by Wendy Mass
“Sounds like her.”
“Don’t tell me she’s still alive? She was old when I was a kid.”
“Still alive and kicking.”
“Who else have you met?”
“Well, there’s —”
“Honey, sorry to cut you off, Mom wants the phone and we only have a minute left.”
“Wait, Dad!”
“I’ve gotta hand over the phone. Miss you, honey.”
“I miss you, too,” I say, truthfully. “Here’s Mom.”
I take a deep breath, trying to prepare myself to talk to her.
“Tara?”
I attempt to say hello, but a lump has formed in my throat and I can’t seem to speak. It’s a lump made of anger and frustration and confusion and trying to act grown-up and keeping secrets and missing her all wrapped into one.
“Tara? Are you there?”
“I’m here,” I manage to squeak out.
“Is everything okay?”
I force myself to pull it together. “Yes.”
“Are you sure? I’ve been frantic here, not being able to talk to you.”
“Really?”
“You’re surprised?”
I swallow hard. “Well, you’ve been so weird and angry, and you sent me away.”
“Okay, I see your point. But you’re okay? You’re meeting people? Nothing bad has happened?”
“Yes, I’m meeting people. And nothing … too bad has happened.”
“Tara, they’re telling me I have to hang up. Stay strong. We’ll call again next week. And, Tara, I’m really sorry.”
She hangs up before I can ask which of her recent behaviors she’s sorry for.
“Your parents?” David asks, sitting back down next to me.
I nod.
“They’re still in Africa?”
I nod again. “That’s far.”
“Yup. And things with my mom have been weird lately.”
“Sometimes that happens with me and my mom. It’s hard not to take it personally, but I’ve sort of figured out that mostly, it has nothing to do with me. Something at work could be bothering her, or she’ll get a call about my dad that will upset her.”
I figure this is as good a time as any, so I say, “You haven’t mentioned your dad before.”
He looks off into the distance, past the kids playing in the sandbox and the man selling pretzels, and into some place I can’t see.
“He’s in a special facility about three hours away from here. He has a condition called dystonia. It started to get bad when I was four or five. He used be at home but now he has to be someplace where he can be monitored and taken care of correctly. He can’t control a lot of his muscles or even talk anymore.”
David’s hand is gripping the edge of the bench as if he needs to feel the solidity of it. I remember doing that as I sat on the curb outside Bettie’s house after Rory and Leo told me about Angelina’s store.
As though someone else is taking control of my body, with absolutely no conscious thought whatsoever, I rest my hand on top of his. After a full minute of sitting like that, I start to obsess over the fact that our hands are touching and that I started it and that he didn’t pull away. Should I take my hand off his now? What if he wants his own hand back but doesn’t want to be rude and move it first?
Then he whispers, “It’s genetic. It might happen to me, too.”
I stop thinking about our hands. “Might? How will you know?”
“I just have to hope I get lucky and the gene doesn’t turn active.” Then he smiles. “Good thing I’ve got a good luck charm now.” He flips his hand over while it’s still underneath mine.
David and I = Two People Officially Holding Hands.
I feel full. Like I could burst. It’s an absolutely perfect moment. Right up until my phone rings and the pregnant lady who sold us the candlestick holder asks me to come over and clean her cat litter.
“That’s Muskrat Suzy,” Carolyn says, pointing to the hugely fat orange cat currently hissing at David and me from the porch. “Don’t mind her. She about to have kittens and she’s very protective of her space. Muskrat Sam is around here somewhere. He’s the expectant father.”
We make a wide circle around the cat and step into the house.
“Sorry about the mess,” she says. “Bending down isn’t what it used to be.”
I’ve gotten so used to Emily’s room that the few books and clothes scattered around don’t even faze me. Still, I find myself picking them up as she walks us over to the litter area.
