See You on a Starry Night

by Lisa Schroeder

  “Junior lifeguarding,” I said. “But what do I have?”

  “Well … you have a new friend, right?”

  “I know, but—”

  Before I could finish, Mom walked through the front door with messy hair and pink cheeks. She looked relaxed. Happy, even.

  “I love it here,” she said with a sigh as she threw her beach hat on the coffee table. “Don’t you love it here? There’s just something about the ocean that is so therapeutic. I can literally feel my soul healing.”

  Meanwhile, my soul felt like a volcano that was about to erupt. And erupt it did.

  “Is that why we moved here?” I shouted as I stood up. “Because your soul needed healing? Well, what about mine, Mom? What about my soul? Did you ever think about that?”

  Before she could answer, I fled to my room faster than a sand crab trying to bury itself after a breaking wave. Mom was probably even calling me crabby right then. A crabby crab, for sure.

  I lay on my bed and buried my nose in a book, in case she came in to talk to me. Talking was the last thing I wanted to do. Though I didn’t really feel like reading, either. I was too upset to read. Too upset to do anything. But I read the same paragraph over and over, trying to calm myself down while also trying to make sense of what the words said.

  Finally, after enough time had gone by and it seemed like Mom had decided to leave me alone for now, I texted Inca.

  My dad said the zoo got new animals. A tortoise and a porcupine.

  She responded right away. I want to go see them! Thanks for letting me know. Want to FaceTime right now?

  I told her maybe later. I didn’t give a reason, but the reason was I didn’t want to miss home any more than I already did.

  As I lay there thinking about it, it made me wonder about Mr. Dooney and his anniversary. If Emma and I found someone to play his piano, would it make him feel better or worse? I wanted to believe it would make him feel better, but what if it didn’t?

  The last thing I wanted to do was turn Mr. Dooney into a crabby crab. One in the neighborhood was enough.

  *  Floating on a cloud

  *  Hugging a rainbow

  *  Watching a pink-and-orange sunset

  *  Eating a strawberry fresh from the field

  *  The opposite of crabbiness (which is why I listened to it on my phone over and over again)

  Mom pretended the argument never happened. We all pitched in at dinner. Set the table. Ate dinner together with the television on. Did the dishes. And then went our separate ways. Our house felt sad and lonely.

  I thought about running away to Emma’s house and asking if I could just move in with them. I’d do my share to help with things. I wouldn’t bother anyone. Maybe I could even learn how to make a piecrust better than Emma. I could bake a pie every night and that way no one would mind having one extra kid around.

  As I set out my clothes for the next day, there was a knock on my door. I felt my muscles tense up.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “Me,” Mom said as she opened the door and poked her head in. “Can I come in?”

  I shrugged. “Whatever.”

  She came and sat on the edge of the bed. “Cute outfit,” she said as I set the short-sleeved navy shirt with little daisies all over it next to my yellow pants.

  “Thanks.”

  “Honey?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I know this hasn’t been easy,” she said. “And I want you to know I did think of you and Miranda when I decided to move us here. I thought about all of us. And I felt that this was the best thing for us.”

  “But why?” I asked, sitting on the opposite side of the bed.

  “Because it can be hard getting asked about your personal family business everywhere you go. Between your father and me, we know a lot of people in Bakersfield. I didn’t like the thought of us being whispered about wherever we went. Or, for the people who hadn’t heard the news, being asked, ‘How’s Bruce doing?’ and having to explain over and over that we’d separated.”

  I hadn’t thought of it that way—that people would be curious. “Is that the only reason?”

  “No, of course not,” she said. “I thought the beach would be good for us. Not just me, but you and your sister as well. With everything else feeling so uncertain, it seemed to me that it might be comforting to walk outside and see the beautiful ocean there, day in and day out. A constant source of serenity, perhaps.”

  “Serenity?” I asked.

