Holly's Heart Collection One

by Beverly Lewis

  “I have no idea,” Mom said. “It’s uncanny.”

  Carrie seemed to be enjoying this. “And so spooky,” she said.

  “And there’s more,” Mom continued. “The writer of the letter says not to worry. He wants to make sure there are many more happy times around here.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, eager for another laugh about now.

  “How would I know?” Mom said, a frown on her face.

  Carrie wiped the table. “I’ll be happy if Stephanie can come over all next week. Please, can she, Mommy?”

  Mr. Tate appeared out of nowhere. “Don’t beg your mother, Carrie. The question has already been settled.”

  This news brought a smile to Carrie’s face. So Stephie must be coming to stay with us.

  When I hung up the dish towel, I noticed Mom held the mysterious letter behind her back. “Time for family devotions,” she announced.

  Zach, Carrie, and I followed Mr. Tate downstairs to the family room, like mice following the Pied Piper. Mom came down a few minutes later and sat beside Zachary.

  The Scripture was from the first chapter of Romans, about encouraging each other in the faith. I listened as Mr. Tate read the devotional book. The story was almost humorous, especially because he was the person reading it.

  The story was about a boy who complained and criticized his best friend, hoping to get him to do things his way: “Give your friend ten compliments for each negative thing you say to him,” the boy’s mother suggested. Sadly enough, he couldn’t think of that many good things.

  My mind wandered, creating an instant list of negative things about Mr. Tate. Could I come up with ten compliments for him?

  Mr. Tate wrapped things up with a long prayer. He prayed for every missionary I’d ever heard of, and some I hadn’t. I really wanted him to pray and ask if God’s blessing was on his and Mom’s wedding plans. Seemed to me the blessing was definitely missing.

  After the prayer Carrie and Zach sat at the computer and played one of our family computer games. I ran upstairs, heading for my room. On the way, I spied Mom’s letter from Hong Kong sticking out of the phone book on the kitchen desk. That’s when my idea struck.

  Disregarding Mom’s plea to keep the letter a secret, I went back to the family room and waved the letter in Carrie’s face. “Look, Mom opened her letter from Hong Kong,” I said, hoping to attract Mr. Tate’s attention.

  Mom’s eyes widened. She leaned forward on the sectional.

  Carrie wore a glazed expression as she maneuvered the buttons on the game pad. “Move! You’re messing me up,” she said.

  Even though Carrie wasn’t interested, Mr. Tate watched my every move. Perfect. This charade wasn’t for Carrie’s benefit anyhow.

  “C’mon, Carrie,” I begged, standing between her and the screen. “You have to read this letter from Mom’s secret admirer.”

  She pressed the Pause button. “Did he sign it this time?” she asked.

  “No, but the letter is handwritten, and he seems to think he can make Mom smile again.”

  Mr. Tate stood up abruptly. “Let me see that letter,” he demanded, his hand outstretched.

  I glanced at Mom, who was by now in third-degree agony. Her eyes warned me severely, but I ignored them. Instead I looked Mr. Tate square in the face. “Better ask Mom about it first,” I said, playacting for all it was worth.

  Mr. Tate looked ridiculous standing in the middle of the family room with his hand reaching out for the letter.

  “Mom?” I said, enjoying this repeat performance.

  She kicked off her shoes. “Mike, it’s nothing, really. Most likely some practical joke. That’s all.”

  I tossed the letter to Mom. She could decide what to do now that Mr. Tate knew a second letter had arrived.

  Mission accomplished!

  “I think you’d better go to your room, Holly,” Mr. Tate ordered.

  Mom looked surprised. “Why, Mike? What’s the problem?”

  He cleared his throat. “You and I need to…uh, discuss some things, I believe. Privately.” The man was a drill sergeant.

  “I’ll go,” I said. “Gladly.”

  Tingling with victory, I headed for my room. Now to make my list of ten Tate things, minus the compliments, of course.