“You’re not supposed to clean cat litter when you’re pregnant,” she explains. “Something about a disease they carry in their … well, in the stuff they leave behind in the litter box. My neighbor had been doing it for me, but she’s on vacation for a week. There’s kind of a lot in there.”
“It’s not a problem,” David says, plucking the little plastic shovel off the shelf. “We’ll be happy to do it.”
I nod in agreement.
“You two are very cheerful for people about to clean out cat poop.”
I blush and grab one of the plastic bags next to the box. “This is nothing. I’ve seen a lot more poop in my day than this.”
“You have?” she asks, amused.
“I once spent a whole summer helping my mother label which animal it came from.”
David stops, mid-scoop. “There’s a lot I don’t know about you.”
That’s for sure.
While we work, Carolyn sorts through some boxes of clothes that someone must have sent her. Every few seconds I’ll see her touch her belly, or rest her hand on it briefly. I’ve never been this close to someone as pregnant as she is. It’s totally bizarre actually.
I must not be the only one stealing glances at her belly because she asks, “Would either of you like to feel the baby kick?”
My eyes widen. I quickly shake my head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”
David jumps up so fast he almost knocks the litter box over. “I do! I want to be a pediatrician one day.”
Clearly, there’s a lot I don’t know about David, either.
David steps over to the sink to wash his hands. But when he approaches Carolyn, Muskrat Suzy positions herself directly between them and hisses, daring him to approach.
Carolyn laughs and gently shoos the cat away. “She’s protecting me. Us two pregnant gals gotta look out for each other.” She places David’s hand on her belly.
“Wow!” he exclaims, his eyes wide with excitement. “C’mon, Tara, you’ve got to feel this!”
I really don’t want to put my hand on a near-stranger’s belly, but David seems to have no problem with it. So I wash my hands and join him. When I first lay my hand there, I’m surprised at how rock hard it is. Nothing like a regular stomach. A second later it feels like a tiny fist is punching my palm. I yank my hand away in surprise.
Carolyn smiles. “Now you’ve met Milo.”
“Isn’t it amazing?” David asks.
Carolyn beams. “And the thing I didn’t expect was to love him so much, before he’s even born. Like there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”
She starts singing a lullaby to her belly, and to my horror, David joins in, voice cracking and all.
“You’ll make a really good doctor one day,” Carolyn says, smiling up at him.
After another round of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” we resume cleaning the litter box and generally straightening up the place. David keeps chatting about this and that, but I can’t focus. All I keep thinking about is how my mom protected me like that, how she loved me like that, and how we can’t even talk to each other anymore.
“Are you all right?” David asks on the walk home. He hasn’t tried to take my hand again, which I’m grateful for. I think all of this voluntary touching of other people in one day has overwhelmed my system.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, feeling better now that we’re on the move again. And soon we’ll get to cross one more thing off
the list. “We better hurry. Connor’s going to be at your house any minute.”
We pick up the pace. “I guess we shouldn’t have stayed there so long,” he says. “It just seemed like she didn’t get much company.”
“Probably not,” I agree. “She’d have to be lonely to let a strange kid like you touch her belly.”
“Who are you calling strange?”
“If I ask you something, will you promise not to get offended?”
“Interesting way to start a question.”
I start walking even faster, looking ahead instead of at him. “How come when you sing, sometimes it’s really good, and sometimes it’s, um, not so good? Don’t get me wrong, it’s still much better than anything I could do.”
“When is it good and when isn’t it?” he asks, sounding like he really wants to know.
I think back to all the times I’ve heard him sing, both good and not-as-good, and am surprised that there’s actually a pattern. “This is going to sound strange, but when you sing outside, you’re really good.”
He only hesitates for a second before answering. “It’s because outside is where I feel him the most.”
I stop walking. “Feel who? God?”
He shakes his head. “My dad.”
Connor is sitting on David’s porch when we arrive, playing a handheld video game. “Hey, Hamburglar,” he says, standing up. “Hey, new girl.”
“Hey,” I reply.
