It was a relief when Mom announced at dinner, “The bedrooms are finished. Tomorrow afternoon I’ll take over a load of everything that’s packed.”
“How many days’ worth of underwear do I have to keep here?” I asked. “Are we going to actually be moved in by Saturday? In spite of Jodie’s recital?” I was wondering if I could smuggle a paperback book in and read instead of watching all the twirling of pastel flowers and fairies on the stage. Jodie was going to be a tulip. Pink, of course.
“I think so. The recital’s only about an hour. Jeff, I notice you still have a pile of music to pack up, so you’d better get at that. The piano mover is scheduled to be here Friday afternoon.”
“If the piano goes, so do I,” Jeff said. “Is there any reason why I can’t stay over there Friday night?”
Nobody told me how much underwear to save out. Instead, they were talking about all the interesting things everyone else had lined up to do, and how to work out the schedule. I picked at the rest of my dinner and wondered how come nothing thrilling ever happened to me. No Little League games, no dance recitals—though I’d have been petrified if I’d had to get up on the stage and perform, either dancing or playing the piano—no one of the opposite sex watching me with admiration. It seemed as if nobody wanted my input on anything. The only thing I had that was different was my once-a-week allergy shot, and I would just as soon not need that.
I wished something exciting would happen to me.
I should have remembered what Grandma Beth said. “Be careful what you pray for,” she told me once. “You might get it.”
I wasn’t praying for anything special, of course. Just wishing, rather wistfully.
Mom and we kids made most of the arrangements for moving. Dad wasn’t about to be stuck with packing and actually hauling things across town to Lofty Cedars Estates. Those things were up to the rest of us.
• • •
Our house is always crazy in the mornings when everyone’s getting ready to leave for the day. On Thursday morning Wally couldn’t find his shoes. Jodie was banging on the bathroom door demanding that Jeff hurry up. Mom got an emergency call from a patient at the clinic where she worked. I heard her explaining, for the millionth time since she’d worked there, that she didn’t have Mr. Wortman’s chart, and he’d have to call her back after she got to work, and she’d tell Dr. Layton as soon as he came in.
She rolled her eyes as she stuck four more slices of bread in the double-sized toaster, and poured herself a cup of coffee. “I don’t know why they think I can help them from here, when all the pertinent information is in their charts at the office. It’s one of the things I love about a small town. Anybody can get your home phone number. Kaci, you’re not going to wear that to school, are you?”
I glanced down at my old jeans and T-shirt. “Yeah, I intended to. We’re going to be painting posters today. I don’t want to wreck anything good.”
Mom sighed. “All right. Wally, did you look behind that pile of book bags? Maybe your shoes are under there.”
“I did,” Wally said. “I only found one of them.”
“Then keep looking. You’re running out of time.” She raised her voice. “Jodie, stop pounding on that door! And, Jeff, get out of there as soon as you can!”
Dad came in in time to harvest the toast and start buttering it, then opened the refrigerator. “Isn’t there any orange juice?”
“Jeff drank the last of it. You’ll have to mix up some more. I took a can out of the freezer.”
“I don’t have time. I’ll settle for coffee. Kaci, you’re not wearing those ratty-looking jeans to school, are you?”
I explained again about the poster painting, helping myself to jam for a slice of the toast. He sighed, too. When he raised his voice, everybody else shut up. “Jodie, be quiet! Jeff, hurry up!”
Jeff came out at last, letting Jodie into the bathroom. He was halfway through the kitchen when he stopped and looked at me. “Kaci, you’re not going to school like that, are you?”
I blew my bangs off my forehead. “I’m going to be painting posters today,” I said through my teeth. I glared at Wally, who had finally found his second shoe behind Dad’s briefcase beside the front door. “Aren’t you going to bawl me out, too, for wearing these pants?”
“I don’t care what you wear,” Wally said with a sunny smile. “Isn’t there any more juice?”
