See You on a Starry Night

by Lisa Schroeder

  Anyway, on the rim of the crater, there’s a big brick lodge that has a long porch filled with rocking chairs. After we went on a hike, the four of us sipped cold sodas and rocked while staring out at the gorgeous lake. Maybe that doesn’t sound like much fun, doing a whole lot of nothing next to a big body of water, but we all loved it. As we walked back to the car to head to the little country motel we’d be staying at down the road, Mom took my hand in hers, and Miranda’s in the other. Without thinking, I reached over and took Dad’s hand. We walked like that, our hands swinging and our faces smiling, until we reached the car. Yeah, it sounds like a photo out of FamilyFun magazine, something no one in real life would really do, but I swear, we did.

  Now, as I lay in bed, waiting for Mom to get home from her double date, I tried to imagine having a perfect day like that with someone other than Dad. And I couldn’t do it. To me, it was like trying to imagine a turkey sandwich with cucumber slices instead of pickles.

  I thought about getting up and talking to Mom after she got home. I heard her come in, close the front door and lock it, and get a drink of water in the kitchen. But if I’d gotten up, what would I have said? “Hey, Mom, how was your date?” A date I wasn’t even supposed to know about, since Miranda only knew because she’d overheard her conversation. Besides, the only answer I would have been happy with was “Horrible. I’m never going on another date as long as I live. You girls are all I need, now and always.”

  So I stayed in my bed, hoping I’d dream of the perfect afternoon at Crater Lake. (I didn’t. I dreamt about climbing a tree and not being able to get down. Basically, the opposite of the perfect afternoon.)

  * * *

  The next day at school, the hours dragged. All I could think about was whether or not Mr. Dooney would like his surprise. I sat with Emma and her friends again at lunch, but I didn’t say much. Being the new kid is not fun. At all. It could have been worse, though. At least I had Emma. When the last bell of the day finally rang, I couldn’t get to the front doors fast enough. This time, though, Emma didn’t sit with me on the bus. She sat with her friend Shelby, who waved Emma over to her seat as soon as she saw Emma get on. I sunk down in my seat, trying not to sulk. Okay, I was totally sulking. But whatever.

  I texted Inca: Hi. I miss you.

  She texted back: Miss you, too! Do you like your new school?

  My response: It’s okay. I might come home this weekend. Maybe we can do something?

  She replied with a bunch of emojis of applause. I had forgotten about emojis. I played around and sent her a bunch of random ones: a turtle, a rainbow, a flower, a piece of cake. I imagined her trying to figure out what it all meant, so I decided I better tell her.

  Hopefully, I’ll see you this weekend and it will be a weekend of happy things.

  When we reached our stop, Emma got off first and waited for me.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  “You sure you still want to do this?” I asked.

  She scoffed. “What do you mean, do I still want to do this? Of course! And, hopefully, when it’s all over, Mr. Dooney will be a happy man and we’ll be the newest members of the Starry Beach Club.”

  “You didn’t tell Shelby about it, did you?” I asked.

  She put her backpack on instead of letting it hang from her shoulder. Then she crossed her arms. “Juliet. I would never do that. What’s going on? Are you mad that I sat with her? What was I supposed to do? Walk past her and act like I didn’t see her frantically waving at me?”

  I shook my head. “No. It’s fine. I just thought maybe … I don’t know. Never mind.”

  She started walking. “If you’d talk to them a little more at lunch, try to get to know them, you’d see they are all super nice.”

  I laughed. “Talk? How? None of them can stay quiet for more than two seconds.”

  She stopped and stared at me. “That’s mean.”

  “But it’s true.”

  “No. It’s not true. If you’d speak up and say something, they’d listen. I promise. You have to at least try, you know?”

  “You don’t think I’m trying?”

  “Doesn’t seem like it to me. Maybe … try harder?”

  My eyes narrowed and I scowled at her. Had she ever been the new kid at school? Had she ever had anything bad happen to her, with her wonderful family and her big, beautiful house and her adorable ice cream shop? How could she possibly know what it was like for me? Me and my broken home. My broken heart.

