“The children are Andrew and Karen,” said Watson breathlessly. “Andrew is three and Karen is five. They’re about ready for their lunch. Peanut butter and jelly is fine. Karen can help you find things. Emergency numbers are by the phone, but since I’ll be at the hospital, if there’s a real emergency it would probably be easier to call your mom.”
“Okay,” I said, feeling a bit dazed.
“Around two o’clock, Andrew goes down for a nap. I guess that’s all you need to know. I wish I could take the time to show you everything, but Karen will have to fill in for me, okay, pumpkin?”
“Okay!” said Karen.
“Good girl.” Watson screeched to a halt in front of a big white house in one of the fanciest neighborhoods in Stoneybrook. A wide green lawn stretched all around it, interrupted by old trees and little flower gardens. I looked for the witch’s house as I got out of the car. “Be good, kids,” said Watson. “And Kristy, thank you. I want you to know that I really appreciate this.”
I held the back door open, and Andrew and Karen scrambled out of the car. “See you later!” called Watson. He peeled off.
I stood in Watson’s front yard and looked at Andrew and Karen. Baby-sitting for them was absolutely the last thing I wanted to do.
I sighed heavily. “All right. Are you guys hungry?”
“Starving,” said Karen. “You know what I had for breakfast? Just toast. Toast and orange juice. I wanted Pop-Tarts, but Mommy said no ‘cause they’re junk food. Sometimes Daddy lets us have them, though. He does and Mommy doesn’t. Isn’t that silly? I think it’s really silly.”
“Are you hungry, Andrew?” I asked.
“Yup.”
“Well, let’s go get some lunch, then.”
We went through the front door of Watson’s house, and the first thing I saw was not the huge, gorgeous front hall, not the tree that was growing in the living room, not the sparkling chandelier or the stained glass window, but a fat creature that could only be Boo-Boo.
Sure enough. “Hi, Boopa-de-Boo,” cried Karen, hugging him. “This is Boo-Boo,” she told me. “He’s Daddy’s cat. He’s real old. Daddy had him even before he knew our mommy. Did you know he’s had two spells put on him by a witch? She lives next door in the scary house.”
I sighed again. It was going to be a long day. “Come on. Let’s get our lunch,” I said.
In the kitchen, Karen helped me find the stuff for sandwiches, and then I fixed apple slices and carrot sticks and poured us each a glass of milk.
“Yum,” said Karen. “Yummy-yummers! You’re a neat baby-sitter. You fix good food.”
“Yup,” said Andrew.
Karen ate a few bites of her sandwich, then suddenly looked at me very seriously, her brown eyes glistening. “Is our mommy all right?” she asked me.
“Oh, of course,” I replied. “A broken ankle isn’t too serious. She’ll have to wear a cast and walk on crutches for a while, but in a few weeks she’ll be all better. Having a cast is fun. Everyone signs it and draws pictures on it.”
“Did you ever have a cast?” asked Karen.
“The summer before last,” I replied. “I broke my ankle, just like your mommy.”
“How did you do it?”
“I was taking our dog, Louie, for a walk—”
“You have a dog? Can I see him sometime?” interrupted Karen, wiping away a milk mustache.
“I guess,” I answered. “Anyway, I was taking Louie for a walk, except I was riding my bike. Louie was on his leash, running next to me. We came to a tree, Louie went one way, I went the other, the leash wrapped around the tree, and whoosh! I flew off my bike.”
Karen giggled. Even solemn Andrew managed a tiny smile. I was beginning to feel better. Mary Anne was right. Karen and Andrew weren’t too bad—considering Watson was their father.
“So that’s how I broke my ankle. I had to wear a cast for six weeks. I couldn’t go swimming all summer.”
“Yuck,” said Karen.
“Yuck,” said Andrew. It was a nice change from “Yup.” He went back to his lunch, which he was eating slowly and neatly. Take a bite, chew, chew, chew, chew, chew, chew, chew, swallow, wipe mouth, start over.
Karen ate silently, too, for a moment, and I could tell she was thinking about something. At last, she put the remains of her sandwich on her plate and said, “You’re Kristy, right?”
