU REMIND ME OF MY DOG BACK HOME — that kind of thing. The soldiers played cards and blew smoke out the open windows. They talked to Pop about how they would soon be SHIPPED OVERSEAS ANY DAY NOW and were MISSING THAT GIRL OF MINE ALREADY, AND MY GRANDMA’S APPLE PIE. Pop took pictures as usual, and wrote in his little brown book as usual. The conductor was a lady. NEXT STOP, BELLE BEACH! BELLE BEACH, NEXT STOP! We got off the train and waved to the soldiers going to war. They all waved back and so did the lady conductor and then we were here.
Coming here, Pop’s idea. THERE’S THIS LITTLE TOWN ON LONG ISLAND, he said. SUN, SAND, AND A QUIET PLACE FOR ME TO FINISH MY BOOK. Some people such as movie stars are extremely famous. My pop is a little famous. It’s because his name is on three different books. All three are in the New York Public Library! Plus, you see his name sometimes in a magazine such as Life magazine.
I like the title of his book that will be number four: Every One a Hero. That’s a really good title. It’s about the war and brave soldiers and serious things. Pop says writing a book is hard work. Way harder than school, and you can hear him up there, typing away on the ups
tairs deck. All day and sometimes at night, it’s click, click, click . . . click, click, click. And I take care of Martha.
I’m not a great artist or anything, but I like to draw. I have this sketch pad. Red cover, and I bought it with my own money and it’s just for Belle Beach. If you walk around with a sketch pad, you look important and people want to be your friend. And before you know it, you’ve got a lot of new friends! Well, that’s what I thought would happen. But it’s hard to make a friend in a place like Belle Beach. Everybody knows everybody else, and you’re just one of the summer people, so no one talks to you. Oh well, who cares? I have plenty of friends in New York. Hundreds! Those four girls on that old green blanket on the beach every day? Why would I be friends with them? George walked down to their blanket one time. LOOK AT HIS LONG FLOPPY EARS, they laughed. LOOK AT HIS FUNNY FAT FEET! I hate those girls. So does George.
I go there every day. To the big house next door. And George comes, too. Mrs. Ben-Eli is my friend. COME ON IN, MARTHA, DOOR’S OPEN. That’s what she says when I am peeking in the door with George. They have lemonade over there, and Mrs. Ben-Eli likes books. I like books, too. I like them a lot, so she reads to me and I read to her and she always says, YOU’RE A TERRIFIC READER, MARTHA. I’m allowed to cut out pictures from her old magazines. One time I found a picture of Eleanor Roosevelt eating pink clouds on angel food cake. I cut it out for Julie. I cut out the recipe, too. And gave it to Julie and said, LET’S BAKE A CAKE! But Julie said, NOT NOW, MARTHA. It’s her favorite thing to say: NOT NOW, MARTHA. Sometimes I look for seashells on the beach with Mrs. Ben-Eli. If she holds my hand, I like that. One time there was a letter in her pocket from Ben. IF YOU WANT, YOU COULD READ ME BEN’S LETTER, I said. So we sat in the sand and she read it to me. When it was over, I said, DON’T CRY, MRS. BEN-ELI. HE’LL COME HOME SOON.
Ben-Eli, that’s my last name. It’s also the name of our family business. Which is Ben-Eli’s Grand Market, but most people just call it Ben-Eli’s. It’s across the street from the post office. You can’t miss it. There’s a big green awning out front: BEN-ELI’S GRAND MARKET. All year long my parents look forward to the season. Meaning summertime, when Belle Beach is bursting at the seams with summer people, and they all need things, a lot of which they buy at Ben-Eli’s. Mostly they buy food. But other stuff, too — from the Necessary Summer Sundries aisle — pails and shovels, beach towels, sunglasses.
Working at Ben-Eli’s this summer — making sandwiches for the lunch crowd — my idea. It’s an important job. It used to be Ben’s job, three summers in a row, before the war, and he used to let me help sometimes, like putting mustard on bread. I’m pretty good with the mustard. 11:30 to 1:30, that’s my shift. Customers line up and I get to say things like I’LL BE WITH YOU IN A MOMENT, MA’AM. Or, YES, SIR! ONE CHEESE SANDWICH COMING RIGHT UP! Some days I make thirty sandwiches in a row. I wrap them in brown paper, to go. A lot of kids would want money for all that work. Not me. The day he hired me, I told my father, YOU DON’T HAVE TO PAY ME. NOT UNLESS YOU WANT TO. I said, THIS IS A FAMILY BUSINESS. I’M DOING IT FOR THE FAMILY. I waited around to see what he had to say about my generosity. I waited a long time and finally he said, YOU ARE A GOOD WORKER AND ENTITLED TO A SALARY, BRUNO. The amount wasn’t too much.
It was June 21. I know it was June 21 because it was the first day of summer vacation, and also my first day on the job, and I was feeling pretty good about both of those things. After my shift, I walked over to Front Street, to the train station. I like to see who’s getting on or off the trains. Sometimes it’s people you know. Other times — especially the first days of summer — it’s people you don’t know. You could say I have a curious streak. Which is a good thing to have if you’re going to be a newspaper reporter. Which I might decide to be. Plus a veterinarian, so I can take care of sick dogs. But that’s not the point. The point is, a ton of people got off the 1:45 from the city that day. Summer people mostly, strangers in hot city clothes. They come with their big suitcases and move into the cottages up and down the beach. Once in a while you spot a possible friend, some no-name city kid, but mostly you don’t. Not that it matters. Because they all leave anyway, as soon as summer’s over.