  “Peacefulness. And really, if you must know, Grandma is the one who said as much, and convinced me to move.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes. She did. But please don’t be upset with her. She only wants good things for all of us. Sometimes a change of scenery is necessary, honey. That doesn’t mean it’s easy. But in the long run, I’m hoping we all benefit from being here.” She scooted over and wrapped her arms around me. “Juliet, do you want me to see if you can visit your dad next weekend, even though it’s not a scheduled visit? Would that help with the missing?”

  It was such a surprise, and I couldn’t believe how happy it made me.

  “Yes,” I said right away. “Yes, it would.”

  And just like that, I knew we should surprise Mr. Dooney with that special song. Because sometimes a really good surprise is exactly what you need.

  * * *

  Mom took me to school the next morning and got me enrolled. Emma and I ended up having P.E. together and that was it. Since we were busy playing basketball, we didn’t have much time to talk. At lunchtime, we sat with some of her friends, so we couldn’t really talk then, either. But after school, we both took the bus home, and she sat next to me so I could finally tell her.

  “I think we should do it,” I told her.

  “Do what?”

  “Find someone to play that song for Mr. Dooney.”

  “Really?” she said. “I was thinking we shouldn’t.”

  “No,” I said firmly. “We definitely should. I really think it’ll help him with the anniversary. Does your family know anyone who plays the piano?”

  “Um …” She stared out the window for a moment. “Yes! My sister has a friend who plays really, really well. I know because Molly went to her recital once. Her name is Kari. I’ll get her number and ask her when I get home.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “If she says yes, what do I do? Have her meet us at Mr. Dooney’s house after school on Wednesday?”

  “Yeah. That sounds good. Maybe I’ll make cupcakes and bring those, too.”

  “I think we should invite Mr. and Mrs. Button to be there,” Emma said. “They’ve been friends with Mr. Dooney a long time.”

  “Good idea.”

  She suggested we go to their house later that afternoon, so instead of going home, I went to Emma’s, and thanks to my new phone, I texted Mom and Miranda to let them know. We had carrot sticks with hummus for a snack while we told Molly about our idea for a surprise on Mr. Dooney’s anniversary. She gave us Kari’s number, so Emma called her and explained our idea. Emma offered her a pie, any kind she wanted, for doing us this favor, and Kari said she’d happily do it for an apple one.

  “Isn’t there anything else you need done?” I asked Emma. “I’d love a berry pie for payment.”

  “You know what, when berries come into season, I’ll make you one for no reason.” She started beatboxing. “And look at me, making a rhyme, I’m that good, all the time.”

  I laughed. “Yes. You are.”

  With the piano player taken care of, we decided to walk to Mr. and Mrs. Button’s house and invite them to join us on Wednesday. A woman next door was washing her car in the driveway.

  Emma called out, “Hi, Jenny.”

  Jenny waved. “Thank you so much for introducing my sister Laura to your parents. She said it was really great getting some of her questions answered about owning a restaurant.”

  “You’re welcome,” Emma said. “Hope she does it some
day.”

  “I think she will,” Jenny said. “Thanks again.”

  As we walked, with the warm sun on our skin and the feeling that we were close to finally making someone’s wish come true, my heart felt like a kite soaring inside my chest. What we’d be doing for Mr. Dooney felt exactly like the kind of wish Some Kid had wanted us to find. It wasn’t super obvious. It wasn’t even something Mr. Dooney had specifically asked for. We’d just put the pieces together and realized there was something we could do to make him happy.

  I remembered Some Kid’s words: “Maybe the stars need helpers now and then.”

  Wednesday night, the stars would be smiling down on us, the helpers. I was sure of it.

  *  Strawberry Lemonade

  *  Chocolate Peanut Butter

  *  Banana Cream Pie

  *  Red Velvet

  *  White Chocolate Raspberry

  *  Okay, any kind as long as there’s no raisins or coconut. Ew.

  “Hello, girls,” Mrs. Button said, her notebook of beautiful things in one hand and her reading glasses in the other. “So nice of you to stop by, but I’m afraid Mr. Button is sleeping now.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “We just have something really quick to tell you.”

