Welcome Back, Stacey

by Ann M. Martin

  “Good-bye, Mommy! Good-bye, Daddy!” called Henry cheerfully.

  “ ’Bye, Henry,” said the Walkers as they headed for their front door. “ ’Bye, Grace,” they added.

  “ ’Bye,” said Grace in a small voice. She was sniffling.

  As much as Grace likes me, she never likes for her parents to leave. She usually cries.

  Friday night was no exception.

  I picked Grace up and whispered, “Blow a kiss to your mom and dad. Then they’ll blow kisses to you in bed when they come home.”

  “While I’m asleep?” asked Grace, her voice wobbling.

  I nodded.

  Grace blew noisy kisses after her parents as they closed the door behind them.

  “Well,” I said, setting Grace down as she dried her tears, “I better start getting supper ready.” I was going to be baby-sitting at the Walkers for a long time that evening. Mr. Walker’s show was opening, and it was a big event.

  “Is it hot-dog night?” asked Henry excitedly. (He knows that his mother leaves only hot dogs or hamburgers for me to prepare if I have to give the kids dinner when I baby-sit.)

  “It certainly is,” I replied.

  “Oh, boy!” Henry began to jump up and down. (Grace imitated him.) “What a great night!” Henry went on. “Hot dogs for supper, a special cartoon show on TV, and Mommy bought us new pastels today.”

  That does make for an exciting evening, when you’re five.

  “Okay,” I said, “who’s hungry?”

  “I am! I am!” said Henry.

  “I am! I am!” said Grace.

  “Good. Let’s see. While I fix the hot dogs, you guys can have a table-setting race. I’ll time you and tell you how long it takes to set the table.” (Just so you know, you can only have a table-setting race when you’re using paper plates and cups, and plastic forks and spoons, which is what the Walkers always leave out when a baby-sitter is going to feed the kids. That way, you don’t have to worry about breaking anything.)

  Grace grabbed some napkins.

  Henry grabbed three paper plates.

  “Take your marks, get set … GO!” I shouted.

  Henry and Grace scurried back and forth between the counter and the table, working frantically, while I turned the hot dogs in the skillet and got milk and applesauce from the refrigerator.

  “We’re done! We’re done!” Grace shrieked suddenly.

  I checked my watch. “What do you know?” I said. “You guys just broke your table-setting record! You beat it by three seconds.”

  “We did?! Oh, boy!” cried Henry.

  “Good timing,” I added, “because supper is just about ready.”

  I served up the hot dogs and applesauce (not my idea of a great meal, but it was easy to fix) and we sat down to eat.

  “Do we have any toothpicks?” asked Henry, as he was about to bite into his hot dog.

  “I think so,” I replied. “Why?”

  “You’ll see. I can make something.” Henry set his hot dog back on his plate and took it out of its bun.

  I got up, found a box of toothpicks, and handed it to Henry. Very carefully, he broke several of the toothpicks in half. Then he chopped one end off of his hot dog, stuck four half-toothpicks in the long part, attached the little piece with another half-toothpick, and announced, “Look! I made my hot dog into a dachshund!”

  “Hey, that’s great!” I exclaimed.

  Well, of course, Grace had to turn her hot dog into a dachshund, too, before she could eat it, so supper took a little longer than usual that night. By the time we’d finished, the cartoon show was about to begin.

  Henry and Grace settled themselves at a table in front of the TV with a stack of drawing paper and their new pastels. One thing I love about the Walker kids — they almost never just park themselves in front of the TV and stare at it. When they turn it on, they work on a project at the same time.

  So the kids colored while I cleaned up the kitchen. When their show was over, Grace said, “Could you please read to us, Stacey?”

  “Sure,” I replied. “What do you want to hear?”

  Henry and Grace have a huge collection of books. That’s because Mr. and Mrs. Walker like to read, and also because Mrs. Walker knows a lot about children’s books since she illustrates them.

  “We want to hear … The Snowy Day,” said Grace.

  “And The Owl and the Pussycat,” added Henry.

  “Great,” I replied. “Pajamas first. And brush your teeth. Then I’ll read to you in Grace’s room, since she’ll be going to bed first.”

