“No,” said Emma.
“Or have strong bones and shiny teeth?” asked Uncle Elliot.
“I can’t see my bones,” said Emma. “And I don’t have to smile.”
“That’s funny,” said Zachary.
Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Elliot looked at each other and sighed. They picked up their empty plates and went into the kitchen. Zachary sighed, too. He went over to Emma’s chair.
“Don’t you want cherry glimmer ice cream for dessert?” he asked.
Emma looked up, surprised. “Is that what Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Elliot are having for dessert?”
Zachary nodded. Emma and Zach’s parents never bought cherry glimmer ice cream for dessert. Emma’s father said it tasted as if it were made from unreal cherries. They always served fruit, or told Emma and Zach that they must be much too full for dessert.
“Yes,” said Emma. “I want cherry glimmer ice cream for dessert.”
“Then eat your broccoli,” Zach said. “Besides”—he leaned over to whisper in her ear—“everything moves if you look at it long enough.”
Emma looked up at Zachary. Then she looked at her broccoli. “You’re a good brother, Zach,” she said.
Zachary was right. The broccoli moved off Emma’s plate. She cut it up into twenty-two tiny pieces and swallowed them like vitamins just in case she wanted strong bones and shiny teeth.
The cherry glimmer ice cream moved off her plate even faster.
Love and Marriage and Miranda
Aunt Evelyn looked out the window.
“There is a person with fuzzy hair coming up the walk,” she announced.
“That’s Miranda!” exclaimed Zachary. “My girl friend.”
Emma followed Zachary to the front door.
“Why is she here?” asked Emma.
“She likes me,” said Zachary.
“That doesn’t mean she has to come to the house,” said Emma.
Miranda’s hair was even more fuzzy in the house, as if she had shaken hands with the light sockets. Emma saw that she had a ring on every single finger, and she was wearing high-heeled shoes that were too big for her.
Zachary introduced Miranda to Uncle Elliot and Aunt Evelyn. Uncle Elliot was reading the Sunday newspaper beginning with the first page right through to the last. In order. Emma didn’t know anyone who read the Sunday paper that way. Emma’s mother and father had peppy discussions over who would get which section first. Once Emma’s mother hid the section she wanted under the couch.
Aunt Evelyn was knitting something very large and gray. Perhaps for a whale. Emma hoped it was for Uncle Elliot and not for the new baby.
“Hi, Emma,” said Miranda.
“Are those your mother’s shoes?” asked Emma.
“Yes,” said Miranda. She sat down and crossed her legs, and one shoe fell off.
Emma peered at Miranda.
“Was your hair like that when you were born?” she asked.
“No,” said Miranda. “I did it myself. I could do it to your hair, too, if you want.”
“Never,” said Emma.
“Would you like to listen to my Morris Fibley record?” Zachary asked Miranda.
“Sure,” said Miranda. “I came over because I was bored. It’s my mother and father’s wedding anniversary and they’ve gone out to hold hands and eat steak with whipped potatoes by candlelight.”
“In the middle of the day?” asked Emma.
Miranda shrugged her shoulders. “It’s romantic, they said. It goes with love and marriage. Also they couldn’t get a sitter for me tonight.”
Emma knew Miranda’s parents. Miranda’s mother was very short, nearly a midget, and she wore wigs. Miranda’s father smiled all the time, even if there was nothing to smile about. Maybe his wife’s wigs made him happy.
Zachary and Miranda went off to listen to his Morris Fibley record, and Emma sat down on the arm of Aunt Evelyn’s chair and thought about love and marriage and Miranda. She wondered if Zachary would marry fuzzy Miranda and have lots of children whose hair stood up. They could, she supposed, wear hats, or wigs like Miranda’s mother. Miranda and Zachary were listening to the music, probably holding hands by now, getting closer to love and marriage.
It was quiet in the living room. The only sounds were the clicking of Aunt Evelyn’s knitting needles and the rustle of Uncle Elliot’s newspaper. Emma got tired of worrying quietly.
“He’ll probably show her all his bottle caps!” Emma said very loudly, making Uncle Elliot jump. “And his dirt collection. I’m the only one who’s smelled every jar of his dirt collection. And he’ll probably give her his Morris Fibley sweat shirt with the streak of lightning on it. The one he promised to give me when it’s too small for him!”
