Dandelion Summer

by Mary Ellen Bramwell

  The kitchen window was open, and Madelyn could hear the noise of children and dishes and chores being assigned while she tended to the garden. By the time she was ready to move onto the yard and those cursed dandelions, the sounds were fading, coming from more distant places in the house—a vacuum, probably from the upstairs, the clatter of Legos being thrown into a toy bin, the rinsing of water in a tub or sink somewhere. She didn’t want to be in there doing those chores, but she didn’t like being outside all alone either. At least she’d chosen to focus on the backyard today, hoping to avoid Mrs. Burnham. Despite being lonely, sometimes it was the lesser of two evils.

  Lost in those thoughts, Madelyn jumped when Mom said, “What can I do to help?”

  “I didn’t see you. When did you come outside?”

  “Just now. So, what can I do?”

  “With what?” Madelyn said, confused.

  “The dandelions. I promised to help you.”

  “Oh.” She’d forgotten about the offer. “Even after … you know …?”

  Mom took a deep breath. “Madelyn, I’m sorry about what I said. I could have handled that better. We made a decision not to involve you—for your sake, but I should have known that would be confusing. I’m sorry I don’t have anything more to offer you than ‘just trust me’.”

  Madelyn was about to respond when Mom continued, “And, whether you believe it or not, I was a teenager once, and I didn’t always get along with my mother. But, regardless of what I did, she was my mother. She always loved me. I will always love you.” Mom took another breath, “Even if at times you make it hard to do so.” She was smiling as she said it, and it softened her words and Madelyn’s heart even more.

  “Thanks, Mom.” It came out as a whisper.

  “Okay, so how do we do this?” Mom said, motioning to the endless sea of yellow blooms.

  For the next hour, they worked side by side digging up dandelions. Madelyn had to show her how at first since she’d probably never done such a thing, but she caught on right away. It wasn’t quite the magic moment from the movies, but it was better than being alone.

  It was a warm day. When the sweat started to drip down Madelyn’s face, and she felt her skin start to ripen and burn, she sat down on the ground, letting her tool slip from her hands so she could wipe her forehead.

  Mom followed suit. “Shall we call it good for the day?” she said. It was truly a question and not a statement. They were both pretty tired, but Mom was deferring to Madelyn, asking permission to quit.

  Madelyn just nodded. Without wasting any more words, they gathered their tools and weed buckets, slowly heading back to the garage. Taking one last look behind, the spot where they had worked was delightfully green—with no yellow polka dots. Madelyn’s smile started to grow until she spied the rest of the yard. It was covered with a blanket of yellow. She quickly turned away—not able to face the thought of the impossible task ahead or the possibility of failing Dad.

  Week Three – Summer 1975

  Sunday

  The first thing Madelyn did Sunday morning was open the drawer of her nightstand to retrieve her pad of paper. Coloring in the two for the previous week was satisfying, even if those seven days hadn’t passed nearly fast enough. She tried not to think about what those days had contained, only anxious for the afternoon when she could talk with Dad.

  “How are you doing, Madelyn?” were his first words.

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “How’s your summer going without Lori around? I’ll bet it’s kind of quiet.”

  “Yeah, it is.” She smiled to herself that he remembered. And then, despite what Mom had said, she found herself saying, “Hey, Dad, what’s the story with Grandpa?”

  “Why are you asking?”

  “Because Mom told Uncle Tommy that he lived too far away to visit, but she told me he was simply too busy for us right now.”

  “Well, that’s just two ways of looking at the same coin, isn’t it?”

  Madelyn didn’t think so. And he’d answered so quickly, she didn’t even have a chance to point out Grandpa wasn’t living in his home.

  It was then she realized that she’d squandered a perfect opportunity. If she’d asked more indirectly about Grandpa, like where he was living now because Mom had forgotten the name of his new town or something like that—anything other than what she’d said—he might have told her more. And he would have done it without realizing what he was revealing. But it was too late now.

  “So, how do you like The Hobbit so far?” he said, deftly changing the topic. She was disappointed by his earlier response or actually her missed opportunity, but reluctantly Madelyn warmed to the sound of his voice, whether she wanted to or not. And much to her chagrin, she found herself enjoying their brief conversation. All too soon he was gone—talking to Mom, hanging up—gone.

  It was only then that something occurred to her. When her mom had said we decided to leave you out of it, she wasn’t talking about her and Grandpa, she meant her and Dad.

  Mixed emotions flooded her mind—disappointment, confusion, even sadness. She trusted Dad, or at least wanted to. Was Mom right, that it was better left alone? She refused to believe that. It just couldn’t be the case. But what if it was? What could that possibly mean? Her head started to hurt from everything she was trying to contemplate. Maybe there really was a different perspective, one other than her own.

  Jillian saved her from that uncomfortable thought. Poking her head into Madelyn’s room, she said, “Do you want to play a game? Daniel says he’ll behave himself and play with us.”

  “Sure,” Madelyn said, brushing her other thoughts aside. “Thanks, Jilly.”

  Jillian smiled and said, “You’re welcome.”

  . . .