“Right,” I replied.
“Is your mommy Edie Thomas?”
“That’s right.” The kid was smart.
“My daddy says he loves your mommy.”
“I guess,” I said uncomfortably. I realized that Karen looked uncomfortable, too.
“If they get married, your mommy will be my mommy.”
“Stepmommy, I mean, stepmother,” I corrected her. “And guess what. I’d be your stepsister. And yours, Andrew.”
“Yup,” said Andrew.
Karen thought for a while again. “That would be okay,” she said at last. And then, “Do you like being divorced, Kristy?”
“Not particularly,” I said.
“How come?”
“Because I never see my father. He moved to California. That’s far away.”
“Ooh,” said Karen. “We don’t like being divorced, either, but we get to see our daddy lots.”
“I know,” I said dryly. Boy, did I know. Watson, the perfect divorced father.
“Our mommy’s getting married again.”
“I know.”
“We don’t want her to, do we, Andrew?”
“Yup.”
“You don’t?” I said.
“Nope. Mommy says oh we’re so lucky, we’ll have two daddies, and maybe someday two daddies and two mommies. But we just want our old mommy and daddy—all in one house.”
“I know what you mean.” Karen was all right.
Suddenly, I was aware of little sniffling sounds next to me. Andrew was crying into his sandwich crusts. Karen jumped up and ran around the table to hug her brother. “I’m sorry, Andrew,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked nervously.
“He doesn’t like to hear about all the mommies and daddies. I’m not ‘asposed to talk about it too much.”
“Oh.” I wiped Andrew’s tears with my napkin. “Hey, you guys, how about a special treat? Ice cream for dessert!”
“At lunchtime?” asked Karen incredulously.
“Sure,” I said, opening the freezer door and hoping I’d find ice cream inside. Luckily, there was almost a whole quart of cookies ‘n’ cream.
“Divorced kids are special kids. How about it, Andrew?”
Andrew’s eyes lit up. “Okay,” he sniffled. “That’s good.”
“All right!” I ruffled his hair.
I placed three bowls of cookies ‘n’ cream ice cream on the table and we ate away happily. Karen was so happy she couldn’t even speak. As we were slurping up the last dribbles, Boo-Boo waddled into the kitchen. Karen jumped up and ran to the back door.
“Wait!” I cried. “Karen, don’t let him out, okay?”
“But he wants to go. He’s allowed.”
“Is Mrs. Porter home?” I asked.
Karen stepped away from the door. “Oh … I don’t know.”
“Maybe we better keep him inside. Just until your dad comes back, okay?”
“Yeah,” said Karen. “Good idea.”
“But we can go out,” I added. I decided that would be all right, as long as we didn’t go near Mrs. Porter’s yard.
“Because divorced kids are special kids,” said Andrew.
“You got it,” I said.
Andrew giggled. “You got it? That’s funny!”
Andrew and Karen and I played hide-and-seek until it was time for Andrew’s nap. Then Karen and I sat on the back porch and read Little Toot and The Snowy Day and The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle. We were halfway through The Little Engine That Could when Watson came home.
“How is she?” I asked. I wasn’t sure what to call
Watson’s ex-wife. I didn’t even know her name.
“At home and on her feet,” he replied. “Or at any rate, on her foot. She’s okay. But you guys,” he said to Karen, “are going to stay with me for the rest of the weekend so Mommy can rest, okay?”
“Goody!” said Karen.
“How did everybody get along?” asked Watson.
“Fine,” I answered. Suddenly, I felt shy.
“Daddy, I like Kristy,” Karen announced. “I don’t mind if she’s going to be our stepsister.”
Watson smiled, but I blushed. “Well, I’m glad everything went so well,” he said.
“Does she have to go home now?” asked Karen.
“Well, she won’t be able to if Andrew is asleep. Is he napping?”
“He went down about” (I checked my watch) “almost an hour ago.”
“Hmm,” said Watson. “I don’t really want to wake him up. Do you want to call your mom and have her pick you up?”
