See You on a Starry Night

by Lisa Schroeder

  “We have to find a wish to make come true. Then we can email Some Kid and finally have an ending to this mystery.”

  *  Forgiving

  *  Understanding

  *  Loving

  *  Easy to talk to

  *  A good listener

  *  A treasure

  The sound of a door closing woke me up. I rolled over to see if someone was in the room, but I didn’t see anyone.

  “Emma?” I asked.

  No answer. I figured she went to the bathroom, so I lay there thinking about our middle-of-the-night conversation. When I’d crawled back into the bottom bunk, it had felt like we were okay. Like she wasn’t upset with me. But sometimes things change. What if she’d thought it over and had decided she shouldn’t forgive me so easily after all?

  Once, Inca and I got in an awful fight. Another girl at school, Chelsea, told me something Inca had said, something terrible. Chelsea said Inca had told her I was weird and the only reason she was my friend was because she liked going to see the animals at the California Living Museum, where my dad worked. It hurt my feelings so much. We were at school when she told me, and I went to the bathroom and cried. I ignored Inca for a couple of days, until she finally came to my house almost in tears, begging me to tell her what she’d done wrong. When I told her what Chelsea had said, she got really mad.

  “I can’t believe you thought I’d said that,” she’d said. “Why didn’t you ask me if I did instead of believing it so easily?”

  I didn’t know how to answer her. I told her I was sorry, but it took a long time for us to get back to normal.

  Why was it so easy for me to believe the worst in people? It didn’t make sense. Emma seemed to be the perfect friend. Me, not so much. And if Emma had lots of friends, it would be so easy for her to let me loose. I was like a kite that looked fine in the store but didn’t fly so well once you tried it out.

  I got out of bed and got dressed. Emma walked in a minute later.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  She raised her eyebrows and said, “I have an idea. Have you ridden bikes on the boardwalk yet?”

  “No,” I said. “But I really want to.”

  “Sunday mornings are a good time to do it. Not as busy. You can ride Molly’s bike if you want to. But first let’s have a doughnut. Dad just got back from the bakery.”

  “Okay.” I swallowed hard before I said, “Emma, I want you to know, I really am sorry. About what I told you last night.”

  “I know,” she said. “Except you probably can’t sleep over ever again.”

  I stared at her, shocked.

  Then she laughed. “Juliet, I’m joking! It’s fine. Really.”

  I scowled. “That wasn’t funny.”

  Her smile disappeared as she said, “Sorry. My bad.”

  “At least I know you’re not perfect now.”

  She looked at me funny. “Perfect? What do you mean?”

  “You’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. You have the perfect life, with the perfect family.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m not perfect at all. Like, my siblings are always telling me I ask way too many questions. And they’re probably right. But I can’t help it. I’m curious.”

  I didn’t want to argue about perfection. It didn’t matter. My mom was always telling me there’s no such thing as perfect. I reached over and gave Emma a hug. Then I said, “Owning an ice cream shop is pretty perfect, though.”

  She smiled. “It’s sweet. Not perfect. But definitely sweet.”

  * * *

  After breakfast, I texted Mom and asked if it was okay if I stayed and rode bikes on the boardwalk with Emma. She said it was fine but she’d like me home for lunch at noon.

  “That gives us two hours,” Emma said. “Lots of time.”

  As we got out the bikes, Emma told me the boardwalk was three and a half miles total. We rode away from the carnival stuff, toward the other end, since I hadn’t seen much that direction. It was sunny, though not very warm, since it was still early in the day. I was glad I’d worn jeans and a hoodie.

  “Are you excited about school tomorrow?”

  “Excited? More like terrified.”

  She laughed. “I’ll show you around. Don’t worry. And you can sit with me and my friends at lunch.”

  I felt the terror decrease a little. Lunchtime was the thing I’d been dreading the most.

  “I hope we have some classes together,” I said.

  “Me, too,” she said.