  Since last week’s reading about Bilbo Baggins had been over too quickly, Madelyn determined to wait until Friday or Saturday before picking it up again. That resolve lasted about an hour, as long as it took to finish the game with Jillian and Daniel.

  Anxious for a connection with Dad—since she missed him, but also to repair any earlier doubts about how much she trusted him, or maybe, how much he trusted her, Madelyn was determined to right the ship, to find safe ground. The Hobbit was safe and also common ground.

  Snatching it from her nightstand so she could read it in Dad’s study, she rushed into the hallway and crashed headlong into Mom. “Oh! I’m sorry.”

  Mom had fallen back against the wall and was trying to catch her breath. For just a moment, she appeared small and vulnerable. Madelyn reached out a hand to help her.

  Mom gave her a weak smile in return. “Sorry, Madelyn. I didn’t even know you were in there.”

  Tipping up The Hobbit so she could see it, Madelyn said, “Just getting my book.”

  They stood there silently facing each other. She’d been such a good sport with the dandelions the day before that Madelyn wondered in that moment if maybe her way was best. “Mom, I am sorry,” she said, only this time they both knew it meant something different. Mom nodded slightly, but her creased forehead was careworn.

  “I … I, uh.” Madelyn wasn’t sure what to say next, or even if there was anything else she was prepared to admit. Glancing at the book in her hands, she said, “I was just heading to Dad’s study to read. Have you ever read this before?”

  “No, can’t say that I have.”

  “Well, do you have a favorite book?” Madelyn had never talked books with her mom before. That had always been something she shared with Dad. But standing in the hall, she was trying to fill the void with something akin to a conversation. The book she was holding was the only thing that came to mind.

  “Um,” Mom wrin
kled her forehead, “I don’t suppose I do. There’s not much time to read when …” She motioned to the house around her and the toilet plunger in her hand that Madelyn had failed to notice earlier.

  “Oh.” Madelyn started to giggle. “I guess I should let you go.”

  The edges of Mom’s mouth curled up. “Yes, I think that would be a good idea.”

  “Not Daniel, was it?”

  She laughed, “No, not this time.”

  Madelyn was still smiling as she pulled out her ponytail and settled into a chair in Dad’s study to read.

  Tuesday

  Over the next couple of days, Madelyn regretted having already finished her allotted chapters in The Hobbit. Life instead became a monotony of chores, nibbled meals, sleep, and the reading of random books.

  She tried not to think about missing Dad, but as soon as you decide not to think about something, that seems to be exactly what you do. Madelyn saw him in every corner of the house whether it be one of his books or just his office chair. And even though the scent of his licorice gum had faded, the smell of newly mown grass and faint honeysuckle on a passing breeze taunted her with his absence. With him gone, a sadness had settled over her that Madelyn was having a hard time shaking.

  Mom silently acknowledged what Madelyn was dealing with in her own way. Dad would have asked her outright about it, and they would have talked it over, but Mom didn’t—that wasn’t her style. Mom would smile or nod in her direction, and Madelyn was surprisingly grateful, even if she didn’t completely understand why.

  Mindlessly working on the dandelions, Madelyn started to ponder her family, almost as if she were an outsider, a non-participant in it. It’s funny the things you learn when you actually pay attention. They must have always been there, only Madelyn never bothered to notice before—like Mom. Madelyn always knew she was a creative, messy sort, but she hadn’t realized just how much. Madelyn had watched her make dinner the night before—soup and cornbread. She gathered ingredients and threw them in the pot with a devil-may-care attitude, tasting and whistling as she went. Even her cornbread seemed haphazard at best. She didn’t follow a recipe, just used a scoop of this and a pinch of that.

  She was a good cook, but until Madelyn thought about it, she’d never realized before how much she cooked by feel. Madelyn liked making things the way Dad did, like following the recipe to the letter for chocolate chip cookies. It’s doubtful she could ever learn to cook from Mom in such an arbitrary way.

  With Jillian, certainly, it would be different. She could likely learn anything from Mom. Thinking about her little sister made Madelyn smile—even as she threw a handful of dandelions into her bucket. Jillian was like Mom in so many ways, but also vastly different. While they both were incredibly creative, Jillian was somehow more organized about it, maybe even the more practical of the two. As soon as that thought entered her mind, Madelyn wondered why. What made her consider Jillian, at only seven, practical?

  She was still puzzled by it when she came in to wash her hands, happening upon Jillian and Mom in the kitchen. Madelyn silently watched them while pretending to clean her fingernails. The answer to her question was immediately obvious. Madelyn had seen it yet hadn’t recognized it before. Mom was getting ready to go to the store, randomly opening and closing cupboard doors, haphazardly noting what was low. It was Jillian who kept Mom on track with comments like, “Mom, you didn’t check the cereal cupboard,” or, “You forgot we ran out of cinnamon last week.” Madelyn stared in surprise and awe at her little sister who was so aware of what they did and didn’t have.

  “Oh, that’s right. Why don’t you remember for me?”