“I better not,” I said. “She probably won’t want to leave David Michael.”
“Do you mind waiting? Andrew shouldn’t sleep more than another half hour or so.”
“I don’t mind.” And I didn’t. I really didn’t. While we waited for Andrew, Watson took turns playing checkers with Karen and me. He won every game. I was glad because if he’d let me win, it would have proved he was trying too hard to make us feel like one big happy family.
Later, as Watson was driving me home, Karen said, “Kristy, I wish you were our big stepsister right now.”
“Well,” I said, “how about if I be your baby-sitter instead?”
“That’s okay,” said Karen.
“Yeah, that’s okay,” echoed Andrew.
I glanced at Watson. He was sneaking a look at me, too. We smiled at each other.
That night after Mom had gotten David Michael to sleep, she came into my room. I was writing up my experience at Watson’s in the Baby-sitters Club Notebook.
“So,” she said, “now that we have a moment to ourselves, tell me how everything went at Watson’s. I’m sorry that was thrown at you today, but maybe it worked out for the best.”
I was glad Mom wasn’t saying “I told you so.”
“It went okay,” I said. “Andrew and Karen are cute. Andrew hardly ever talks, though. Karen says the divorce upsets him.”
“It does upset him,” Mom said, “but he’s also got a big talker for an older sister. He almost doesn’t need to speak.”
“Karen sure is a big talker,” I agreed. “I think she’s really smart.”
“She is. She just started kindergarten, and her teacher is already thinking of putting her in first grade after Christmas.”
“Wow,” I said.
“Kristy, would you baby-sit for Watson’s children again if he needed you?”
“I already told Karen that since I couldn’t be her stepsister yet, at least I’d be her baby-sitter.”
My mother looked pleased.
“Mom?” I asked. “What will happen when you and Watson get married? I mean, if you get married. Would Andrew and Karen live with us? Would we all live in Watson’s house? It’s so big.”
“Does it bother you that there are no arrangements yet?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I like to know what’s going to happen.”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything definite, honey.”
“Can you tell me something undefinite?”
Mom smiled. “Well, first of all, Watson’s custody arrangements probably won’t change, so wherever we live, Andrew and Karen won’t live with us. They’ll only visit. And right now, it looks as though we might move to Watson’s, simply because there’s more space.”
“But I don’t want to move!”
“Kristy, I said ‘might.’”
“Okay.”
“Time to get ready for bed now. Good night, sweetheart.”
“‘Night, Mom.”
On Monday, at our next meeting of the Baby-sitters Club, everyone seemed to be back to normal. And most of us had news.
“Guess what!” Mary Anne said in between phone calls.
“What?” Claudia and Stacey and I said.
“Dad and I hardly talked to each other all day Saturday, but on Sunday, I decided to go ahead and try reasoning with him about the money I earn, since I figured I didn’t have anything to lose. I told him I’d be earning a lot of money through the Baby-sitters Club, and I asked him if I could spend half of it any way I wanted—if I promised to put the other half in the bank. And he said yes! So if we have the party, I can go!”
“Great!” I cried. “Hey, that’s wonderful! You really stood up to your dad.”
“Yeah …” Mary Anne looked embarrassed, but I knew she was pleased with herself.
“I have some good news, too,” Claudia said. “I caught up on almost all of my homework, and I got a B-minus on those ten math problems. And last night I had a talk with my parents. I told them I wasn’t Janine and they said they knew that. Then they said I had to start setting aside time for my homework every day. At first I thought Dad was going to say no more baby-sitting, but instead he said an hour or so after dinner would be all right, and he and Mom and Janine and Mimi would help me. That cuts into my TV time, but I’d rather give up TV than art or baby-sitting and the club.” Claudia reached under her mattress and pulled out some licorice sticks, which of course she passed around and of course Stacey refused.
“Well, that’s good,” said Mary Anne. “I’m proud of us, aren’t you, Claudia?”
“Yeah,” said Claudia.
I wanted to tell my good news about sitting for Watson’s kids, but I was more curious about Stacey and why she had done what she did.