  When the kids were ready, we settled ourselves on Grace’s bed in a row. I read The Snowy Day first and Henry said he wished New York would get more snow. Grace said she wished the snow would stay white. (In New York, the snow turns slushy gray and brown almost as soon as it falls.)

  Then we read The Owl and the Pussycat and Grace tried to recite the poem along with me, but she kept getting the words wrong. She called the runcible spoon a “crunchable spoon,” and five-pound note a “five-pound goat.” She made Henry giggle.

  When the stories were finished, Henry and I said good night to Grace, and she snuggled under her covers. Then she raised her arms for a hug.

  “Good night, Grace,” I said softly as Henry and I left the room.

  I closed her door, taking a long look at her walls as I did so. They were covered with her drawings and paintings.

  Then I walked Henry to his room and we read one more book together, Angus and the Ducks, before Henry went to bed, too. And as I left Henry’s room, I also took a long look at his walls. I felt almost as if I might not see those walls again.

  Why did I feel that way?

  With Grace and Henry safely in bed, I sat down in the Walkers’ living room. My schoolbooks were in a stack on the coffee table. I flipped through them. I had a ton of homework to catch up on, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.

  I closed the books and leaned back against the couch to think. The first things that came to my mind were Judy’s words from the day before. “Crying shame,” she’d said about the divorce. What had she meant? If she were being sarcastic, maybe she’d had a right. After all, she had no family, no job, not even a home. My parents were getting a divorce; that was all. It sort of put things in perspective. I was not nearly in such bad shape as Judy was.

  Still, I did have problems. Soon I was going to have to make some big decisions. If Mom left New York, could I really go with her? Could I leave New York again? How could I leave behind everything I love? I’d have to leave Laine, Grace, Henry, and the city itself — and I truly New York. Every time I have to leave it, I have a hard time. Moving to Stoneybrook had been difficult and I’d been glad to get back. Even going to Camp Mohawk for two weeks had been hard. I’d been glad to get back then, too.

  On the other hand, I had more friends in Stoneybrook than I did in New York. In New York I hung around with Laine and her friends at school, but Laine’s friends really were her friends. Much more hers than mine. I always felt on the edges of things with Laine’s crowd. In Stoneybrook, I was one of the coolest kids around, but not in New York. In New York, I had a lot of competition for the Queen of Cool. And I would never win the crown.

  I knew that I was heading for a bad time in my life, a time when I’d have to adjust to a lot of things. Would that adjustment be easier in a nice safe place like Stoneybrook, where I was surrounded by good friends? Probably.

  On the other hand, how could I leave New York for a second time? How could I leave Bloomingdale’s and Broadway and shopping and the Last Wound-Up and great movie theaters and even greater restaurants, like the Hard Rock Cafe? Would I be bored silly in Stoneybrook, with only Washington Mall for entertainment? Maybe.

  But I was missing two big pieces to the puzzle. If I went to Stoneybrook, I would have to leave my dad. How could I do that? If I stayed in New York, I would have to leave my mom. How could I do that? I might be mad at them now, but I still loved them. A lot.

/>   Furthermore, I bet Dad would be hurt if I chose to live with Mom, and I bet Mom would be hurt if I chose to live with Dad. They’d said the decision was up to me, which was nice, but someone — Mom or Dad — was going to get hurt. And I was going to be the cause of the pain.

  Maybe I could arrange to live with one parent during the school week when we wouldn’t see each other much anyway, and the other parent all the rest of the time. That would work if Mom didn’t move too far away. But what if she moved to Maine or someplace?

  It was too much to think about.

  I guess that was why Dawn had recommended taking one step at a time.

  However, I wouldn’t have any problems at all if my parents were not getting a divorce. Now that was something to think about.

  Maybe, just maybe, I could do what that so-called marriage counselor hadn’t been able to do. Maybe I could get my parents to quit thinking about a divorce and make them remember “till death do us part.”

  It was certainly worth a try.

  All I needed were a few good ideas and a little romance.

  I took a piece of paper out of my notebook and began scribbling away — not at homework, but at a list of ideas. By the time the Walkers came home, I had filled up nearly a page. I could hardly wait to try my ideas!

