by Karen Kane
“To forgive Toni perhaps?” Grandpa Sol suggested.
“Don’t push it,” Aggie signed. “But you never know. People can change. Even me.”
Grandpa engulfed tiny Aggie in a big hug.
Pah! Frog wrote.
Pah? Charlie asked. What’s that mean?
Pah! It means we did it!
Frog placed both index fingers near the sides of her chin, palms facing inward. Then she turned her hands forward and up as her lips popped open. “We did it. Pah!”
Charlie made the sign for himself. “Pah!”
We solved a murder mystery! Frog wrote.
But without the murder part, Charlie added.
For a moment Frog looked disappointed. Then she wrote: Murder mysteries without the murder are probably the best kind of murder mysteries.
But you can still put it on your résumé, Charlie told her.
I will! Frog wrote. It’s my first real investigation!
“That,” Charlie signed. That is exactly right.
Charlie told himself it was a good thing that Aggie was fine and D.J.’s secret had been protected. So why did Charlie feel sad now that the murder-mystery-without-the-murder was over?
He looked around at the Castle family and Aggie and Chief Paley, all signing and laughing and arguing and caring about each other.
And he knew why he felt sad.
Charlie asked Millie for a turn wearing D. J. McKinnon’s hidden treasure. He carefully wound the soft scarf around his neck, closed his eyes, and took a few deep breaths. The sounds of sign language surrounded him. The scarf smelled of lemon and lavender.
Charlie thought about the power that was inside of him. Then he stopped thinking and just felt—he felt that power deep within.
He needed that power now to ask for what he wanted.
Charlie asked to speak to Grandpa Sol in private.
Chief Paley rode the gondola with Charlie back to the village, and then walked him back to his grandparents’ house. To Charlie’s surprise, his grandparents were waiting for him. The television was turned off. Cards were laid out on the kitchen table, ready to be played.
“You’re back!” Grandma Tickler said. “Finally! We said, ‘Where did Charlie go?’ And then I said, ‘We should know where Charlie went.’ Didn’t I say that, Irving?”
“Ayuh,” Grandpa Tickler said.
“I guess Herman couldn’t fix the antenna,” Charlie said.
“He fixed it all right,” Grandma Tickler said, “and he fell off the roof, too. Twice! Good thing we had that harness on him.”
“If he fixed it, then why aren’t you watching TV?” Charlie asked.
“We wanted to play cards,” Grandma Tickler said, “with you! We missed you, Charlie! Didn’t we miss him, Irving?”
“You did?” Charlie said. “Really?”
“Ayuh,” Grandpa Tickler said.
“Aw, Charlie!” Chief Paley thumped Charlie on the back—hard. “Do you want to know how to say that in sign language?” Chief Paley touched the tip of her index finger to the middle of her chin, and then pointed at Charlie. “Missed you.”
And Charlie, as always, copied the sign so he would not forget it.
Yvette gave a satisfied nod.
“Is that Kings Corners?” Chief Paley asked. “I love Kings Corners! My grandma always played with me!” The chief extended her hand to Grandma Tickler. “Chief of Police Augusta Paley. How do you do?”
“Chief Paley?” Grandma Tickler said. “We had Herman drive us to the police station, but it was closed. We were worried about Aggie Penderwick!”
“I apologize for the inconvenience, ma’am,” Chief Paley said. “As for Aggie Penderwick, Charlie and Frog helped her. If you let me join your game, I’ll tell you what I know.”
Yvette and Chief Paley both sat down. Charlie dealt everyone a hand of cards.
“Only five cards?” Chief Paley asked. “I thought you’re supposed to deal seven.”
“Aren’t the rules confusing?” Grandma Tickler said. “It’s a good thing we have Charlie around. He knows all the rules.”
As they played Kings Corners, the chief told the story of Aggie. Chief Paley spoke of libraries and books and knitting. She told of a secret treasure that was supposed to stay a secret. She spun a tale of a woman trying to right her wrongdoing, and protect the treasure. Even Charlie was riveted.
“Charlie and Frog,” Chief Paley concluded, “followed Vince Vinelli’s motto.”
“Good people do good things!” Grandma Tickler said. “Chief Paley, did you know we taught Charlie everything he knows about self-defense? Irving, get up. Let’s show her!”
“Here we go,” Yvette said, as Grandma and Grandpa Tickler got out of their chairs.
They faced each other and bowed. Grandpa Tickler threw a wobbly round punch. It was a slow enough punch that Grandma Tickler had time to block it with her forearm, even though she was moving at the speed of mud. Grandpa Tickler sliced air with a steady vengeance. Grandma Tickler waited for him to finish, then she flicked a few tiny kicks in his vicinity.
Charlie’s crime-fighting grandparents were back.
Chief Paley fist-bumped Grandma and Grandpa Tickler. Then they resumed playing cards. Grandma Tickler won the round and gloated.
For the next game Charlie dealt seven cards to each player. “If you stop playing and then start again,” Charlie explained, “it’s always seven cards next time.”
“That’s right,” Yvette agreed as they started to play.
