The four of us piled into the car and took off for the airport.
Dad hummed under his breath as he drove. And we were a whole half hour early. With Dad still humming, he headed for the gate area where Mom would be arriving.
Suddenly Dad said, “You girls wait right here.”
He sprinted away. A business call he’d forgotten to make? I wondered. But he’d left his briefcase.
The puzzle was solved a few minutes later when Dad came sprinting back, carrying a bouquet of red roses. He must have gotten them at one of the airport flower stands.
They weren’t as pretty as Tiffany’s flowers, I thought. But I knew my mom would think they were beautiful.
I was right. Mom walked into the waiting area and stopped, looking around. For a moment, I could see her as a person and not only our mom. For a moment, I saw how confident she could look, how smart and together.
Then she saw us and smiled and we all rushed forward to hug each other.
“It was wonderful, it was wonderful,” Mom kept saying. “But it’s so good to be home!”
She saw the roses then, and was suddenly quiet. “For me?” she said at last.
My father made an embarrassed gesture. “They’re just, you know, from the flower stand.”
“They’re perfect,” said my mom and she flung her arms around Dad.
“Shannon!” Greer came running toward me. Her week in Paris hadn’t changed her much, except she was wearing a beret at an impossible angle on the side of her head, and a little more makeup than usual.
“Bonjour!” I cried, hugging her. “How was it?”
“Incredible! Fantastique. We’ve decided the French class is going again next year, and this time, you’re coming, too!”
Polly burst in, “And guess what — we each bought you the most outrageous, silliest souvenir we could think of. Mine’s a wind-up Eiffel Tower that plays the French National Anthem, and it hops! You’ve got to see it. It’s in my luggage.”
“You didn’t forget my French chocolates, did you?” I asked in mock horror.
“Of course not. Although the food on the plane was so awful —”
I grinned. I’d hear all about it tomorrow. But for right now, it was good to see my friends again, and to hear them talk.
I turned back to my family. My father was grinning and my mother was wearing a grin to match. Both Tiffany and Maria were looking surprised. And a little dazed.
“So,” my father said. “What do you think? I’ve rescheduled my trip and I’ll leave in a couple of days. I want to go home and be part of your …”
I made a face at Dad. He was about to give away Mom’s homecoming surprise party.
But he caught himself at the last minute. “… a part of your homecoming,” he concluded.
“That’s great, Dad,” I said.
Together we all walked out of the airport and headed for home.
* * *
If you’d looked through the window of our house that night, you’d have seen a family gathered around a dinner table, beneath homemade decorations, with a vase of roses on the sideboard and a gathering of garden flowers as a centerpiece. You would have seen candles lit in silver holders and a lopsided chicken being carved into lopsided pieces and served around the table. You wouldn’t have been able to tell that the carrots were a little mushy, or that the potatoes were sort of salty.
You would have thought we were the perfect family.
And you would have been wrong.
Dad and Mom were formal at first, after that early excitement of seeing each other and realizing (I think) that they’d missed each other. They were awkward and careful, as if they’d been hurt and didn’t want to take that chance again. But the old tension that had made other family dinners so difficult was hardly there at all. Both of them were trying very hard.
And Mom still said things that drove me crazy, such as, “Shanny, you really don’t need to wear so much makeup, you know.”
To which I answered, “Okay, Mom.”
It wasn’t the greatest answer in the world, and it didn’t solve any problems. But at least it didn’t start a new one.
Maria jumped up and got the cake. She cut everybody big, ragged pieces and Tiffany and I scooped out ice cream and placed it strategically to hide the worse places in the cake.
It tasted pretty good.
Mom said it was the best cake she’d ever had.
* * *
Summer was getting properly started now. BSC business was slow, but I still had enough work to keep me in mall money. Maria was spending a good bit of time keeping in shape for swimming — and talking about her new interest: the Iron Man Triathalon. Tiffany was putting new plants into her garden and looking satisfied and keeping us supplied with flowers and new lettuce.
Dad had left on his trip and sent back a postcard, which we’d stuck on the refrigerator along with the card from Paris that Mom had sent us (it arrived the day after she did).
And one morning, as I was sitting at the kitchen table, not doing much of anything at all, Mom sat down by me with her cup of coffee.
“You really did do a good job, honey,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“I was sorry you didn’t go on the trip, but maybe this time apart has been good for both of us,” Mom went on.
“I think so,” I said cautiously.
Mom laced her fingers around her coffee cup and took a sip. “I guess we’ve needed to talk for a long time.”
“I guess so,” I said.
Looking up, Mom smiled a little. “We used to be close. How did things change so much? When?”
“I think,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “it was when I began growing up…. Mom, it’s not that I don’t love you. I do. But you’re just too involved in all our lives, especially mine. I mean, I still need you to be my mother, but I am growing up and I … I have my own life. Separate.”
“I see,” said Mom.
“So what I was thinking,” I rushed on, “was maybe if you had a job, you wouldn’t need to be involved in our lives so much.” Get a life, Mom. That’s what I was saying. Only I didn’t mean it in the harsh way that sounded.
To my amazement, Mom said, “You’re right.”
She went on, “While I was in Paris, I got to know the other chaperones a bit. Two of them have jobs outside their houses. They were a lot of fun to get to know — competent, involved. It made me remember when I used to be like that. I don’t know when it happened, but somehow, I lost that. I’d like to get it back. Get me back.”
“Wow. That’s great, Mom.” I paused, then added, “Some trip, huh?”
“Some trip,” Mom agreed.
The phone rang and Mom reached over to pick it up. “Oh, hi! My daughter Shannon and I were just talking about you. I told her about meeting you and how you inspired me to start on my next career…. Well, no, not yet…. Lunch? This Friday? And you’ll help me to … oh, that’s great….”
I smiled and slipped out of the kitchen. We’d both made a trip of sorts. Away from each other in some ways. Back toward each other in new ways.
Maybe our family could become a real family again.
Who knew?
In a way, the trip was only just beginning.
The author gratefully acknowledges
Nola Thacker
for her help in
preparing this manuscript.
About the Author
ANN M. MARTIN is the acclaimed and bestselling author of a number of novels and series, including Belle Teal, A Corner of the Universe (a Newbery Honor book), A Dog’s Life, Here Today, P.S. Longer Letter Later (written with Paula Danziger), the Family Tree series, the Doll People series (written with Laura Godwin), the Main Street series, and the generation-defining series The Baby-sitters Club. She lives in New York.
Copyright © 1994 by Ann M. Martin
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, THE BABY-SITTERS CLUB, and associated logos
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All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First edition, 1994
e-ISBN 978-1-338-09343-8
Shannon's Story Page 9