“I’ll mix it,” I volunteered, because it was the only way I’d get any. Mom was already draining her cup, looking at her watch and moving.
“If anybody gets a chance to pick up another gallon of milk, Shoefelds’ has it on sale today. See you tonight.”
“Mom,” Jodie said quickly before she could leave, “I’m going over to Bethany’s after school, okay?”
Mom frowned. “No. Mrs. Wightman is working. She won’t be home after school. You know the rules, Jodie. No adult at home at her house and you can’t go over there. Call me when you get home, the same as always.”
“But, Mom, we want to work on our costumes for the school play! We won’t do anything we aren’t supposed to!”
“Jodie, you know the rules,” Mom said. “Call me the minute you get home.”
That didn’t keep my sister from sounding stressed as she persisted. “Mom, did you know they’re going to be making a movie out by Boardman Lake for the next couple of weeks? All the stars are going to be there. Even Evan Soldic! You know, from that new TV show? And the public can come to watch, and maybe even be one of the extras. Could somebody take me out there one afternoon? Please, Mom? Me and Bethany. Please!”
“No, Jodie, I can’t take time off work for anything like that,” Mom told her. “Just call as usual after school, all right? I have to run. Bye.”
“Me, too,” Dad said, pushing back his chair. “Get a move on, kids. It doesn’t look good for the children of a school principal to be late. I’ll call when I know when I can get home for supper, okay? Oh, hi, Nancy, go on in. Kaci will be ready in a minute.”
Nancy passed my parents as she came into the kitchen and slumped in the chair Dad had just vacated. “Is anybody going to eat that last slice of toast?”
“Help yourself.” I turned off the blender and poured the juice into a tall glass. “Want some of this?”
“Sure. All we had at our house this morning was grapefruit, and Mom won’t buy the kind that’s sweetened.”
We finished eating and set off for school—the next-to-last time we’d walk together.
• • •
We hauled two vans’ worth of boxes over right after supper on Thursday night. Then, on Friday night, while Wally was helping the Frogs by walloping his first grand-slam home run, I packed up just about everything else I had left. I couldn’t drive it over to the new house, of course, but Nancy came by, and we decided to walk over and put away what we could that had already been delivered.
The piano movers had come and taken Jeff’s precious instrument. He was already over there with them, telling them where to put it, so we didn’t need a key to get in.
It was a nice evening, and people were out working on their lawns or their flowers, and kids were playing in the streets and various yards. There wasn’t much traffic, though, and maybe that’s why we noticed the old black sedan cruising slowly along our new street in Lofty Cedars.
It was out of place. There were cars parked in most of the driveways or on the street in front of the new houses. Almost all of them were late, expensive models, or if they were older ones, they’d been well taken care of. We saw one man polishing up a 1948 Ford (an antique by my standards), and it was a beautiful car.
But the black sedan was beat up and scarred, with the left rear fender crumpled as if it had been backed into something. That made it stand out.
There were three people in it. High school-age boys, I thought, though I didn’t get a very good look at their faces. I wondered if they—or one of them—might be moving here to the new subdivision, too.
Not that it would do me any good.
Boys Jeff’s age or older weren’t going to look twice at a skinny sixth grader. I didn’t have the least bit of shape yet.
When we got close to our house, we noticed an old lady watering her front lawn with a hose in her hand. She looked at us sharply as we came even with her.
“You girls part of the family moving in at number eighty-seven?” she asked.
“I am,” I told her politely. The piano movers’ van was just backing out of our new driveway, and the old black sedan slowed to allow it plenty of turning room. “I’m Kaci Drummond.”
The lady was wearing an old-fashioned cotton print housedress, the kind of thing my great-grandmother used to wear in our family snapshots. Grandma Beth wore jeans and sweatshirts except when she went to church or to weddings.
“I’m Carrie Banducci,” she told us. Her white hair was drawn back in a bun. Her eyes were bright blue, looking younger than the rest of her. “You have a big family, do you?”