  In that moment, it felt like Emma was on one side of Crater Lake and I was on the other. Like she was on the side with the beautiful lodge and I was on the side where there was nothing but wilderness.

  “You know,” I said, “I think I’ve decided I’m going to do this Starry Beach Club by myself. You obviously have enough friends. You don’t need me or Some Kid. See you later.”

  I turned around and ran toward my house.

  “Juliet!” she called. But I didn’t stop. I kept going until I got safely inside. I threw my backpack down, crumpled to the floor, and cried.

  *  Bears

  *  Wolves

  *  Mountain lions

  *  Big spiders

  *  No food

  *  No bathrooms

  I carried the cupcakes in a Rubbermaid container down the boardwalk toward Mr. Dooney’s house. My stomach felt like I’d swallowed a bunch of nails. I’d just pushed away the only friend I had in this new town. And I was going to have to try and pull off this tricky wish by myself, without Emma’s happy outlook on everything. I tried to imagine her cheering me on.

  It’s going to be awesome!

  He’s going to love it!

  This is better than melting a wicked witch with a bucket of water!

  But it wasn’t the same as really having her with me. Especially because whenever I stopped telling myself those things, my brain would just shout really loudly, This is the dumbest idea ever!

  When I saw Mr. and Mrs. Button standing there, waiting for me, I felt a little better. At least I had their kind and caring faces to help me get through it.

  “Hi,” I said when I reached them. “I’m so glad you could come, Mr. Button.”

  “I figured the fresh air and sunshine would do me good,” he said. “And cupcakes will surely help, too.”

  I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Excuse me?” I turned around. “Are you Juliet?”

  An Asian girl stood there with the cutest bob haircut I’d ever seen: thin and wispy with bangs that fell just above her friendly-looking eyes.

  “Yeah, I’m Juliet.”

  “I’m Kari. I’m here to play the piano?”

  “Oh, right. Hi! Thank you so much for doing this.”

  “No problem.”

  I took a deep breath. “All right. Are we ready?”

  “Ready,” Mrs. Button said.

  There was a white picket fence all the way around the house. I unlatched the gate and led the others up the walkway to the front door. I knocked. When Mr. Dooney came to the door, he said, “Hello, Juliet.” He wore khaki pants, a golf shirt, and the same old floppy hat he always had on. He looked past me and said, “Hello, Ray and Flora. So good to see you up and about, Ray.”

  They both said hello, and then it went quiet. It was my turn to talk, to explain why we were all there. If Emma were with me, she would have said exactly the right thing. But she wasn’t there. It was all on me.

  I motioned to Kari. “This is Kari and we have a surprise for you.”

  Mr. Dooney looked confused. “You do?”

  I answered. “Yes. We, um, know it’s your anniversary today, and since you are probably feeling sad about that, we thought we’d try to cheer you up. Can we come in? And then we’ll show you the surprise.”

  “Certainly,” he said, holding the door open for us.

  His house smelled good—like gardenias, I thought, as we walked by a big vase of them sitting on a small table in the entryway. To the right was a big, bright room with lo
ts of windows and a black baby grand piano in the center. Kari went over, took a seat on the bench, and took her sheet music out of the folder she’d been carrying. There was also a sofa and a coffee table, so I set the pan of cupcakes on the table and went over to the piano. Mr. and Mrs. Button joined me. Mr. Dooney still stood in the entryway.

  “Oh, my,” he said, like he knew what was coming. He hesitated a moment and then walked over to stand next to me. Kari looked at me and I gave her a nod. She began to play. Slowly. Carefully. As the four of us stood there, listening to the room fill with sweet, sweet music, it was like time stopped. All that mattered was the lovely song. We stayed as still as statues for the first couple of minutes. It was like we were under a spell. And maybe we were. The spell of “Clair de Lune.”