David takes out his key and ushers us inside. “Did anyone see you?” he asks Connor.
Connor laughs. “You didn’t tell me to wear my trench coat and sunglasses.”
“Forget those things,” David says. “I shoulda told you to wear a cap. You could see that red hair from clear across town.”
“So exactly what is this top secret mission?” Connor asks. “And more important, how much am I getting paid?”
“Five bucks?” David suggests.
“Ten!” Connor says.
“Deal,” I agree. “And you know what to do?”
“All the Hamburglar told me was I’m supposed to tell your aunt I’m here for the trunk.”
“That’s right,” David says. “Don’t start chatting, don’t ask for a snack, just get in and get out.”
“Got it, boss,” Connor says.
“I should go home first,” I tell David, “that way we’re not arriving together.”
“Okay.” He pulls the Bible from his backpack. “I’ll hold on to this.”
“Dude! You’re changing religions? Pretty gutsy move three weeks before your bar mitzvah.”
“Just don’t mess this up,” David says, ignoring the religion comment.
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Connor says. “I’ll be the best trunk-picker-upper this town has ever seen.”
I leave them and race across the street. Everyone’s in the kitchen gathered around the computer. Even Ray. My first reaction is that they’re looking at the list we posted. That can’t be good. I’d have to pretend I don’t know what it is. But then Aunt Bethany says, “See, Em? Watch what she does with her left foot.” They’re watching a video of a fencing match. I breathe easier.
Emily sees me first. “Hi, Tara! Want to come to the match with us? We’re leaving as soon as I put on my uniform.”
I try to figure out if it actually matters if I’m here or not when Connor comes. I guess it really doesn’t. “Sure,” I say.
“Great,” says Aunt Bethany, “we’re all going, then.”
I open my mouth to say What about the trunk? but shut it as soon as I realize I can’t possibly say it. Let’s hope Emily takes a long time getting her uniform on. I try to send a telepathic message to David to get Connor over here fast. Thankfully the doorbell rings before Emily even comes back downstairs.
“That must be the people coming for the trunk,” Aunt Bethany says, heading out of the kitchen.
“What people for what trunk?” Uncle Roger asks, fast on her heels.
Ray throws me a sharp glance. I can’t very well fill him in now, though.
“The old steamer trunk of my mother’s that I’ve been trying to get rid of for years,” she says as we all follow her down the hall. “The one in the attic.”
I didn’t even know there was an attic!
“But why are you getting rid of it now?” he asks.
“Because the guy wanted it,” she says. “Honestly, Roger, it’s no big deal.”
“But why does he want it?” Roger presses. “Maybe it’s worth something.”
“I don’t know why he wants it,” she says, reaching for the door. “Why don’t you ask him?”
My heart stops. There weren’t supposed to be any questions! Easy in, easy out.
“Hi,” Connor says, smiling a bit too wide. “I’m here for the trunk.”
“And what exactly would you be wanting with it?” Uncle Roger asks, peering out at him.
Connor’s smile slowly shrinks. He glances at me for a second, but there’s nothing I can do. “Um, I need a place to store my video game collection?”
“Good enough for me,” Aunt Bethany says. “Come on in. Ray, will you grab it from the attic? It’s the black one with the gold latch. Not real gold, Roger,” she adds.
“Okeydokey,” Ray says. Then he winks at me and says, “Still practicing my American.”
“No one says ‘okeydokey’ anymore,” I tell him.
We stand around awkwardly while Ray bounds up the stairs. “Wait a second,” Connor says. I cringe. What is he doing? “Are you Roger St. Claire? The inventor?”
Uncle Roger’s face lightens a bit. “Yes, that’s me.”
“Oh, wow! It’s an honor, sir. I’m a huge fan of the Sand-Free Beach Towel. Genius!”
“Is that so?” Uncle Roger says, sticking out his hand. Connor shakes it. “Well, well, what do you know? I have fans!”