  I wrote:

  Mr. Tate is:

  1. Bossy

  2. Unreasonable

  3. Too strict

  4. Bald

  5. Too serious

  6. Too old (for Mom)

  7. Unromantic

  8. Stingy (not even a diamond chip for a ring!)

  9. Strange (honeycombs for dessert? Give me a break!)

  10. Pushy

  With a flick of my wrist, I folded the list and hid it in my bottom drawer. There. I felt better with that out of my system.

  Now for something really interesting. I found Lucas’s last letter and reread it. His idea about showing my short story to his aunt thrilled me. If the best mystery writer in the world thought I had promise as a writer, I’d definitely believe it.

  Getting off the floor, I posed for the mirror. I swept my hair up, away from my face, like Danny’s mother had suggested.

  She was absolutely right. I did look older with my long hair up. Forget the wig. I would spend my money on the snappy shorts outfit. First thing tomorrow. That is, if Mom let me. No way would she stand for ignoring her wishes about the latest mystery letter. The worst thing she could possibly do was ground me tomorrow. Poor timing on my part. If I didn’t show up at the school gym by two o’clock tomorrow, Danny and I could be history!

  Early the next morning, my alarm jangled me awake. I stumbled out of bed and hurried to the shower, anxious for my afternoon practice session with Danny. But first—this morning sometime—I planned to stop at Footloose and Fancy Things and buy the cute outfit in the window.

  Pulling on some jeans and a T-shirt, I stumbled back to my room. There sat Mom on my bed. Her eyes were sleepy, but not squinty. “You’re up early, Holly.”

  “I’m going downtown,” I said, hoping she’d skip the questions.

  “Shopping?”

  “Just a little.”

  “That’s something you and I need to do before school starts. Can we set aside some time, just the two of us?”

  I liked what I was hearing, but I was puzzled with this nolecture routine. “Cool,” I said, towel-drying my hair.

  “Honey,” she said slowly. “Who do you think is sending those letters to me?”

  I perched on my window seat, thinking. “Are you saying you don’t think it’s a practical joke? You only said that to make Mr. Tate think…”

  “Please don’t bring Mike into this,” she said, her eyes narrowing into a squint.

  “I don’t get it, Mom. Why’s he so touchy? It’s just a letter. Besides, you’re not really engaged, are you?” I stared at her ring finger.

  She touched my comforter lightly, tracing the stitching. “We had a slight disagreement last night,” she said softly.

  Yes, the beginning of the end! I thought.

  “Are you okay, Mom? Did he say something to hurt you?”

  “I’m not in the mood to talk about this,” she said, getting up. “But I do love you, Holly-Heart. It’s been so long since we’ve had a talk.” She looked gloomy now.

  “Are you sad about Mr. Tate?” I asked.

  “I’m not sad at all. Just missing the way things used to be before…”

  “Please don’t marry him!” I blurted out. “He’s not right for us. I know it.”

  “I have to think things through,” she said. “He and I are going to talk on Tuesday night. Will you watch Carrie and Stephie for a few hours then?”

  “Sure, Mom,” I said, even though I didn’t want to make it easy for her to see Mr. Tate again.

  “Thanks, sweetie.”

  “Love you, Mom.” I fluffed my hair to dry it.

  “Need a ride downtown?” she asked.

  I grinned. “Sure, but
I have to make a quick stop at the bank as soon as it opens. There’s a really cute outfit at Footloose and Fancy Things. You won’t believe how cool it is.”

  Mom’s eyes twinkled. “Danny Myers must be someone extra special. When do I get to meet your friend?”

  “You did, sort of. Last year at choir auditions, remember?”

  She paused to think. “Is he tall with auburn hair?”

  “And an amazing memory. Danny remembers everything—even my favorite soda. You should hear him quote entire chapters from the Bible. And he prays over his meals. Even at school.”

  “This boy sounds too good to be true,” she said with a sad little smile. She headed toward her room.

  I prayed silently that someone like Danny would sneak into Mom’s life. The anonymous letter writer was right. Mom did need to laugh again.

  By the time we finished eating breakfast, it was time to leave for the bank. Carrie and I climbed into the car, and I thought how fabulous it was being with Mom again, without Mr. Tate hovering endlessly.

