The next day when we met at the ball field for our drills and practice game, one girl from each cabin chose up teams that weren’t one cabin against the other. Samantha and I were on the same team. She played shortstop and I played second base for the first half of the game. Then we switched positions. Sam gave me some pointers and we made some awesome double plays in that game.
Camp Topnotch was too many games down in the All-Camp games to win a trophy. And both the Bluejays and the Robins had too many demerits to have any chance of winning best cabin. But The Birds — as we now called our two cabins — had a great time during the last week of camp. And we played a lot of good ball. I learned that you don’t have to be the best at something to have a good time. And guess who turned out to be my best friend at camp? Samantha Hunter. I was really glad that I went to Camp Topnotch after all.
He knew where we lived, so he could have found us if he wanted to. And when Mom married Watson Brewer and we moved from Bradford Court into Watson’s mansion, she sent Dad a letter telling him our new address, just in case he wanted to send her a child support payment (ha!) or get in touch with his children (double ha!).
Our father did send us a few birthday cards and postcards over the years. The postcards said the same thing: “Hi. Expect to be out east this month. Will call. We’ll get together. Love, P.”
Notice the signature: “P.” You might think it stands for Pop or Papa. It doesn’t. The “P” stands for “Patrick.” I guess it’s hard to call yourself “Pop” or “Papa” when you never see your kids. I sometimes wondered if Patrick Thomas felt like our father.
Last spring we received another postcard from Patrick. It said the same thing as the others — that he was coming east and he’d see us. Since “P” had never come before, I didn’t believe he’d come this time.
But guess what? “P” actually showed up. There he was one day — on a street corner in Stoneybrook calling my name. I didn’t recognize him at first. After all, I hadn’t laid eyes on the man in six years. When I realized who he was, the angry feelings I had toward him bubbled up inside me. But I was still excited and glad that he was there. I’d missed him during those six years.
I asked Patrick a lot of questions and found out that he and found out that he and his California wife had split up. He said he wanted to move back to Stoneybrook. He also said that for the time being he only wanted to see me and not the rest of the family. I asked him why. He explained that he wanted to wait until he was settled. But in the meantime, he wanted to spend some time with his only daughter.
After that Patrick and I started meeting secretly. I was glad that Sam and Charlie were on a camping trip. It would have been hard not to tell them. It was difficult enough not to tell Mom and my friends. But there was one person who knew my real father was in town: Mary Anne. She was with me the day Patrick and I were reunited. I made her promise that she wouldn’t tell anyone else. I was happy that Mary Anne knew about my secret life with my father. Otherwise I wouldn’t have had anyone to talk to about it.
Meanwhile, I was lying to everyone else to cover up for the times that I saw Patrick. I’d say I was going to a friend’s house or on a baby-sitting job, then I’d sneak off to meet him. We had a lot of catching up to do and shared lots of stories.
One afternoon over pizza he told me all about his years as a baseball player for a minor league team. “I’m a pretty good softball player myself,” I said. “I guess I inherited your talent.” Then I told him about Kristy’s Krushers. He thought it was pretty neat that I coached a team and he laughed like crazy over some of the stories I told about the kids at our games, especially the ones about Jackie Rodowsky, the Walking Disaster.
Then he told me about some pranks he and his teammates used to play on one another. The pranks sounded a little juvenile — like the ones the Bluejays and Robins pulled at Camp Topnotch — but they were funny anyway. There was no way around it. Patrick was a fun guy.
The day after Patrick and I had the pizza, Mary Anne walked me to a baby-sitting job at the Rodowskys’ on the way to her job at the Johanssens’. I told her about my time with Patrick and all the things we talked about. I figured she’d crack up when I told her about the pranks he used to play on other ball players. But none of the stories made her laugh, even the one about the time Patrick put itching powder in a buddy’s pants the night he had a big date. “It’s funny, Mary Anne,” I said.
“Your father likes to joke around a lot, doesn’t he?” Mary Anne said. She looked worried.