“I want to be an inventor when I grow up,” Connor says. “I’ve got every issue of Inventors Digest since I was eight.”
Uncle Roger steps over to me. “Well, you should meet my niece, then. She’s interested in the field, too.”
“I didn’t know that,” Aunt Bethany says.
“It’s, um, kind of a new interest.”
“Good to meet you,” Connor says, shaking my hand.
“Yeah, you, too,” I mumble.
Ray brings the trunk down and lays it in the middle of the foyer. Roger glances at it, touches the scraped-up yellow latch and the dented sides, and turns back to me and Connor. “Tara, what do you say we show Connor my lab? Show him where all the magic happens?”
“Um, I’m sure he has to go.”
“No, I can stay,” Connor says. “I’d love to see your lab.” I’d kick him if I could get away with it looking like an accident.
“Roger,” Aunt Bethany says, pointing to Emily descending the stairs in her fencing outfit.
“Oh, right. Well, maybe Tara should stay and show the boy my lab.”
Aunt Emily puts her hands on her hips. “You’re suggesting we leave our thirteen-year-old niece with a strange boy you only met five minutes ago based on the fact that he doesn’t like getting sand on his beach towel?”
Uncle Roger shrugs. “You wanted her to make friends. Here’s a nice boy with the same interests.”
“I can keep an eye on ’em,” Ray offers.
“You’re sure?” Aunt Bethany asks.
“What about my match?” Emily asks, pouting.
Uncle Roger puts his arm around her shoulder. “Tara can come to the next one. You’ll understand when you get older.”
She looks over her shoulder at me as Uncle Roger guides her out the door. “But Tara likes …”
If she completes her sentence, I thankfully don’t hear it.
Aunt Bethany reminds Ray to offer us lemonade and says they’ll be back before dinner. She takes one last glance at the steamer trunk, and shuts the door behind her. I plop down next to the trunk in relief. “Gotta say, Connor, I’m impressed! How did you know just what to s
ay to get him to trust you?”
“I didn’t! I’m really a huge fan!”
“Seriously?”
“Yup!”
I sigh. “Ray, would you mind taking him up to the lab? I want to tell the others we have the trunk.”
“Okeydokey.”
“I think I liked you better when I didn’t understand you.”
The two of them go upstairs and I’m alone with the trunk. It’s easy to see why Uncle Roger wouldn’t want it. Angelina must not know the kind of shape it’s in or else she probably wouldn’t want it either. The latch is unhinged, so I push up the lid to make sure nothing has been left inside. Good thing I did, because it’s filled to the brim with what looks like old costumes. Long skirts, white peasant blouses, vests, and shawls. Even clunky black shoes in various sizes.
Wait, a shawl! I pull it out and keep turning it until I find the initials ER sewn into the corner. This is it! The last item on the list! I’m done! I can’t believe it! Now I can give Angelina all this stuff and be free and clear of her. Debt all paid off with three weeks to spare! I have enough money left to buy David a really nice gift, too.
I put the shawl aside and dig through the rest quickly. I wonder if Aunt Bethany knew all this stuff was even in here. Or if it would have made any difference. I dig through the clothes until I get to the bottom, which appears to be lined with old papers. I reach in and grab a few. They’re pages of a play. I push the clothes aside until I can get all the pages, along with a thin, stapled playbill. The cover of the booklet is torn and wrinkled, but still I can still read it.
THE WILLOW FALLS
COMMUNITY PLAYERS PRESENT:
FIDDLER ON THE ROOF
Friday, July 13, 4 pm
Tickets on sale now at the Community Playhouse Box Office
Come see this once-in-a-lifetime performance!
My middle school put on the same play last year, and everyone had to see it or it counted against your grade. I remember sleeping through the dialogue and waking up for the songs. It’s weird enough that the play was performed in Willow Falls on my birthday, but the weirdest thing is that the woman on the cover, in the white peasant blouse and long skirt, is Emily.
Chapter Nineteen