  I was sure I could get my parents together again. They probably just needed encouragement from someone who knew them. And who was the “marriage” counselor? A stranger, that’s who.

  But I was Stacey McGill, their daughter.

  And if anyone could fix things up for them, I could.

  That next week was a busy one.

  On Saturday afternoon, while my parents were seeing their lawyers, I went to a theater and bought three tickets (with baby-sitting money) to a movie I knew we all wanted to see. My plan was to wait until almost the last minute to give Mom and Dad the tickets, to ensure that we wouldn’t be able to find three seats in a row once we got to the theater. Then I’d insist that my parents sit together while I found a single seat.

  But when I gave them the tickets, Dad said, “Stacey, what a nice surprise, but I plan to spend the evening combing the paper for apartment ads. Why don’t you and your mom take Laine instead?”

  So we did, and anyway we found three seats together.

  * * *

  On Sunday, I suggested a carriage ride through Central Park. This was particularly meaningful, since years ago Dad had proposed to Mom in one of those carriages. My new plan was to wait until my parents had already climbed into the carriage, and then say, “Uh-oh! I forgot to give myself my insulin. You guys go on without me.”

  But we never even made it to Central Park. Mom liked the idea, but this time she was busy reading the real estate section of the paper and didn’t want to leave the apartment.

  * * *

  On Monday when I got home from school I was delighted to find Mom out for the afternoon. Time for plan number three. I put our card table in the middle of the living room, covered it with a white tablecloth, set it for a romantic dinner for two, and cooked up a meal of chicken and vegetables. I even made two ice-cream parfaits for dessert. When my parents came home, I would tell them that I’d been invited to Laine’s for dinner, and leave them to the romance. But Dad didn’t come home. He phoned to say that he was going to spend the evening apartment-hunting and then sleep at his office. (He does that sometimes. There’s a couch in his office and he keeps a clean suit hanging behind the door.)

  So Mom and I ate the dinner (but I saved the second parfait for Dad).

  * * *

  On Tuesday I was out of ideas. Ditto on Wednesday.

  * * *

  But by Thursday I was rolling again. I slipped each of my parents a note written on the official paper of my school, saying that I was behind in my work and that my guidance counselor wanted to meet them for dinner at the Silver Spur, a restaurant in our neighborhood. Unfortunately, Mom and Dad both smelled a trick and called the guidance counselor. Why did they have to be so smart? If they’d just followed directions, they would have had a nice, romantic dinner together and called off the divorce. Instead, I got in trouble with Mom, Dad, and my counselor, and was also given three weeks in which to catch up on my homework. I guessed the special treatment was over.

  So much for romance.

  * * *

  On Saturday morning, Mom unexpectedly announced, “Stacey, I’m going to drive up to Stoneybrook today to house-hunt.” Then she added, “Why don’t you come with me?”

  I thought and thought. I didn’t really want to leave the city, and Laine had said something about going to a play that night. On the other hand, I wanted to see Claud and the other members of the BSC. And if Mom was going to buy a house in Stoneybrook, I wanted to have some say in her choice. I didn’t want to end up with, like, some dinky, falling-apart, olive-green house in a teeny yard with no grass.

  “Okay,” I said nonchalantly to Mom. “I’ll go with you.”

  I barely had time to phone Laine and tell her I wouldn’t be able to go to the play. Mom was waiting for me, holding the door to the apartment open as I hung up, so I couldn’t even call Claudia. Oh, well. I would just surprise her.

  And, boy, did I surprise her! As we were driving to Stoneybrook, Mom said, “Honey? Would you like to invite Claudia to house-hunt with us?”

  “Sure!” I cried. “Oh, she’ll die of excitement!”

  “Well, don’t let her,” said Mom with a smile. “And remind her that we’re not sure we’ll be moving here. We’re just checking out the real estate. I’ve heard it’s a buyer’s market, but I want to see for myself.”

  I didn’t know what a buyer’s market was and I didn’t care. I was too busy imagining pulling into the Kishis’ driveway, running up their front walk, ringing the bell, and giving Claudia a heart attack when she answered it. It never occurred to me that the Kishis might not be at home, or that Janine or Mr. or Mrs. Kishi might answer the door.