“Mom and Dad and four kids,” I said, hoping she didn’t object to that.
“Someone plays the piano, I see,” she observed.
“My brother Jeff,” I agreed.
“And what does your father do?”
“He’s principal of the high school.”
“And that was your mother I saw carrying in boxes earlier? In the blue van?”
I nodded, ready to go on, but she took a step along with us. “And does she work, too? So many women do, these days. In my day we stayed home and took care of our kids.”
“She manages the medical clinic on Third Street,” I conceded, feeling compelled to pause politely. I refrained from telling her that Mom took pretty good care of us even if she did have a job.
Mrs. Banducci sprayed water out over the sidewalk to wash away some recently cut grass. Either her aim wasn’t very good, or she intended to get our feet wet. I was glad I was wearing my old athletic shoes. Nancy had on a good pair of sandals and danced backward to get out of the way of the water.
Mrs. Banducci didn’t seem to notice. “I saw the delivery truck a little earlier. You’re getting a new TV, I guess.”
I was beginning to be irritated. “Yes. We’re going to need a second one, for the family room.”
“The people across the street, the Lowerys, bought a new TV, too. A fifty inch.” I wondered if she’d gone over and inspected it to be sure of the size.
“I only need one,” Mrs. Banducci stated, twisting the hose the other way so that it was now splashing our newly seeded lawn. “For my soaps, you know.”
“It’s a big house for one person,” Nancy said, looking up at it. “Or do you have a husband?”
I wanted to smack her. Why was she keeping this conversation going? Who cared if the old woman lived alone or had a husband in her big house?
“Jamison died twelve years ago,” Mrs. Banducci said. “He was seventy-two, and he had a heart attack and died. He was six years older than I was, so maybe I’ll die soon, too. Maybe not, though. Women have a longer life span. Seventy-eight isn’t terribly old these days.”
“Excuse us, we need to go,” I told her, but right then she looked past me with a faint scowl. “Who are those boys? In that dreadful old car? I’ve seen them here several times in the past few days, just driving in and out of the subdivision. I’m sure they don’t live here, so what reason do they have for being here? Didn’t they just drive past a minute or two ago?”
“Uh-huh. Looking for girls, probably,” Nancy offered. “Teenage boys don’t need any more reason than that for doing anything. There are quite a few teenage girls here.”
“Hmm. They don’t look old enough to drive. The deliveryman who brought the appliances for the Sandifords’ house—that’s the pale yellow one two houses up—hardly looked old enough to have a license. I don’t know what the authorities are thinking of, letting people drive when they’re so young.”
Privately I thought that anyone under fifty probably looked young to her. “Come on, Nancy, let’s go see where Jeff decided to put the piano.”
“It’s nice to see polite young girls moving in next door,” Mrs. Banducci told us. “Boys tend to be so wild these days. The DeMonicos—the pale pink house over there with the brick trim—they have five boys.” She shook her head. “And two of them have motorcycles. I wouldn’t be surprised if they drive everyone crazy with the sound of those motorcycles.”
By this time we were walking away from her, but she continued talking to our backs. “Of course, you should see the mother. In my day a woman who dyed her hair red was suspect just on that score. And she wears bright purple! Can you imagine, purple with that red hair!”
I spoke out of the corner of my mouth to Nancy as we walked up the driveway to our new place, “How did we luck out and get her for a neighbor? Listen, Jeff’s practicing already.”
Much as I admired my brother’s talent and his dedication to becoming a professional pianist, I was glad I wasn’t the one who had to spend hours every day pounding away at the keyboard.
Nancy, however, had nothing but admiration. We let ourselves into the house, still smelling of paint and new carpeting, and I knew if I let her, she’d sit down on the beautiful blue floor and just listen to him for the rest of the evening.
There was nothing else to sit on, actually. The big living room, twice the size of our old one, was empty except for the grand piano. The instrument glistened with black lacquer that didn’t have a scratch on it, and if anyone even approached it as if they might set something on it, or lean against it, or leave a fingerprint on the mirror-like finish, they heard from Jeff in a hurry. Or from Mom, if she was there.