  When I finally did move, it was to glance over at Mr. Dooney. I wanted to know if he seemed to be enjoying it. His head was slightly back, his eyes closed, and his lips formed the slightest smile while tears rolled down his cheeks.

  Happy and sad, I thought. Just like I’d been so often over the past week. Happy to be at the beach. Happy to have a friend in Emma. But sad to be away from my dad and my friends. I reached over and held Mr. Dooney’s hand. It was somehow both rough and soft at the same time. He gave my hand a little squeeze and I kept it there until the song ended. When Kari finished, I gently pulled my hand away so I could clap. We all applauded. Kari stood up, smiled, and gave us a little bow.

  I turned to tell Mr. Dooney I really hoped he liked it, but he wasn’t next to me anymore. He had snuck out. Disappeared.

  “Oh, no,” I said softly.

  I’d made things worse. He was so upset, he couldn’t even stay to talk to us.

  “I bet he’ll be back,” Mrs. Button said. “Let’s just give him a minute.”

  Kari gathered up her sheet music, preparing to leave.

  “Thank you,” I somehow managed to say. “You’re really good. It was beautiful.” Only then did I remember the pie Emma had promised her. “I’m sorry, I don’t have a pie because Emma’s not here. But you can take a couple of cupcakes if you want.”

  “Okay, thanks. They look really good.”

  With cupcakes in hand, she moved toward the door and I knew I needed to be polite and walk her out. I held the door for her as she left and thanked her again. Then I turned and looked at the piano, the cupcakes, and Mr. and Mrs. Button. Suddenly, it all seemed very wrong.

  What would I say to Mr. Dooney when he came out, if he even decided to come back out? How could I possibly explain what I was trying to do, when none of it made any sense to me anymore?

  There was only one thing I wanted to do right then. And I did it. I opened the door and ran.

  *  Bakersfield

  *  A castle in Scotland

  *  The Land of Oz

  *  A museum filled with Vincent van Gogh’s paintings

  *  Anywhere but here

  I texted Mom and Miranda. I’m going to sit on the beach for a while. Maybe stay and watch the sunset.

  Mom asked: Please be safe. What about dinner?

  I replied: I’m not hungry. Did you hear from Dad yet? Do I get to go home this weekend?

  It took a minute and then she texted: Sorry, honey. He has to work. He feels bad but remember this wasn’t a planned visit. He’s going to call you in the morning and tell you himself. But since you asked, figured I shouldn’t keep it from you.

  I stuffed my phone back in my pocket. It seemed like all my parents knew how to do was let me down. No wonder they couldn’t even stay married.

  I reached down and dug a hole in the sand with my hands as hard and fast as I possibly could. I dug until my arms ached, but it felt good to be doing something besides sitting there feeling bad about everything. Sand covered me and caked my fingernails. But I didn’t care. I dug and I dug until I heard from above me, “Digging an anger pit?”

  I looked up. It was Emma. I went back to digging and didn’t say anything.

  She took a seat on the sand next to me. “You probably don’t know what that is, so I’ll explain. It’s a hole where you can put all of your anger. You fill it up, as much anger as you want, and when you’re done, you bury it with sand. Instead of being inside of you, the anger is in the ground. And you feel a lot better.”

  “I’ve never heard of that,” I told her.

  “My dad thought of it when the boys were little. Get mad? Feel free to go to the beach and dig a hole for a good, long while. It helps, doesn’t it?”

  I sat back on my heels, my knees in the sand. My arms felt heavy, like bricks. “Yeah. It does. How come you guys have the best ideas while I have the worst, anyway?”

  “You do not have the worst ideas,” she said.

  “You didn’t think we should play the song for Mr. Dooney. But I was sure it would be a good idea. And it wasn’t. Not at all.”

  “Juliet?”

  “What?”

  “After you left, Mr. Dooney came out to the front room. He said hearing that song on his piano again was one of the happiest moments he’s had in a long, long time.”

  I stared at her. “How do you know? You weren’t there.”