“If you’re thinking he’s irresponsible, why don’t you come right out and say it?” I asked.
“I wasn’t thinking that,” she said. “I just don’t understand why he won’t let you tell anyone that he’s here. It doesn’t seem like a very grown-up way to handle things.”
“I told you why,” I said impatiently. “It’s not so hard to understand.”
“Well, I still don’t understand,” she mumbled.
“Well, I do,” I countered. “And it’s all going to work out great.” Actually, a big part of me agreed with Mary Anne. It really bothered me that my father didn’t want anyone else to know he was in town. But the other part of me was so happy to be with him again that I tried to forget about that. There was so much about my father that I liked. Even if he did act a little immature sometimes, he was always cheerful and full of fun. I imagined my very own dad at a Krushers softball game, cheering my team. I pictured him taking all my friends for pizza and telling them some of his funny stories. Then, I thought, Mary Anne will see that he’s a great guy.
We’d reached the Rodowskys’. I couldn’t wait until I saw my father again. I wished I were meeting him right away instead of after my baby-sitting job.
“Well, here we are,” I said.
“Call me if you want to talk or anything,” Mary Anne offered. “ ‘Bye.”
The Rodowsky boys were wilder than ever that evening, especially Jackie. But finally they all went to sleep. A little later Mr. and Mrs. Rodowsky came home. I told Mrs. Rodowsky how the evening had gone and she handed me my pay. “Thanks, Kristy,” she said. “It’s wonderful to know that we can depend on you. My husband is waiting in the car to take you home.”
“Mr. Rodowsky doesn’t have to give me a ride tonight,” I told her. “I have a ride.” Not a lie. I just didn’t tell her who was giving me a ride.
When I got outside I could see Patrick’s car parked at the end of the block. Mr. Rodowsky was waiting for me in his car. I told him that I had a ride.
“Okay,” he said. He got out of the car. “I’ll wait with you until they come.”
“Ah — I’m meeting them at the corner,” I said.
“Well, I’ll walk you to the corner and wait with you,” he said.
If Mr. Rodowsky walked me to the corner I’d have to introduce him to my father. Otherwise it would look weird and rude. Time for a lie. “My brother Charlie is coming for me,” I said. “His car’s broken and he borrowed his friend’s car.” I pointed to the car at the corner. “There they are now. Gotta go. ’Bye.” I turned and ran.
When I reached the car, I jumped in and banged the door shut. “Let’s go,” I said. I felt like a criminal making a getaway.
“Hi, there,” Patrick said. He started the motor. “How’d you like to go bowling in Stamford?”
“I can’t,” I said. “I told Mom I’d be home by ten. It’s already after nine-thirty.”
“So tell her you had to sit late,” he said.
“If I don’t come home on time she’ll call the Rodowskys. They’ll tell her when I left their place. And I sort of just lied to them about who was picking me up. I’ll be in big trouble with Mom and she’ll find out you’re here.”
“You poor kid,” he said. “Elizabeth sure is keeping you on a short leash.” He put his hand around his neck and pretended a collar was chocking him. “I lived with Elizabeth. I know how it feels.”
“I don’t like it when you say things like that about Mom,” I said. “
It was hard on her, the way you left and everything.”
He shifted into gear. “I suppose,” he said. “But she was always better than me with that domestic stuff.” I didn’t say anything. I wondered if my father was angry at me for criticizing him.
“Look, Kristy,” he began. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a lousy father to you. I’m trying to make it up. I’m doing the best I can. Give me half a chance. Okay?”
“Sure,” I said. “That’s cool. I’m glad you came back … Dad.” That was the first time I called him “Dad.” He grinned at me to let me know he liked that. I hoped it made up for criticizing him.
“How about we swing in through the drive-in joint and get something to eat?” he suggested. “Do you have time for that, Cinderella?”
“You better bring me back on time,” I kidded, “or your car will turn into a pumpkin.”