When it was his turn, Charlie played the king of hearts. He placed it in an empty corner.
“Cards are so much fun,” Grandma Tickler said. “Charlie has the best ideas. We should listen to him more often, shouldn’t we, Irving?”
Grandpa Tickler did not respond.
“Irving! It’s your turn!”
But Grandpa Tickler was staring at the card Charlie had just played. He touched it with his finger.
“Irving?”
Grandpa Tickler lifted his gaze and looked at Charlie. He cleared his throat.
“Hearts,” Grandpa Tickler said softly, to Charlie’s surprise. “We can listen with our hearts.”
Someone had heard Charlie after all.
“Ayuh,” Charlie said.
Eleven days later Charlie helped his parents bring in their luggage from Herman’s taxi.
“We want Charlie to stay with us,” Grandma Tickler said as soon as Charlie’s parents walked in the house. “Charlie taught us the most marvelous card game—Kings Corners!”
“If you like Kings Corners, Grandma,” Charlie said, “then you’re going to love a new game I just learned. It’s called Spite and Malice.”
“Ooooh,” Grandma Tickler said. “I like the sound of that!”
Yvette winked as Charlie’s parents turned to him in surprise.
“You bonded!” Mrs. Tickler said. “Well done, Charlie! We didn’t think you would!”
“Bonding is so important,” Mr. Tickler said. “We learned that with Mugwump. Now, Charlie, about that hundred-dollar bill and my change—?”
Charlie put down the last suitcase and turned to his father.
“Dad, did you know I’m an endangered animal?” Charlie asked. “Just like Mugwump. Because there’s only one of me in the entire world.”
“Ayuh,” Grandpa Tickler said.
Charlie’s parents thought about this.
It was a new thought.
One that had never occurred to them.
• • •
That first night back, as Charlie’s parents were getting ready for bed, Charlie stopped them.
“You can’t go to bed yet,” Charlie said. “First you have to tuck me in.”
Tucking in was a new concept for Charlie’s parents. They had no idea how to do it. Charlie was going to have to teach them.
Charlie showed them how to check the closet and under the bed to make sure he was safe. Bring him a glass of water. Ask him if he had brushed his teeth.
> “But you always brush your teeth,” Mrs. Tickler said.
“You still have to ask me,” Charlie said. “Then you pull up my blanket and kiss me good night. You tell me I must go to sleep, but I’ll be taking out a flashlight and reading anyway.”
“Pull up blanket, kiss, tell him go to sleep, will ignore parents and read regardless.” Mr. Tickler wrote down Charlie’s instructions so they wouldn’t forget. “Is that everything?”
No, it wasn’t everything.
As his parents prepared to leave his bedroom, Charlie said, “Wait.”
He still couldn’t tell his parents the last thing he wanted. But he could show them in sign. Charlie held up his hand with his two middle fingers folded, and his thumb, forefinger, and pinky extended. The sign Mrs. Castle had used when she had tucked him in.
“I remember using that sign as a child,” Mr. Tickler said. “But I seem to have forgotten what it means.”
Charlie paced on the front porch, waiting. And worrying.
Yvette poked her head out the window. “Quit your worrying! Everything is going to be fine!”
Charlie stopped pacing. “Really, Yvette? You really think so?”
“Yes, I really think so,” Yvette said. “Eleanor Castle—Frog’s mother? She is one fierce woman. She’ll make it happen.”
Charlie crossed his fingers.
“I told Irma and Irving you can ride the gondola back and forth every day and still be with them,” Yvette said. “And I made sure Alistair and Myra know it’s cheaper than that boarding school. Now I have to go check on my cake. We’re going to need it to celebrate—you’ll see!”
Charlie continued to pace, waiting for Mr. Simple to bring the most important letter of all.
But it wasn’t Mr. Simple who walked up the street.
It was Frog. She climbed the porch steps and handed Charlie the letter he had been waiting for.
Charlie tried to read her face, but Frog, for the first time since Charlie had known her, was expressionless.
They sat down side by side on the top step. Charlie glanced over his shoulder. Yvette was watching through the window, wringing a kitchen towel.
Charlie opened the envelope. Frog leaned closer to Charlie.
Grandpa Sol had written Charlie a one-word answer.
Yes.
Yes, Charlie would be allowed to attend Castle School for the Deaf.
“Wow,” Charlie signed.
Frog jumped up and twirled around, her long sapphire necklace swinging with her.
Charlie stared at the letter, not believing it was true.
But it was true.
Yvette opened the window. “Told you so! We’re going to celebrate tonight!” She slammed the window shut.
Frog plopped down next to Charlie and opened her notebook. Mom told Grandpa Sol you have to come to our school. Even though you are hearing and not a Castle.
“Why?” Charlie signed. “Why me?”
Because, Frog told Charlie, Mom said you need us.
Charlie felt his eyes fill up. He tried to keep them wide open. But, of course, that doesn’t always work. He tried to wipe his eyes without Frog noticing.
Frog continued writing as if she hadn’t noticed, even though Charlie knew she had.