  “I was standing outside. I saw you run off. I wanted to know what happened, so Mr. and Mrs. Button let me in. And Mr. Dooney showed up a minute later. We asked him if he was okay, and he said something like ‘I won’t lie. It was very bittersweet, because I wish it had been my wife sitting there, playing that lovely song. But mostly, it was one of the happiest moments I’ve had in a long, long time.’ ”

  “Bittersweet,” I repeated.

  “Happy and sad,” Emma said.

  “I love that word,” I said. “I think it’s a new favorite.”

  I moved my legs out in front of me and leaned back on my hands. So he hadn’t hated it after all. It had probably just made him really emotional and he’d needed a minute to get it together. Like Mrs. Button had said.

  “I’m sorry I ran off,” I told her. “And I’m sorry for what I said to you earlier. I didn’t really mean it. I just—”

  “No,” she interrupted. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said you aren’t trying. That wasn’t nice. See? Like I told you before, I’m not perfect. Not at all.”

  “Close,” I said.

  “You know what happened when I got home from school?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “My dad yelled at me for leaving the milk on the counter when I left for school. And then Lance yelled at me for going in his room to borrow something without asking him. And then Molly yelled at me because she said I should have bought Kari a nice gift for doing us a favor instead of offering her a pie. She called me an ungrateful brat.”

  “She did? I think a homemade pie is an awesome gift.”

  “Right? We still need to bake her one, by the way. Maybe this weekend.”

  An Irish setter ran up to us, its owner calling out, “Sorry! She’s super friendly. Ginger, come here. Come!”

  Once Ginger was gone, I crossed my legs and leaned forward. “Since we’re sharing family secrets, I guess I can tell you that my mom went on a double date last night. It’s so weird.”

  “Wow. That is weird.”

  “Yeah. And my dad told my mom I can’t come home this weekend because he has to work. It’s not fair.”

  “I’m so sorry, Juliet,” Emma said. I could tell from her voice she meant it.

  I kept talking. “Maybe your family isn’t perfect, but at least you’re all together. And at least you have traditions and rules that you know you can always count on.”

  “You know what you need?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “A red velvet cupcake. They’re so good. We each had one as we listened to Mr. Dooney tell us about his wife. How she made him scrambled eggs for breakfast every morning. How she always thought flies were bees and would run out of the house screaming at the top of her lungs if she saw a fly in the house. How her favorite movie was The Sound of Music.”

/>   I felt really sad for Mr. Dooney. “He loved her a lot, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah. He did. And you know what I think? I think grown-ups need that kind of love. It’s different from the kind of love we can give them. I mean, when my mom makes me eggs for breakfast, I usually say, ‘Can’t I have cereal instead?’ But my dad? If she makes him breakfast, he’s so happy, it’s like she’s given him a puppy or something.”

  I laughed. “Eggs and puppies are about as opposite as you can get.”

  “I know! That’s what I mean.”

  “So, are you saying I should be okay with my mom dating other guys?”

  Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. I think what I’m saying is everyone deserves the kind of love Mr. Dooney has for his wife. And maybe it just takes some people longer than others to find it. Anyway, can we go and get you a cupcake? Mr. Dooney really wants to thank you.”

  I sighed. “Okay. But I want to cover this anger pit first. Can you maybe help me?”

  “Juliet, do you even have to ask?” She held her hands out wide and sang, “That’s what friends are for.”

  *  bittersweet—both pleasant and painful or regretful

  *  grateful—deeply appreciative of kindness or benefits received

  *  honest—good and truthful

  *  clair de lune—French for “light of the moon”

  *  puggle—a cross between a pug and a beagle (and probably the cutest puppy I’ve ever seen)

  When we got to Mr. Dooney’s house, the Buttons had gone home. But there were two small, wrapped gifts on the porch with tags that said For Juliet and For Emma. Emma insisted we open them right away. I gasped when I saw the small leather journal, similar to the one Mrs. Button owned. I read the handwritten note.

  Juliet,

  Today you and Emma did a kind thing for a dear friend. I thought you each might like to keep your own notebook of beautiful things.