Dad reached over and pulled my hat over my eyes. “Guess you’ve got your old man’s sense of humor.”
I pushed my hat back. “Yeah,” I said, “I guess.”
I leaned back in the seat and watched the night flow by. I was glad my dad was back.
Over the next week I met my father as often as I could. We went bowling in Stamford one day. Another time we had a picnic at the river and he taught me how to play a card game called hearts. We were having fun together and I was getting used to calling him Dad. But he still wouldn’t let me tell anyone that he was in Stoneybrook. I had to continue to make up stories about where I was going and what I was doing. As a result, I wasn’t handling my responsibilities with my usually efficiency. It’s hard to be responsible when you’re leading a secret life and lying all the time.
On Saturday morning I was supposed to meet Dad for breakfast. We planned to spend the whole day together. He said he had a surprise for me and I couldn’t wait to see what it was. Maybe he’d tell me that he found a job and I could help him pick out an apartment. I wondered if I’d have my own room at his place, like Stacey and Dawn did at their fathers’ places.
I dressed and went downstairs. I wanted to leave the house before anyone could ask me how I was spending the day. I hated lying. By some miracle no one else was in the kitchen. My stomach rumbled. I decided to have a quick glass of juice before I left. But Mom came into the kitchen. “Morning, honey,” she said.
“Morning, Mom,” I answered.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. “I’ll have some more coffee and keep you company while you eat your breakfast. It’ll give us a chance to talk. I haven’t been alone with you in days.”
I was trapped. I sat at the table across from Mom.
“How’ve you been?” she asked.
“Great,” I said. “Really busy.”
“I noticed. Is everything all right with the Baby-sitters Club?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Great.”
“So everything’s great?” she said.
“Yeah,” I repeated. I drank the last of the juice.
And Watson came into the kitchen. “Morning, Kristy,” he said cheerfully. “How’s it going?”
“Great,” I replied.
He and Mom exchanged a glance that said neither of them believed me.
“Well, eat a good breakfast,” Watson told me. “You’re going to need your strength to tackle that lawn.”
The lawn! I’d completely forgotten about it. I’d put off my lawn mowing job every day that week. Now it was Saturday and I’d promised Watson I’d do it on Saturday for sure. I had hoped to spend the whole day with my dad. Now I’d have to come home and mow that stupid lawn.
“I have to baby-sit this morning,” I lied. “But I’ll do the lawn as soon as I come home.”
“You’re a hard worker, Kristy,” Watson said. “Baby-sitting, coaching the Krushers, and doing your share at home.” He patted me on the shoulder. “Good for you.”
“Thanks,” I said. Watson was always so nice to me. It made me feel doubly rotten about lying to him.
“Do you need a ride to your baby-sitting job?” he asked.
“No, thanks,” I said. “I’ll ride my bike.”
“Who are you sitting for?” my mother asked.
“The Barretts,” I answered. Another lie.
I rode my bike at top speed into town. I was meeting Dad at Thelma’s Cafe. We had picked Thelma’s as a meeting place because no one I knew went out to breakfast on Saturday morning.
Dad wasn’t in Thelma’s so I stood outside and waited for him. I was looking up and down the block when I noticed Watson’s car pulling up in front of the cafe. He saw me before I had a chance to hide, and he got out of the car and came over to me.
“You followed me,” I said. “Are you spying on me?”
He looked confused. “I didn’t follow you. I happened to drive by and saw you standing here. I stopped to tell you not to worry about the lawn if you have to work late. I’ll probably have time to do it later myself.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “I can do it.”
Watson looked around. “Where are the Barrett kids?”
I was stumped for a second. Then I thought, I’ll tell him Mrs. Barrett is meeting me at the cafe with the kids and she’s late. But before I could tell my newest lie, Watson said, “What’s wrong, Kristy? You look like a trapped animal. You aren’t baby-sitting this morning, are you?”