“Don’t you like Miranda?” asked Uncle Elliot, looking around his newspaper.
Emma thought a moment.
“Only by herself,” she said.
“What does that mean?” asked Uncle Elliot.
Aunt Evelyn put down her whale knitting.
“It means,” she said, “that Emma is a younger sister. Like me. I have two older brothers, Emma.”
Uncle Elliot went back behind his newspaper.
“Did your brothers get married?” asked Emma.
“Yes,” said Aunt Evelyn. “One even gave me his pet snake when he left.”
“Do you still have it?” asked Emma, interested.
“No,” said Uncle Elliot very softly behind the newspaper.
“Emma, they had lots of girl friends. I was jealous. Just the way they were jealous of some of my boyfriends. But they got married and we’re still friends,” said Aunt Evelyn. “Brothers and sisters are always brothers and sisters. And that has nothing to do with love and marriage. You’ll see.”
“Not me,” said Emma, who couldn’t think of one boy to love and marry and make Zachary jealous about. “I don’t think I’ll get married. I think I’d rather live by myself and raise seals in the bathtub.”
“You may feel differently later,” said Aunt Evelyn. “I did. I felt fluttery. Bubbly.”
“Like heartburn?” asked Emma, making Uncle Elliot laugh.
“No,” said Aunt Evelyn. “Romantic fluttery and bubbly. Uncle Elliot made me feel that way.”
Emma moved over to the couch and looked at Uncle Elliot. He did not look romantic to her. He looked embarrassed.
“Do you know what your Uncle Elliot did before we got married?” asked Aunt Evelyn with a smile.
“Evelyn,” said Uncle Elliot.
“What?” asked Emma. “What did he do?”
“He hired a skywriter to write I LOVE YOU EVELYN up in the sky. The pilot wrote I LOVE YOU EVEN by mistake. But it was romantic. It made me feel fluttery and bubbly.”
“You did that?” Emma asked Uncle Elliot. She moved over closer to him and stared at him behind the newspaper.
“Then,” Aunt Evelyn went on, “on our first anniversary …”
“Ev!” Uncle Elliot grinned and turned red.
“What?” asked Emma, smiling.
“He wrote a poem,” said Aunt Evelyn, “and put it on a big sign in the front yard for everyone to see. I still remember it. To this very day. The poem was very romantic.”
“What did it say?” asked Emma. She could hardly believe that her Uncle Elliot, who read the newspaper from the first page to the last in order, who cared mostly about exercising and rules, could also compose a romantic poem.
Aunt Evelyn cleared her throat and sat up straight. She recited:
“I love you Evelyn,
I love you lots.
When we’re apart
Life truly rots.”
There was a silence.
“That’s beautiful,” said Emma softly.
“You think so?” asked Uncle Elliot, pleased. “Do you really think so?”
“Yes,” said Emma. “It is truly beautiful,” she added, because Emma thought the word “truly” in Uncle Elliot’s poem was the most beautiful thing of all.
&
nbsp; Aunt Evelyn beamed. “Love and marriage,” she said. “It all goes with love and marriage.”
When Aunt Evelyn went into the kitchen, Emma stared at Uncle Elliot some more. She tugged at his sleeve.
“What are you going to give Aunt Evelyn for this year’s anniversary?”
Uncle Elliot thought.
“I might rent a balloon and go up, or take her down the rapids in a rubber raft. Or maybe have the poem she likes engraved on a silver bracelet.” He looked at Emma. “Gold’s expensive.”
Emma nodded.
“I think the balloon ride could make the baby dizzy,” she said. “And riding down the rapids in a rubber raft might make Aunt Evelyn sick.”
“Me, too,” confessed Uncle Elliot.
“The bracelet is a good idea,” said Emma. She thought how lucky Aunt Evelyn would be to have a bracelet with a large dangle on it with the romantic rotting poem engraved there. That was, Emma thought, almost as good as seals in the bathtub.
Miranda and Zachary were through listening to the record.
“I’d better go home now and see if my parents’ wedding anniversary is over,” said Miranda. “Every year my mother gets a new wig and a stainless steel pot.”