Mom can tutor you in ASL, and Dad can tutor you in your other subjects until you learn enough ASL to understand the teachers. Now you HAVE to practice!
Charlie gave a final wipe of his eyes with the back of his hand.
“I will!” Charlie signed. But, he wrote, you have to be patient! Like you are with Miss Tweedy.
I’M ALWAYS PATIENT!!!
Charlie gave Frog his best Frog look.
“What?!”
Charlie tried to raise one eyebrow. He couldn’t, so he narrowed his eyes instead.
Frog sighed dramatically. OKAY! I’ll try to be more patient.
You better! Charlie told her.
Frog looked at Charlie for a long moment. I have to be patient, she finally wrote, because you and I are…
Frog paused.
“What?” Charlie asked.
Frog hooked one index finger on top of the other one. Then she switched, and hooked the bottom index finger on top.
FRIENDS.
Charlie grinned—a grin so big his face hurt. That was one sign he wouldn’t forget.
“Friends,” Charlie signed.
Frog nodded. “That.”
Thank you to Jennifer Carlson, my agent and fellow Trixie Belden fan. I am lucky to have you!
Thank you to Tracey Keevan for your insightful editing. I learned so much working with you. Thank you to the entire team at Disney Hyperion.
Thank you to Vermont College of Fine Arts, a magical place of learning and kindness. Jane Kurtz was my first advisor at VCFA. I began writing Charlie & Frog with Amy Sarig King, continued writing it with Tom Birdseye, and finished a draft with Tim Wynne-Jones. I took transformative workshops with Amanda Jenkins and Martine Leavitt. Thank you my dearest advisors, for helping me grow as a writer, and for helping me shape this story.
Thank you to my VCFA classmates, the Inkredibles. I am grateful to be part of our class.
Thank you to the interpreters I work with in Washington, DC, and at Gallaudet University. You are a remarkable group of people who help me think deeply about “the work.” A special thank-you to Kyle Duarte for the final copyedit reading.
Thank you to Derrick Behm, Joshua Josa, Bridgette Keefe-Hodgson, Jackie Lightfoot, Glenn Lockhart, and Diana Sea Markel. You six people were incredibly gracious to read Charlie & Frog and give me feedback, especially on the Deaf perspective. Your input was essential.
Thank you to Janis Cole, Allen Markel, Stephanie A. Sforza, and Steve Walker for suggestions regarding my ASL sign descriptions. Any errors are my own.
Thank you to Bill Gibson, from the District of Columbia Public Library, for answering my questions about the Dewey decimal system.
Thank you to my superfans—Glenn, Chris, Natalie, Patrick, and Shane Hulse. Every writer should have a Hulse and a Cape May front porch in her life. Thank you for being family.
Thank you to my heart-listeners: Karen Levy Newnam, Linda Johnson, Karen Schachter, Heidi Bachman, Andrea Pokorny, Ann Ewell, Lucille Mulich, Dolly Thomas, Monica Mulich, Kris Jaeckle, Diana O’Toole, Amy King Martellock, Ellen Petterson, Mary Ann Warner, Lynne Riedesel, Gwen Rubinstein, Selma Patillo-Simms, Liz Stone, Susan Botkin, K. J. Hagen, Beth Steinberg, and Betty Colonomos, founder of the life-changing Etna Project.
Thank you to the Schiefen, Ackroyd, More, Flick, Della Pesca, Newnam, and Levy families—for your love and support.
Thank you to my VCFA “best roommate ever!” Beth Bacon. Thank you for reading this manuscript—the second time in the eleventh hour, giving me invaluable feedback both times. I am so grateful we experienced VCFA together.
Thank you to Helen Kemp Zax, for the amazing amount of time you gave this manuscript. Charlie & Frog benefited hugely from your input. I benefit hugely from your love and friendship.
Thank you to my mom, Louise Shults, for your creativity, for loving me, and being so proud of me. Paul, thank you for loving my mom.
Thank you to my dad, Billy More, Joe Cool jazz pianist, for the love you gave Kevin and me. I miss you so much.
Thank you to my daughters, Hayley and Isa. You both have been wonderful inspirations for my writing. Eugene, welcome to the family!
Thank you to my husband, David. I pushed you out of the way to get to the jelly doughnuts—and you still married me. You are a heart-listener extraordinaire. There is no one I admire more than you.
Finally, my everlasting gratitude goes to the Deaf community. Thank you for your resiliency, your determination, your beauty, your humor, your language, and your heart. Frog was easy to write because of you.
That.
KAREN KANE’s path to Charlie & Frog led her from a small village near Rochester, New York, to the bustle of Washington, DC. The people she met along the way inspired her writing wit
h their warmth and humor, especially those in the Deaf community. Karen graduated from the National Technical Institute for the Deaf and received her MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults from Vermont College of Fine Arts. When she’s not writing, Karen spends her days as a sign language interpreter at Gallaudet University or lost in the stacks of her local library. Charlie & Frog is her first novel. Visit her at karenkanebooks.com.