I couldn’t tell another lie. I just couldn’t. I shook my head no. “But I’m not doing anything wrong, Watson,” I said. “Really, I’m not. I just can’t tell you anything yet. Please, please, don’t tell Mom that I’m not babysitting.”
“Are you in trouble?” he asked in a worried voice.
“No,” I answered. “It’s nothing bad. Really. I promise I’ll tell you and Mom everything as soon as I can.”
Watson looked me in the eye. “I only want what’s best for you, Kristy,” he said. “You know that. At least tell me what I can do to help you.”
“What you could do for me right now,” I said, “is to not ask me any more questions, and leave.” I pleaded with my eyes.
Watson thought about it for a second. “All right,” he said. He got back in his car and drove away.
My father didn’t show up for another half hour. I pointed out that he was late, that he said we’d meet at nine and it was nine-thirty.
“I overslept,” he explained. “You should have come by the hotel and told them to give me a wake-up call.”
“I didn’t think of that,” I admitted. I noticed he had a softball glove tucked under his arm. When he noticed me noticing it, he handed me the glove and grinned. “Here’s your surprise,” he said. “It’s a present for some of those birthdays I missed.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “Thanks. I needed a new glove. How did you know?”
“I guess I know my girl pretty well,” he said.
“It’s perfect.” I was so happy. The leather felt wonderful. And I could tell it had strong stitching that would hold up to abuse. I thought of my worn-out glove with the torn stitching. I needed a new glove. And my dad knew it. I was about to put the glove on, but I stopped in mid-gesture. It was a right-handed glove. I was a lefty. I couldn’t believe it. Didn’t he even know that I was left-handed? I was speechless.
“Isn’t it a great glove?” he said. “Only the best for my girl.”
“Great,” I said, even though his present was all wrong.
I didn’t tell Dad that he bought his left-handed daughter a right-handed glove. How come he didn’t remember that about me? I wondered.
“We’ll play some catch this afternoon,” he suggested. “You can break in your glove.”
“I have to go home and mow the lawn,” I told him.
“That short leash again,” Dad said with a grin. He made the choking gesture again. I smiled even though I didn’t feel like it.
When my father and I were settled in a back booth at Thelma’s, I told him that I’d thought my surprise was that we could finally tell Mom and everyone that he was in Ston
eybrook. “I thought maybe they gave you the job you’ve been talking about,” I added.
“That’s coming along,” he told me. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”
During breakfast we exchanged stories about the places we’d traveled to and which ones were our favorites. Actually, he did most of the talking. Whenever I mentioned a place I’d visited, such as Florida, he’d interrupt to say something like, “If you think Florida is interesting, you should go to Mexico.” Then he’d tell me all about a trip he took to Mexico.
It made me wonder, If he could go to all those places, how come he never came to see me?
After breakfast we went to his hotel and played hearts in the lobby. I didn’t care much about playing cards that morning. I kept thinking about the softball glove and how he didn’t even remember I was a lefty. Then I started thinking about how he deserted my mother and us kids without any warning. I tried to put those thoughts out of my head and concentrate on the card game, but Dad could tell my mind was someplace else.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he said.
“They’re worth a lot more than a penny,” I replied.
He grinned. “There’s an idea,” he said. “Let’s play cards for pennies.”
“I have to go now,” I said. “The lawn.”
“Lawns,” he chortled. “I never could understand people’s obsession with cutting grass. Why can’t they leave the poor grass alone. Who cares if grass is long?”
“Lots of people, I guess,” I answered. I didn’t feel much like discussing lawns with my father. Or anything else, for that matter. I was in a rotten mood.
During my bike ride home I thought, Maybe Dad should be excused for not remembering — or noticing — that I’m a lefty. After all, he hasn’t seen me in six years. Then I remembered how he always brought the conversation back to himself and I thought, Maybe I didn’t talk much at breakfast because of the whole glove thing. Maybe I’m in a bad mood because of all the lying I’ve been doing.
Kristy's Book Page 6