The piano was the most expensive object in our house. Even with the bonuses Mom had saved up for five years at the clinic, and the generous donation from Grandma Beth, it had required some sacrifice on the part of the entire family to pay for it. Mom said it was an investment in Jeff’s future. Now that it was completely paid off, the extra money could be concentrated on other things for the new house.
I wished there was something promising in my future that would be considered worth some kind of sacrifice.
Jeff came to a thunderous conclusion and spun around on the bench to face us. “Hi. For once something got delivered right when it was supposed to. The TV is here, too, but it’s still in the box. I didn’t know where Mom wanted them to put it. If they have it in here, they won’t be able to watch it when I’m practicing. Or I won’t be able to play if they’re watching. Was the old lady next door still out there watering her lawn?”
“I thought there were automatic sprinklers in all these new lawns,” I said, leaning against the wall.
“There are. But I think she likes sprinkling by hand so she can keep track of what’s going on in the neighborhood. I guess she’s lonely.”
“Why did she move into a big house all by herself, then?” I wondered aloud. “She’s old enough to go into one of those places for retired people where there are lots of other senior citizens to talk to.”
“She told me all about it,” Jeff said, flexing his fingers. “Her son bought the house as an investment. He wants her to live in it until he can sell it. He figures the value will go up and in a year or so he’ll make a handsome profit. And she doesn’t want to live in a place where there are only old people.”
“She’s close to eighty herself,” Nancy said incredulously. “How old does she figure she has to get before she associates with other old people?”
“So she got to you, too,” I said. “She seems to know details about everybody who’s already moved into Lofty Cedars.”
“She’ll be talking about us, too,” Jeff predicted, “so watch what you do and say.”
“I’ve never done or said anything out of line in my entire life,” I told him. “Come on, Nancy, let’s get my boxes unloaded, as much as we can before the dressers get delivered.”
I heard him hooting with laughter as we went up the stairs.
“It’s true,” I told my friend as we opened the first box and
decided there was nowhere to put any of the things in it except for a few items in the bathroom. “Other people get involved in things that win them awards and commendations, or written up in the paper, stuff that other people find interesting to read about or talk about. I’m so blah, nobody cares what I do or think.”
Nancy contemplated a small vase. “You want this in your bedroom? I’ll set it on the windowsill for now. Jeff’s probably right, Kaci. That old lady next door will keep her eye open for something she can talk to the neighbors about.”
I grunted. “She’ll have a long wait before there’s anything to say about me,” I insisted.
Downstairs, Jeff had worked the kinks out of the muscles of his arms and hands and was pounding away again, the music swelling as if he were a full symphony instead of a fifteen-year-old student. I was proud of my brother, but I still wished I had a talent of my own.
• • •
When I left the new house Monday morning, we were moved in and a moving van was just pulling up to one of the houses down the block. Someone else had bought a new house and was arriving.
Curious, I stared openly as I approached. They had little kids—there was a tricycle being handed down—which might mean there were baby-sitting possibilities. There isn’t much else a girl not yet twelve can do to earn money. It might pay to go introduce myself this afternoon, before every other girl in the development got there first.
Now the men on the truck were unloading furniture. New furniture, by the look of it. I wondered if the people in Lofty Cedars would be willing and able to pay higher rates for babysitters than those in our old neighborhood.
A dark green van drove up in front of the moving van, and a lady in jeans got out. She was blond and pretty, younger than Mom, and she gave me a friendly smile.
“Hi,” I said, hoping she’d remember me when I came over later. I heard the spatter of water on the sidewalk behind me and turned to see Mrs. Banducci watering her lawn again, eyes fixed on the newcomers. Was it possible to drown a lawn completely? If more people kept moving in around us, Mrs. Banducci’s grass might be a casualty.
Hostage Page 3