  Mom and Carrie stayed in the car while I ran into the bank and withdrew sixty-five dollars from my account. I figured with tax, I’d need extra for the outfit.

  Soon enough I was carrying the two-piece outfit to the car, swinging the bag as I bounced down the steps. I showed it off to Carrie and Mom as we rode home.

  “It’s definitely your color,” Mom said with an approving glance. “I hope you tried it on.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve had enough outfits that were too loose around my waist not to remember.”

  Carrie piped up, “You don’t look that skinny anymore, Holly.”

  Mom shot me a knowing look. “You’re filling out, all right. And it’s all happened this summer.”

  “Maybe my sister will get fat,” Carrie said, giggling.

  Mom turned into the driveway. “That’ll be the day,” she said, turning off the ignition.

  I spied the mail truck coming. Carrie saw it, too. “Beat you to the mailbox,” I challenged her, running toward it.

  I won. Reaching for the mail, I immediately saw a letter addressed to Mom. It was postmarked Hawaii. I studied the envelope. “Hey, check this out.” I showed the letter to Carrie. “There’s no return address.”

  “Is it from the same guy?” she asked, peering at the handwriting.

  “How can it be? It’s Hawaii. Besides, the handwriting is different.” I hurried up the steps and into the house.

  Carrie ran ahead of me into the kitchen. “Holly’s got the mail,” she called to Mom.

  “Thanks,” Mom said, spying the letter. “Hmm, who’s this from?” Quickly, she tore open the envelope.

  I leaned against Mom, following along as she read silently.

  Dear Susan,

  Need another laugh? Here’s a silly riddle to brighten your day: “What did the queen bee say to the baby bee?

  “Bee-hive yourself!”

  I simply couldn’t resist this bee joke. It’s so dumb, it’s funny. Can’t quite imagine you getting close to a beehive, let alone gathering the honey.

  With sweet thoughts of you,

  Your Secret Admirer

  “This is nuts,” Carrie said. “Who is this guy going around the world, writing letters to our mom?”

  “He certainly knows a lot about me,” Mom said, sitting at the bar and reading the letter again.

  I grabbed her arm. “Isn’t this exciting?”

  “Either exciting or a sick joke,” she said.

  “Any idea who’s writing to you?” I said.

  “Didn’t I ask you the same question just this morning?” She planted her elbows on the bar.

  Pulling out a stool, I hoisted myself up. “You don’t think I put someone up to this, do you?”

  Mom tapped her pink fingernails on the counter top. “This is just so…bizarre.”

  “And mysterious,” Carrie chimed in.

  “And now two different styles of handwriting,” Mom said, frowning.

  “How could someone possibly know all this stuff about us, er…you?” I asked, feeling uneasy, like someone might be spying on us.

  “I don’t know, but I’d like to find out.” A hint of a smile crossed her face. “You are not to mention this letter to Mike, uh, Mr. Tate,” she said. “Do you understand, girls?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Promise?”

  I looked into her blue eyes. “I promise.”

  She pulled Carrie over next to her. “And you?”

  “I promise,” Carrie said solemnly.

  “I mean it.” She shook her finger at us.

  The tone of her voice and her eyes indicated she meant business like never before. However, there was one minor detail Mom had overlooked. Stephanie was coming over tomorrow night. What if she happened to spill the beans to Mr. Tate on Tuesday when he came to pick up Mom?

  The more I thought about my nosy little cousin hanging out at our house, the better I liked it. The setup was fabulous.

  Mom fixed cheeseburgers for lunch. I ate hurriedly, then excused myself. There were many advantages to not having Mr. Tate around. He wouldn’t approve of eating and running. Mom was cool. She didn’t mind as long as I didn’t rush though supper, our special family time.

  “Spaghetti tonight,” she called as I took the steps two at a time.

  In my room, I brushed back my hair, pulling it into a single ponytail. Next came the new shorts outfit. A perfect fit! I squirted on some light perfume, glad my cheeks were still rosy-tan from the summer.

  “Not too bad, Holly-Bones,” I whispered as I smiled into the mirror. I was ready to meet Danny Myers.