  “Well, in that case, I can step outside with you for a minute.”

  After she shut the door behind her, Emma said, “We’re going to surprise Mr. Dooney with a little something on his anniversary, and we thought maybe you and your husband would like to come.”

  She smiled. “A surprise? Are you going to tell me what it is?”

  Emma and I looked at each other. “I think we want to wait and have you see it for yourself,” I explained. “But it’s nothing too extreme. It’s nice. You’ll see.”

  “Well, it’s very kind of you girls to plan something. It will certainly be a sad day for him. Anything we can do to lift his spirits will be appreciated, I’m sure. Count us in. Or me, anyway. It’s hard to say how Mr. Button will be feeling.”

  “Okay,” Emma said. “We understand.” She pointed to the notebook. “It’s been a hard week with him being sick, hasn’t it? How do you find things to write about?”

  “Oh, there are always beautiful things to write about,” she said. “All I have to do is look out the window, really.” She slipped her reading glasses back on, then opened the notebook. “Here are a few of the things I’ve written today. Sunshine like a sweet lemon cake and clouds like fluffy buttermilk frosting. Birds scampering across the yard, joy sprinkled on the tips of their wings. Daisies in bloom: the ordinary flower which provides extraordinary happiness.”

  “You make me want to live inside your notebook of beautiful things,” I said.

  Mrs. Button winked. “It’s all in how we see things, isn’t it?” And then she turned back toward the door. “See you girls on Wednesday. After school, I presume?”

  “Yes,” Emma said. “We’ll run home, drop off our stuff—”

  “And pick up the cupcakes,” I said, cutting in. “Then we’ll be right over.”

  At the word cupcakes, Mrs. Button grinned and gave us a wink. “What a treat this will be. I can’t wait to see what you have planned.” She waved. “See you Wednesday.”

  “Bye,” we said.

  As we walked down the cute little street, Emma said, “We see the boring old sun while she sees a sweet lemon cake.” A dog barked in the distance. “How does she do that?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But it’s almost like magic, isn’t it?”

  “If you think about it,” Emma said, “we’re going to be in a secret club that makes wishes come true. That seems pretty magical to me.”

  I’m not sure why, exactly, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what Mrs. Button had read to us. Every time I saw a bird, I tried to see joy sprinkled on the tips of its wings … but they looked like ordinary wings to me. Where did she come up with the joy part? What made her think of that? I really wanted to know.

  Tuesday after school, I went to the store and bought a cake mix and frosting to make red velvet cupcakes. Miranda went to the beach after school for lifeguard training, and by the time she came back, the house smelled like a bakery. Delicious.

  “Are these to take to Mr. Dooney’s tomorrow?” she asked when she walked into the kitchen.

  “Yes,” I said. “We can each have one tonight, though. I want to make sure they taste okay. Should we wait until after dinner?”

  Dinner would be pasta with some Trader Joe’s marinara sauce. All we had to do was cook the pasta and heat up the sauce.

  “I’m thinking it’s another backward night,” Miranda said as she reached for a cupcake. She handed it to me and then picked out one for herself.

  I wasn’t going to argue with that. I hadn’t frosted the cupcakes yet, so I popped the lid off the tub of vanilla frosting, grabbed a butter knife, and smeared frosting on the one I was holding. I handed the knife to Miranda, then peeled off the paper and took a bite.

  “Mmmm,” I said. “Really good.”

  She stuffed half the cupcake in her mouth and gave me a thumbs-up.

  “So ladylike, Miranda,” I said.

  I got out the milk and poured us some. When we finished our dessert-as-an-appetizer, she said, “You know Mom’s on a date tonight, right?”

  “What?” I said, almost dropping my glass of milk from the shock. I quickly set it on the counter.

  “Yeah,” Miranda said. “I heard her talking to Rachel about it last night.”

  Rachel was Mom’s best friend back in Bakersfield.

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “Because that doesn’t seem like Mom. She’s not even officially divorced yet.”