“My mother got a pair of soft lenses this year,” said Zachary, whose father, after all, was an eyeball doctor.
Emma watched Miranda put on her jacket and wiggle all her rings around so that the stones sat on top. She wondered if it was healthy to wear so many rings. She watched as Miranda bent over to adjust her shoe straps so that her mother’s shoes would stay on.
“Miranda,” said Emma, “are you feeling fluttery and bubbly?”
“Why?” Miranda straightened up and looked alarmed. “Is there something going around?” She stuck out her tongue and looked in the hall mirror.
“Do you feel fluttery and bubbly, Zach?” asked Emma.
“No,” said Zachary. “Is there something catching?”
“I guess,” said Emma, smiling at the two of them, “that what is catching is not here yet.”
Night Rumbles
“I am not going to sleep in my bedroom tonight,” announced Emma.
“Why not?” asked Zachary. “Because of the mess?”
“No,” said Emma. “Because of night rumbles.”
“What are night rumbles?” asked Zachary.
“I am not sure,” said Emma, “but my friend Noah has them. He says they only come at night. He says they will come here soon. They are furry things with legs who live in the closet, and whiskery shadows in the corners of the room, and a long arm that lives under the bed and tries to grab you when you jump into bed.”
“Have you seen them yet?” asked Zachary.
Emma shook her head. “Not yet. And I am not going to.”
“Where will you sleep?” asked Zachary.
“In the backyard,” said Emma. “In the tent.”
“In the tent!” exclaimed Zachary. He loved sleeping in the tent. “But what about bugs and grubs and wild wolves?”
“I am not afraid of bugs and grubs,” said Emma. “And Wayne will protect me from wild wolves. In the tent there are not a lot of corners with boxes and closets and chairs and toy chests for things to hide in. Or in back of. Or under.”
“No mess,” said Zachary, nodding.
“No mess,” agreed Emma. She began to pack her things.
Uncle Elliot poked his head in the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Emma is not going to sleep in her room tonight,” said Zachary. “Because of night rumbles. The furry things with legs who live in the closet, and the whiskery shadows in the corners of the room, and the long arm that lives under the bed and tries to grab you when you jump into bed.”
“Where?” asked Uncle Elliot, peering cautiously around the room.
“They only come at night,” said Emma. “When the lights are off.”
“You could leave the lights on,” suggested Uncle Elliot.
Emma shook her head. “Then I’d see them,” she said. She looked at Uncle Elliot. “My parents say there are no such things as night rumbles.”
“And I am sure they are right,” said Uncle Elliot heartily. He opened the closet door. “No furry things here,” he said.
“They’re hiding behind the shoe boxes,” said Emma.
Uncle Elliot looked in each corner of Emma’s room.
“There are no whiskery shadows,” he said.
“They’re waiting for you to leave,” said Emma.
Uncle Elliot got down and peered under the bed.
“No arm,” he announced.
“There will be,” said Emma. “I am going to sleep outside in the tent.”
“The tent! All by yourself?” exclaimed Uncle Elliot. “Won’t you be scared? I was always scared.”
“I could sleep out there with you,” said Zachary eagerly.
“No,” said Emma. “By myself. I’ll have Wayne. And my battery lamp and my pencils and pens and writing paper and some books and two doughnuts that I’ve saved for a long time and Eleanor, my cactus.”
“Just remember bugs and grubs and wild wolves,” whispered Zachary.
They went to the garage to look for the tent. Aunt Evelyn was doing her ballet exercises with her hand on the car door handle.
“We’re putting up the tent, Ev,” said Uncle Elliot. “Emma’s going to sleep outside tonight because of the night rumbles.”
Aunt Evelyn looked at Emma. She raised her eyebrows.
Emma sighed. “The furry things with legs who live in the closet,” she explained again, “and the whiskery shadows in the corners of the room, and the long arm that lives under the bed and tries to grab you when you jump into bed. My mother and father and Uncle Elliot do not think there are such things.”
“Great loving George!” exclaimed Aunt Evelyn. “Of course there are! I slept in my closet for two weeks because of the Whispers.”
“The Whispers?” Emma moved closer to Zachary.