  SEALED WITH A KISS

  Chapter 11

  Giddy with excitement, I imagined how the volleyball practice session with Danny might turn out. I sped up my pace, hurrying down the street to the school.

  As usual, Danny was prompt. He met me at the gym, wearing green gym shorts and a white T-shirt. The contrast of white against his face made him look tanner than usual. “Hey! Ready to warm up?”

  “Okay, let’s go,” I said, following him around the gym. A believer in limbering up the muscles before working out, Danny put me through my paces, showing me how to stretch out properly so I wouldn’t strain anything.

  Next he had me practice serving techniques—how to put a spin on a fast serve. We bumped the ball, spiked the ball, and set it up.

  But I could think of only one thing: When would Danny reveal his feelings for me? I couldn’t get Andie’s comment out of my mind.

  Thirsty from running around, I stopped at the drinking fountain. Danny came over and got a drink, too. But he remained silent about anything but volleyball.

  Over an hour later, Danny stopped bouncing the ball and held it. “I think that’s enough for today.” He flashed me a grin. “You’re great, Holly. I hope you’ll make the team.”

  “Thanks.” Still panting from the exercise, I wiped my face.

  “Want to drop by my house for a snack?” he asked. “My mom’s expecting you.”

  “Okay.” I could only hope his mom hadn’t said anything about seeing me at the wig shop yesterday.

  Danny and I began walking the long trek to his house. He lived at least a mile from the school. Now maybe we’d have time to talk for a change. Really talk.

  “My mom baked your favorite cake.” His eyes twinkled.

  “How’d she know?”

  “I remembered,” he said.

  My heart pumped ninety miles an hour. “Oh yeah, I should’ve remembered you would remember.” With that we burst into laughter. Danny’s gray-green eyes danced in the afternoon light.

  We walked in silence for another half block. What is he waiting for? What if Andie’s wrong? I thought.

  At last I broke the silence. “Do you really think I have a chance of making the team?”

  “We’ll keep working at it,” he said. The way he said we’ll made my heart skip a beat. That is until he suggested that maybe Kayla Miller could be of some as
sistance, too.

  “I’m fine with you,” I said, hoping he’d take the hint.

  Instead he asked about my short stories. An awkward change of topics.

  “Oh, I love to write mysteries. But they’re not so easy,” I replied. “You have to know the ending so you can work the plot backward.”

  “That’s good. I’ll remember that,” he said, smiling.

  Good for you, I thought, totally confused.

  Danny’s mom had ice-cold lemonade and angel food cake waiting in the breakfast nook for us when we arrived. What an inviting sight after the long walk in the hot sun.

  “Did you have a good time?” she asked, pouring lemonade.

  Danny nodded, smiling. “Holly’s something else. You should see her catch on…and fast.”

  Mrs. Myers sat at the table with us. She opened her address book and found the M’s. “What’s your street address, Holly?”

  I must’ve looked puzzled at first.

  “I like to keep a record of addresses of Danny’s friends—you know, for party invitations, things like that,” she said.

  “It’s 207 Downhill Court,” I replied quickly, observing the graceful motion of her hand. “You write something like my aunt Marla. She had the most beautiful handwriting ever.”

  “Mom’s been writing like that all her life,” Danny joked.

  “I’m not kidding, Danny. Look at it…her handwriting’s beautiful. Those perfectly formed loops on her L’s and the T’s are crossed slightly above the center of the line. Wow.”

  “Which tells something about Mom’s personality,” Danny said. “If I remember correctly, the loops mean she has confidence and self-discipline, which is true.”

  I looked at him curiously. “Do you know about handwriting analysis?”

  “Sure…there’s a book on handwriting at the library. I read it a couple of years ago. Let me think a minute.” He stared into space a second. I could almost hear his brain sorting through one memory bank after another. “Yes, there it is.”

  “Where?” I said, looking around the breakfast nook.

  His mom chuckled along with me. “Danny’s amazing,” she said, excusing herself while I waited for the final “read out” from my friend’s wonder-brain.