First, I noticed the dog. The long droopy ears, short stubby legs, big feet. Basset hound maybe, and he was getting off the train — the 1:45 — with these two summer girls. Later on, I’m out on my porch and there they are again, all three of them, at the cottage next door. Just my luck, I thought, girls next door. I’m trying to figure out how to get the dog to come over — dog only, no girls — and that’s when I see Tess. Ben’s Tess, walking on the beach. Are you back? Is it you? Did you finally come back? I open my mouth but nothing comes out. It’s windy on the beach and Tess keeps walking, into the wind, farther and farther away.
I don’t even like boys that much. Especially unfriendly boys. Which is the definition of Bruno. Or at least it was the definition of Bruno when we first came to Belle Beach. Not that I cared about some kid next door. Why would I?
Then one day I found this rusty old bike on the beach. Nobody wanted it. You could tell no one cared. So I dragged it home and cleaned it up. It took a long time and a lot of soap and water, and when I was finally done cleaning it up, it still looked rusty. It still looked old. But at least I had a bike and I could ride it to town and try a few things I don’t normally try in the city. Such as taking my hands off the handlebars. And pedaling crazy fast. And ringing the bell a thousand times loud. I liked being alone for a change. No Martha. No George. It was a really good time. Until the bike decides to go all wobbly on me, and next thing you know, I’m flying. Not too much blood, just the usual knee and elbow stuff. Turns out someone saw the whole thing. Like an actual witness. The someone was Bruno. Yes, that Bruno, the unfriendly neighbor boy. Which would normally be completely humiliating. Only it wasn’t. Because Bruno didn’t laugh at me the way a lot of boys would. He just picked up the bike. Stood there saying nothing for a while. And left.
So that’s when we started being friends. When Bruno didn’t laugh at me.
Later that day I saw him again, from our upstairs deck. He was out on the beach, facing the ocean, and these big binoculars were kind of plastered to his eyes. At first I thought it was some soldier out there, not Bruno. My knees hurt, due to my little flying event, and also my right elbow, but I ran down to the beach. I had to try those binoculars.
Binoculars have magical powers! You have to take them everywhere. All around Belle Beach. And then one day you’ll see her! And she’ll be perfect! And you’ll say, WILL YOU BE MY MOTHER and she’ll say, YES, MARTHA, I WILL BE YOUR NEW MOTHER. Julie doesn’t care about binoculars too much. She says, OUR FAMILY IS FINE JUST THE WAY IT IS, MARTHA. Julie is wrong. We need one more.
The first time Martha came over, she came alone. No sister. No dog. Just Martha. I knew her name by then, but I had no idea what she was doing on my porch at six in the morning. I wasn’t exactly thrilled to see her there, since I was in the middle of doing something important. That being push-ups, which, for the record, I do twenty of every day. Martha circled the porch a few times, humming. You had the feeling something was going to happen, and after a few more circles and a few more push-ups, it did. It wasn’t a huge thing that happened — she put her face flat against the screen door and wanted to know if she could see the mother of the house — but you couldn’t exactly ignore it. MOM! I called. HEY, MOM, YOU HAVE A VISITOR! My mother opened the door, took one look at Martha, and smiled. MORNING, MARTHA. She was holding a jar of jam. WOULD YOU LIKE TO COME IN? I WAS JUST MAKING TOAST.
After that, Martha came over a lot. In the morning before my mom goes to work at the library, Martha. I MADE THIS PICTURE FOR YOU, MRS. BEN-ELI! Dinnertime, when my mom is cooking dinner, Martha. I FOUND THIS FLOWER FOR YOU, MRS. BEN-ELI! One time, I caught her on the beach with Ben’s binoculars. THOSE ARE BEN’S, I said. Martha didn’t flinch. Or lower the binoculars. MRS. BEN-ELI LETS ME USE THEM, she said. WHENEVER I WANT. So my own mother was pr
actically giving away Ben’s binoculars.
Wide-awake. That’s me these days. Wide-awake, at five in the morning. Which isn’t as bad as it sounds, because my parents are still asleep and I have the whole house to myself. Ben’s room is the one next to mine, and I have to go in there to make sure everything is just the way he left it, for when he comes home. Eight baseball banners on wall over his bed: check. Seven high school trophies in bookcase: check. Five college books on desk: check. Two secret letters from Tess in bottom dresser drawer: check. Some mornings I grab Ben’s binoculars and go out to the half-dark beach and look around. If you keep looking for a long time, you can almost see Ben coming up the beach, swinging his duffel and waving. You can almost see Ben, home from the war.
YOU HAVE TO GIVE THEM BACK, that’s what I told Martha. YOU HAVE TO GIVE THEM BACK WHEN BEN COMES HOME. I told her five or six times, so she wouldn’t forget.
One morning Martha woke up with a sore throat. It was so sore she wouldn’t eat breakfast even though it was pancakes. So sore she wouldn’t put on her favorite pink bathing suit, the one she wears every day, even when it’s raining all day. Normally, Pop is typing away on his book and taking pictures every day. But on the day of Martha’s sore throat, he sat on the white wicker couch instead, holding Martha. RUN NEXT DOOR, JULIE. THE BEN-ELIS WILL KNOW A GOOD LOCAL DOCTOR, he said. I ran next door. Bruno was doing his usual: calisthenics on the porch. Including jumping jacks. MARTHA’S SICK, I said. MOM, he called through the screen door. HEY, MOM!— jump, jump — MARTHA’S SICK!