  Miranda went to the dishwasher and put our dirty glasses inside. “I’m sure. It’s a friend of someone at work. They’re double-dating. His name is Chris.”

  The double-dating made me feel a little better. So maybe it was less like a date and more like hanging out with three friends. Maybe? Hopefully?

  Miranda pulled out a saucepan and filled it up with water for the pasta. I went to work frosting the rest of the cupcakes.

  “I can’t picture either of them with someone else,” I told her. “Mom and Dad, I mean. Can you? In my mind, they still go together.”

  “I know,” she said as she turned on the stove burner. “It’s just going to take time. But we need to get used to the idea. I mean, she’s not going to want to be alone forever.”

  “But she’s not alone,” I said. “She has us.”

  “Juliet, it’s not the same.”

  “What do you mean? Either you’re alone or you’re not. And she’s not.” And suddenly, I felt a lot sorrier for Dad.

  Miranda tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and faced her. She looked serious. “Maybe Mom will be happy without a partner. We don’t know. But she might also decide she’d be happier with someone. And if she decides that, we need to support her.”

  “But what if I can’t?” I asked. “Like, to me it seems so … wrong.”

  “Actually, it’s pretty normal for divorced people to find other people.”

  I was hardly used to being apart from dad, now I had to start getting used to the idea of them finding other people? How do you even do that? To me it seemed like taking away a kid’s favorite stuffed animal and giving her something like an umbrella in its place. The umbrella might be perfectly nice, but it’s still really different. Nothing is going to convince her to be comforted by the umbrella when she misses her stuffed animal.

  Miranda grabbed the jar of sauce and twisted the lid. “You want Mom to be happy, right?”

  “She has her job, she has us, and she has this cute house at the beach,” I pointed out. “That’s enough to make her happy.”

  “She might not think so,” Miranda said. “And ultimately, it’s up to her, not us.”

  “I hate the thought of her with someone else,” I said. “Maybe it seems normal to you, but not to me.” I paused before I mumbled, “T
he only time I feel normal is when I’m at Emma’s house.”

  “Oh, Pooh,” Miranda said. “Makes me sad to hear you say that.”

  “Like, right now, you know what the Rentons are doing?” I asked. “They’re probably sitting down to eat dinner all together. One big, happy family. And here we are, making ourselves dinner because our mom is out on a date with some guy named Chris who could be a big fat jerkface.”

  Miranda smiled. “I’m sure he’s not a jerkface. Mom’s friend wouldn’t do that to her.”

  “Whatever,” I said as I set the knife down and licked the frosting off my fingers. “It’s just not fair.”

  “Do you want to throw a cupcake at the wall or something?” my sister asked as she put a big handful of noodles into the pan of hot water. “Maybe it’d help you feel better.”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  She shook her head. “No. Never. Not about something like this. You have every right to feel how you feel.”

  I thought about throwing a cupcake at the wall, but it didn’t seem like that would help much. It might make me feel better for a quick second, but then I’d have to clean up the mess and that was the last thing I wanted to do.

  “Do you have any books on your shelf with divorced parents?” I asked.

  She replied, “I might. Want me to look when we’re done eating?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “You know what, Pooh?” she said.

  “What?”

  “You’re one smart cookie.” She smiled. “Or maybe I should say, smart cupcake. And it’s going to be okay. You’ll see.”

  Chris

  That’s all I can really think of right now.

  Last summer, for our family vacation, we drove up to Oregon and went to Crater Lake. That lake is huge. Not only is it the deepest lake in the United States but it’s also over five miles across. I’d never seen anything like it. It was big and beautiful and very, very blue. I thought about writing Crayola a letter and telling them they should make a new color blue, model it after the color of the lake, and call it Crater Lake. Brilliant, huh? I mean, in a box of forty-eight, I’d choose Crater Lake over Denim any day. Denim is such a boring color. Denim is everywhere, all the time. But Crater Lake? That’s the color you wish you had in your life.