  She told me about some of her classes as we rode, in case I wanted to try and request any of them. Sometimes one of us would have to move ahead and ride single file if the boardwalk got too crowded. But it was fun chatting and riding and looking at all the different houses on one side, and having the beach and ocean always on the other.

  It took us an hour and a half to get down and back. I was just about to tell her I was starving when Mr. Dooney waved at us and yelled, “Good morning, girls.”

  Emma hopped off of her bike, so I did the same. Classical music drifted through the windows of his bungalow and something about it made me feel … sad.

  “Hi, Mr. Dooney,” Emma said. “How are you?”

  “I was feeling quite melancholy this morning. It seemed strange, since it’s a beautiful day and I have wonderful leftovers to eat for lunch. Then I remembered. My sixtieth wedding anniversary is coming up on Wednesday.”

  Emma reached for her phone and tapped on the keyboard. She explained, “I’m looking up ‘melancholy.’ Lance’s habit has finally rubbed off on me, I guess.”

  “Aw, I see,” Mr. Dooney said. “Those phones are something else, aren’t they?” Mr. Dooney turned to me. “My wife passed away, you see. I miss her. Every year, there are hard days, but the date of our anniversary is especially difficult. I feel like I’d like to celebrate somehow, but that’s silly, isn’t it? She’s gone. I have to let it go.”

  Emma read the definition. “The definition of ‘melancholy’ is: a feeling of pensive sadness, typically with no obvious cause.” She looked up from her phone. “So when you woke up, you felt sad but didn’t understand why. Until you remembered the anniversary.”

  “Yes,” he said, taking his hat off and scratching his head. “That’s it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emma said.

  “Me, too,” I said. I told myself to make him a card later. He’d probably like it if people remembered the special day.

  “This is her favorite song,” he said, as the music continued to play. “ ‘Clair de Lune.’ She played it so beautifully on our piano. It’s been five years since I’ve heard it played in my house. I sure do miss it.”

  As soon as he said it, I knew. I knew as sure as the sun rises every morning and sets every night. We’d found our wish.

  That’s a fantastic idea!

  Well, it’s a good idea.

  No, maybe it’s a bad idea.

  What if it’s a bad idea?

  It’s probably a really terrible idea.

  Maybe I need to tell someone to find out.

  I have to tell someone to find out!

  When we got back to Emma’s house, I decided to just say it and get it over with. “I think I know whose wish we should grant.”

  She squinted her eyes in that curious sort of way. “Whose?”

  “Mr. Dooney’s,” I said. “We should find someone to play ‘Clair de Lune’ on his wedding anniversary.”

  “Ooooh. That’s such a good idea.” She wrinkled her nose. “Or … wait. Maybe it’s too sad? Like, will it make him miss her even more?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was wondering,” I said. “But you heard him, right? He misses hearing that song on his piano.”

  “But don’t you think he meant he misses hearing it played by his wife?” she asked.

  I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pulled it out to find a text from Mom. Time to come home, please.

  I texted her back to let
her know I was on my way.

  “Let’s sleep on it,” Emma said as we went up the steps to her house. “My dad says when you’re unsure about something, it’s good to let it sit a while. He says time and space can often give you clearness. No, that’s not it. Clarity? Another word for clearness, right? Anyway, let’s talk about it tomorrow at school.”

  I missed my dad giving me advice like that. When someone gives you advice, it shows they care. It shows they want what’s best for you, even if the advice isn’t always the kind you want to follow. Sometimes, it might even sound ridiculous. Like when my dad told eight-year-old me I should learn how to change a tire. I think he meant someday I should learn to change a tire, but at the time, I thought he meant I should learn right then. Which didn’t make any sense because I’d never seen a single eight-year-old in my entire life off the side of a road changing a tire.

  I told Emma, “Okay. We’ll sleep on it. I just hope we have enough time to find someone to do it.”

  I ran upstairs, grabbed my overnight bag, and came back down.