“So, Stace,” I said brightly. “How was your weekend? How was New York?”
“Oh, it was fine. I went shopping at Bloomingdale’s and bought this.” She indicated the plaid wool pants she was wearing, which were held up with bright red suspenders. “I got a matching hat, too.”
“Nice,” I said. “How were your friends?”
“Fine.” Stacey was picking at a piece of fuzz on her pants, carefully not looking at the rest of us.
“It must have been fun to spend so much time with them.”
“Yeah.”
“You know, the strangest thing happened on Saturday morning,” I said. As usual, I couldn’t help it. I was dying to say what I knew. There would be no stopping me, despite the fact that Claudia was sending me an urgent telegram with her eyes. Shut up, they were saying. Don’t do this. But it was too late, even though I knew it was going to cause problems. Even though I knew that Claudia still considered Mary Anne and me babies, and Stacey sophisticated, and therefore was going to protect Stacey and whatever she was up to.
“Mary Anne saw you come home with your parents on Saturday,” I said. “How come you made your mom say you stayed in New York?”
Stacey’s head jerked up, her eyes flashing. She looked like she wanted to kill Mary Anne or me or possibly both of us. “Are you accusing my mom of lying?” she cried.
I thought for a moment. “I guess so.”
Stacey stood up, hands on her hips. “Kristy, you—you—”
See, the thing is, right then, if Stacey wanted an “out,” she had one. She could have blamed the whole thing on her mother by saying her mother was punishing her that weekend or something, and boy, weren’t parents awful. But she didn’t do that. She just blew up. And she didn’t give any reason for why she and her mom were lying, which, Mary Anne said later to me in private, only proved that Stacey (and her mother) were covering something up.
Anyway, Stacey stood in Claudia’s room, glowering at me. “I can’t believe you just said that, Kristy. You’re such a baby.”
“You don’t have any tact at all,” added Claudia, immediately jumping to Stacey’s defense, as I had known she would.
Mary Anne remained silent. She hates arguments.
“Well, how do you think I feel, being lied to?” I
shouted. “Talk about tact. It made me feel like a little kid.”
“You are a little kid,” said Claudia. “Look at how you’re dressed.”
I looked. “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?”
“Really, Kristy, a sweater with snowflakes and snowmen on it? You look like a four-year-old.”
“Well, you’ve got sheep barrettes in your hair,” I yelled. “You think they’re adult?”
“Sheep,” Claudia informed me witheringly, “are in.”
“Who cares? Everything’s in sometime. First it was frogs, then pigs, now it’s sheep. Maybe next week it’ll be snowmen. And how do you expect me to keep up with that stuff anyway? I don’t have time for it.”
“That’s because you and Mary Anne are too busy playing dolls.”
“Dolls!” I yelled. (Mary Anne looked as if she’d been slapped in the face. I knew she was going to start crying soon, and it only made me angrier.) “We do not play with dolls!” The thing is, though, that we just gave them up over the summer.
At that moment, surprisingly, Mary Anne spoke up. “Claudia, Kristy didn’t mean to upset Stacey.” Mary Anne’s chin was trembling. Her eyes were about to overflow.
“Didn’t mean to upset her! She accused her mother of lying.”
Mary Anne’s eyes spilled over.
“Oh, what a crybaby,” Claudia said, but I could see she felt bad.
Suddenly, a knock came on the door.
“What!” yelled Claudia.
The door opened a crack. I was terrified that Janine was going to be on the other side of it with some stupid comment like there’s no such word as crybaby.
But it was Mimi who poked her head in. “Excuse me, girls,” said Claudia’s grandmother in her gentle, slightly accented voice, “but what is going on in here? Downstairs I can hear you. You are yelling. What is wrong, and may I help you in some way?”
We all grew quiet. I felt slightly ashamed. “I’m sorry, Mimi,” said Claudia. We’d all been standing up about ready to kill each other, and now we found places to sit down again.
“Are you girls all right? May I help?” Mimi asked again.
“No, thank you,” said Claudia, sounding subdued. “We didn’t mean to be so loud.”
Kristy's Great Idea Page 8