“The Whispers rustled and murmured all night long in my room when I was your age,” said Aunt Evelyn. “But won’t you be lonely out in the tent by yourself? I would be real lonely.”
“No,” said Emma. “I’ll have Wayne.”
“I’d be lonely,” said Aunt Evelyn.
Zachary and Uncle Elliot carried the tent out to the backyard.
“Can we put it up on the little hill?” asked Emma.
Zachary shook his head. “Everything will fall out the front door of the tent. You will, too.”
“How about under the tree?” suggested Emma.
“The acorns will fall on the tent roof,” said Zachary.
“That will not be good,” said Emma. “Wayne barks at dropping acorns.”
Finally they decided on a flat place in the middle of the yard where it would be easy for Wayne to watch for wild wolves.
Zachary helped Uncle Elliot put up the tent. He helped when Uncle Elliot tried to put up the tent upside down. He helped pound in the tent stakes when Uncle Elliot put them in the wrong place. He straightened the ropes so that the tent would not lean to one side. He helped by getting a bandage and ice when Uncle Elliot hit his finger with a hammer.
“It’s done,” called Uncle Elliot, collapsing on the ground and crawling inside the tent to pant in the shade.
Later, Emma moved all her things to the tent. Zachary did not help. She moved her sleeping bag first, and her Martha Mouse pillow. She moved her battery lamp and her pencils and pens and paper and books and old doughnuts and Eleanor, her cactus. Then Emma waited for nighttime. She ate dinner early so that she could get into the tent before the night rumbles came to her room. Zachary took a twenty-seven-minute shower and left soggy towels and cold puddles on the floor. Emma took a bubblebath and lost a herd of plastic animals and three marbles under the suds. Then it was nighttime.
“Good night Emma,” said Uncle Elliot. “Are you sure you won’t be scared?”
“No,” said Emma. “I won’t be scare
d.”
“Will you be lonely?” asked Aunt Evelyn.
“No.”
“Don’t you want me to come too?” asked Zachary.
“No,” said Emma. “Come, Wayne.”
“Remember bugs and grubs and wild wolves,” called Zachary as Emma padded out to the tent.
It was quiet and peaceful in the tent, and Wayne fell asleep right away, snorting and wheezing a bit. Emma read a chapter of her book, ate half an old doughnut, then watched the stars outside the tent flap. She closed her eyes.
“Emma.” She woke up with a start as Zachary climbed inside the tent, dragging his sleeping bag. “Were you asleep already?”
“Yes,” said Emma.
“I’m sorry I scared you about bugs and grubs and wild wolves,” said Zachary. “I wanted to sleep in the tent with you.”
“That’s all right,” said Emma. “You can stay for a while.”
Emma moved over, and together they rolled Wayne farther into the corner.
“Good night, Emma.”
“Good night, Zach.”
It was quiet and peaceful again and Zachary fell asleep right away.
“Emma?” Just as Emma was about to fall asleep, she saw Aunt Evelyn crouched down with a thermos in her hand. “I thought you must be lonely. And thirsty. I brought you some hot chocolate.”
Emma smiled. “Zach’s here. Come in.”
Aunt Evelyn crawled inside the tent. She lay down next to Emma. She yawned. “Now you won’t be lonely,” she said.
Emma drank some hot chocolate and watched Aunt Evelyn fall asleep. She wiggled back inside her sleeping bag, gently moving Wayne’s head with her foot, and waited for Uncle Elliot.
“Psst. Emma.”
“Yes, Uncle Elliot.”
“Are you scared? Hey, everyone’s here.” He crawled over Zachary and pushed Wayne’s rump around. “Got any doughnuts left?”
Together they watched the stars while Uncle Elliot ate a doughnut. He lay down next to Zachary. “Boy,” he said just before he fell asleep, “this isn’t scary at all, is it?”
Emma turned over carefully and counted the stars. She thought about the bugs and grubs sleeping deep underneath the tent. She watched awhile for wild wolves. But she didn’t worry. There was no room for wild wolves in the tent. Emma smiled and closed her eyes. No room for the Whispers, whoever they were. And no room at all for night rumbles.
Seven Kisses in a Row Page 2