  “See you tomorrow, I guess,” I told Emma.

  “The sun will come out tomorrow,” she sang.

  “Okay, Annie,” I said. “If you say so. Sun or rain, I’m really glad you’ll be there.”

  “Yep. Me, too,” she said as she held the door open for me. “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  On the way home, a soft breeze blew and the smell of the sea air made me smile. I went over outfits in my mind for my first day at a new school. Should I wear a skirt and dress up a little bit? Or should I just do jeans and a cute T-shirt, and try not to stand out? Or maybe I’d wear my new yellow pants we’d bought shortly before we left Bakersfield. Yellow pants seemed like a very San Diego thing to wear.

  “Hello, Juliet,” I heard someone say. I spun around to find Mrs. Button walking up from the beach, wearing a floppy straw hat and carrying sandals in one hand and a book in the other.

  “Hi!” I said. “How are you? How’s Mr. Button?”

  She walked up to where I stood and then, together, we moved to a sidewalk off the boardwalk so we wouldn’t be in people’s way. “I’m fine. And he’s doing much better, thank goodness. The antibiotics are doing their job.”

  “Is he still at the hospital?”

  “No. He’s at home. He’s resting now, so I thought I’d come and get a little fresh air. Been cooped up inside so much lately.” She smiled. “Juliet, the card you made him brought a smile to his face. Thank you for that.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “I wish I could do more.”

  “The outpouring of love and support we’ve received has been wonderful,” she said. “I’ve certainly had no lack of material for my notebook of beautiful things.”

  “Do you think you’ll open the bookmobile soon?” I asked.

  “Probably in another week or so. I hope. Too difficult for me to leave him now.”

  I wondered if my question made me seem impatient. I didn’t mean it that way. “It’s okay,” I said. “People understand. I was just curious.”

  “Yes, I know. Well, I’m off to say hi to Mr. Dooney. This will be a hard week for him. His sixtieth wedding anniversary is coming up.”

  “I know,” I said. “He told us.” I paused, wondering if I should ask her. I decided it couldn’t hurt. “Emma and I were talking about doing something for him on Wednesday. Since it might be a sad day for him. You think he’d like that?”

  “Depends on what it is,” she said. She put her sandals on the ground and slipped one foot in, and then the other. “I don’t think anniversaries can really be celebrated when one of the partners is gone. But that doesn’t mean you can’t do something for him to let him know you’re thinking of him.” She stood up and smiled at me again. “It’s a very sweet idea. Just don’t do anything too extreme, right?”

  “Right.”

  We said good-bye and as I walked the rest of the way, I thought about what that meant. I even used my phone to look up the word extreme, but it didn’t really help. It gave synonyms like maximum, extraordinary, and exceptional. Why would something extraordinary be bad? I didn’t understand.

  I felt more confused than ever about whether we should try to find someone to play the song for Mr. Dooney on his piano. He hadn’t wished for it, exactly. But he had said he missed it. Wasn’t that the same thing? Like, every day, I woke up and missed seeing my dad. Did I wish I could see him? Yes. I did.

  When I walked in the door, my sister, standing in the kitchen with Mom, said, “About time. Did you get lost or something?”

  “No,” I said as I took my bag to my room. “I saw Mrs. Button, so we stopped to talk.”

  “Who’s Mrs. Button?” Miranda asked.

  “She and her husband run the bookmobile,” Mom said. “Remember?”

  I went to the table and sat down at my spot. There was a sandwich and some chips waiting for me. I checked to make sure there were enough pickles. There weren’t. But I took a bite anyway.

  “Is Mr. Button feeling better?” Mom asked.

  I nodded while I finished chewing. “He’s back at home. But the bookmobile won’t open for another week, at least.”

  “Well, now you’ll have the school library to get books,” Mom said.

  “I know,” I said. “But I love the bookmobile so much. It’s really cute. You two should go there when it reopens.”