  This kind of exchange went on throughout Mom’s check of the kitchen, the pantry, and the bathroom cupboards. It seemed that little Jillian was making a mental list of what they needed at the store. Mom finally noticed Madelyn as they were completing their routine. “Oh, hi, Madelyn. Would you mind finding Daniel? We’re leaving for the store in a few minutes.”

  When they all piled out of the car at the grocery store, Madelyn continued to watch in amazement as Mom grabbed a cart then looked expectantly at Jillian. “Vegetables first, Mom,” she said.

  The rest of the shopping trip was much the same, as if Jillian were the parent and Mom the child following directions. Madelyn didn’t know what to make of it. When they came to a display of pudding, she was relieved to see the roles right themselves. “Mom, can we get some butterscotch pudding? Please, please?”

  Mom scrutinized the box Jillian had plucked off the shelves while Madelyn wondered at her hesitation. “I don’t think so, sweetie.”

  “But I’ll cook it up and everything. I bet I could do it if Madelyn helped me. Would you, Madelyn? Please, please?”

  Madelyn was studying Mom’s face when she realized she’d read her wrong. Mom didn’t seem to mind buying the pudding, but something else was bothering her, only Madelyn couldn’t figure out what. “Sure, I’ll help. But, Mom, you don’t have to buy it. Or we could get a different flavor?” she added, trying to guess at Mom’s reluctance.

  “No, no, that’s fine. I’ll take Daniel with me and go get the flour I need. You two can figure out which flavor to get and make sure we have all the ingredients to make it.”

  Jillian tugged at Madelyn’s sleeve. “I like butterscotch. Do you?”

  “Yeah,” Madelyn said, still unsure what had Mom on edge. Checking the box, it looked like the only other thing they needed was milk, and they always had plenty of that. “That should work, Jilly.”

  She turned to follow Mom and ran right into Zane. “Hi, Madelyn.”

  “Oh, I didn’t see you. What are you doing here?”

  He held up a paper. “Mom sent Delia and me to the store. This is my half of the list of things to find.” Then he grinned and added, “But I could use some help.”

  “Do you really not know where things are?” He shrugged his shoulders, his puppy dog eyes begging so innocently that Madelyn couldn’t help herself. “Sure,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Hey, Jilly, would you take this pudding to Mom? I’ll meet you at the front of the store when I’m done.” Jillian grabbed the pudding and skipped down the aisle to where Daniel and Mom were adding baking supplies to the cart.

  “So, what’s on your list?”

  “Bread, eggs, cheese to start with.”

  “Do you have a cart?”

  He gave her a sheepish grin. “Delia does.”

  Rolling her eyes again, Madelyn said, “Come on. We’ll see how much we can carry.”

  “So, other than grocery shopping, what are you doing for fun this summer?” Zane said.

  “Not much—I mean, there’s lots of stuff to keep me busy, but the only fun part is reading. What about you?”

  “Pretty much the same. Delia has a job this summer. Don’t tell her, but I kind of miss when she’s not around. I can’t wait ‘til I can get a job. I mean a real one. I have a paper route—the same one I’ve had for a while. It keeps me out of trouble.”

  Madelyn laughed. “Like you need that. You don’t seem the sort that goes for trouble.”

  He winced. “Nice of you to say, but I’m not that much of an angel. Of course, Delia would kill me if I did something really stupid. She wouldn’t even give our parents a chance to do it first. But what about you? Aren’t you babysitting this summer?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I was, during school, but this summer’s different. I guess I could, but …” She didn’t know how to explain the responsibility she felt with her dad being gone. She hadn’t even told Zane her dad was gone. “Hey, how did you know I babysit?”

  “Um … I don’t know. I’ve seen you at the Foster’s house. That seems like the only reason you’d b
e there. Anyway, I just assumed …”

  She elbowed him. “That’s okay. I’m just giving you a hard time. Do you still like going fishing?”

  “Yeah. Delia doesn’t, but I go with my dad and grandpa pretty often.”

  They chatted on about mundane, trivial things, but none of it felt mundane. It was a nice break, talking to a friend. Madelyn was disappointed when they gathered the last of the items on his list.

  “Thanks,” Zane said. “Hey, Delia and I are going on a bike ride in the foothills. You want to come?”

  “That sounds fun. Could Jilly and Daniel come too?”

  “Sure. I know Delia misses seeing them. We were planning on Saturday morning.”

  “Oh shoot! I can’t. That’s when I mow the lawn and do a million other chores.” Madelyn shook her head, disappointment overwhelming her face.

  “That’s okay. I’ll call you next time we go.” He smiled as he walked away.

  The whole drive home Madelyn kept thinking about Zane, hoping he would call, afraid that he wouldn’t—surprised to realize she cared more than she used to. It was a scary thought. The last thing she wanted was to be disappointed by someone else. Shaking off her feelings, she tried to convince herself that she was simply desperate for someone to talk to since Lori was gone. Zane just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

  Climbing out of the car at home, Madelyn gathered an armload of groceries. In a rush to retreat to her room to contemplate these thoughts, she made a beeline for the front door. She stood there waiting for Mom to come unlock it, but as she leaned against it, the door fell open. “Mom, I thought you locked the front door when we left.”