  And it didn’t matter, because things went just as I’d imagined. We arrived in Stoneybrook, Mom stopped to buy a paper and to call a real estate agent, agreed on a place to meet the agent, and then we pulled into the Kishis’ driveway. I ran up their walk, rang the bell, Claud answered the door, and for a second, I thought she really was going to have a heart attack.

  At last she managed to gasp out, “Stacey?”

  I giggled. “Yup. It’s me.”

  Claud threw the storm door open and we hugged and hugged.

  “What are you doing here? How come you didn’t call first?” asked Claud.

  “It was spur of the moment,” I replied. “Mom didn’t give me a chance. She was in such a hurry to get here and start house-hunting. We’re supposed to meet an agent in fifteen minutes. Want to come look at houses with us?”

  “Are you kidding? Of course I do!”

  Claud had to find her father, though, explain what was going on, and show him that my mom really was parked in the driveway. Then she jumped into the backseat with me.

  “So you’re actually moving back to Stoneybrook?” she cried. “This is awesome. Totally awesome!”

  Mom smiled. “It isn’t definite yet, Claudia.” She pulled into the street and turned right. “But it’s certainly my first choice for a place to live.”

  Claud looked at me with raised eyebrows, meaning, “And you? This is your first choice, too, isn’t it?”

  But I just shook my head at her. We could discuss that some other time — when Mom wasn’t in earshot.

  “Okay,” said my mother, “we’re supposed to meet this agent — her name is Ms. Keller — at Forty-two twenty-one Rosedale.”

  “Oh, I know where Rosedale is, Mrs. McGill,” said Claudia, and she directed us there.

  We found the address without any trouble, and also found Ms. Keller waiting in the driveway.

  Mom and Ms. Keller shook hands, and Mom began explaining why we were moving and what she was looking for in a house, while Claud and I gazed suspiciously at 4221 Rosedale. It was not my
olive-green nightmare house, but it wasn’t any dream house, either.

  “It’s kind of small,” said Claudia tactfully. (The place was the size of a bird feeder.)

  “There aren’t any trees in the yard, either,” I pointed out. There was grass, though, so it wasn’t a total loss.

  Just then we heard Ms. Keller say brightly to Mom, “Well, let’s take a look inside, shall we?”

  The four of us picked our way up the crumbling walk to the front door. I pulled Mom aside and whispered, “Can’t we afford something nicer?”

  Mom’s cryptic answer was, “We’re on a tight budget.”

  Tight budget or not, nobody liked the inside of 4221 Rosedale any better than the outside. Even Ms. Keller. I could tell. Faucets dripped, the kitchen looked like it would have to be sandblasted before it could even be cleaned, and three of the rooms were painted purple, ceilings and all.

  Mom gave Ms. Keller a tiny smile. “What else do you have in our price range?” she asked.

  “A little house on Burnt Hill Road,” Ms. Keller replied.

  “Burnt Hill Road. That’s where Dawn lives!” Claudia cried.

  We got back in our car and followed Ms. Keller to the second house. It wasn’t near Dawn’s, and it wasn’t as nice, either. The front porch was going to need replacing, the roof needed reshingling, and the house was pink. We’d have to repaint it.

  “I wish we could move back to our old house,” I said wistfully, “but Jessi’s in it.”

  “Anyway, it’s out of our price range,” whispered Mom.

  The next house Ms. Keller showed us wasn’t bad at all — but it was next door to an olive-green, grassless nightmare house. Littering the bare yard were two broken-down cars, a refrigerator with no door, three rusty bicycles, and a lot of tools I couldn’t identify.

  Claudia pulled me aside. “That place gets worse at Christmastime,” she told me conspiratorially. “The owners outline the entire house — windows, doors, everything — with colored lights. They put a mechanical Santa on the chimney, and all day and all night he waves one arm back and forth and goes, ‘Ho-ho-ho. Ho-ho-ho.’ They set wooden carolers in the yard and elves on the front steps, and they shine a spotlight onto the roof where they put a Rudolph with a blinking red nose.”