  “Maybe I will,” Mom said. “Even though I don’t have much time to read these days. Oh, that reminds me, I’m going out Tuesday night. I’ll make sure and have something easy for you girls to make for dinner.”

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Dinner and a movie,” she said. “With some friends. I’ll go after work, so I won’t see you until later.”

  “Okay,” Miranda said. “We should call Dad tonight, Juliet. Didn’t he say he’d like to talk to us every Sunday?”

  I felt the familiar pain in my chest. Talking on the phone wasn’t as fun as seeing him around the house. I missed talking about silly things like grasshoppers and stinky socks and what kinds of apples taste the best—in person. On the phone it was just the boring small-talk stuff. It wasn’t the same. It’d never be the same.

  *  Stinky socks (because he has stinky feet)

  *  Cookies and milk (because he loves them)

  *  The color forest green (because it’s his favorite)

  *  Tennis balls (because he loves to play)

  *  Calvin and Hobbes (because he owns at least ten books)

  *  The smell of rain (he always goes outside after a rainstorm)

  *  Corn and tacos and Honey Nut Cheerios, but not all together. Gross.

  After lunch, I got on the computer and found a YouTube video that had the song “Clair de Lune.” It is such a pretty song. I listened to it three times and then I made a list about how it made me feel.

  When that was done, I checked email and found two new ones, one from Inca and one from Some Kid. I could tell from the date that Inca had written it before I’d bought my cell phone. Now she had my number so we could text. I opened the one from Some Kid.

  Hi, J.J.,

  I haven’t heard from you. Is everything okay? Do you still want to be a part of the Starry Beach Club? If not, I’ll find someone else. The more I think about it, the more I realize the world really needs us. People wish and they wish and they wish. But sometimes, it’s just not enough. They need help. I want to help. Don’t you?

  Sincerely yours,

  Some Kid at the Beach

  I wrote her back right away.

  Dear Some Kid,

  Yes, I still want to be a part of the club. It’s just that my friend and I are trying to find a really good wish. It’s not as easy as you might think. Maybe along with being clever, creative, sneaky, and diligent, we need to be patient, too. Just an idea. I might have some good news for you Thursday. Cross your fingers!

  Sincerely yours,

  J.J.

  Afte
r I shut off the computer, I was about to go paint a picture to give to Emma, since she’d wanted one so badly. But Miranda said we should call Dad. Mom had gone down to the beach for a while, so it was a good time. We sat on the sofa together and she called him on FaceTime. After we talked about the weather and boring stuff like that, he told us they’d received a new tortoise and a new porcupine at the zoo.

  “Do they have names?” I asked.

  “We’re working on it,” he said. “I think they might do a contest for the kids to name them.”

  “Can I see them?” I asked. “When we visit? And maybe take Inca with us?”

  “Yeah, yeah, of course,” he said.

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, though. I’d always gone to welcome the new animals a day or two after they’d arrived. It’d almost become like a family tradition, now that I thought about it. Yes, it’d been exciting for me as a kid, because I loved animals, but I’d wanted to do it for other reasons, too. I knew the animals must be missing home and I’d wanted to say hi, and tell them it’d be all right. Maybe they couldn’t understand my words, but I wanted to believe they could understand the message.

  Funny thing was, now I was the one missing home.

  We talked a little longer and then he said he had to run some errands and needed to get going.

  “Love you, girls,” he said. “Have a good first day tomorrow.”

  “Love you, too,” we said in unison.

  And then we hung up.

  I sighed, leaned my head back against the couch, and closed my eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” Miranda asked.

  “How come talking to him always makes me feel worse?” I asked.

  “Hmm,” she said, getting to her feet. “Maybe because you haven’t really accepted this is how it’s going to be? You really need to accept it, Pooh. Stop fighting it. Stop wishing it were different. It doesn’t do any good.”

  I opened my eyes and stared at her. “Did you ever think it might be easier for you because you have something here you’ve dreamt about forever?”

  “What do you mean?”