Nora
Page 10
I wondered if Chuck would tell the other kids what I’d done. Then they’d blow it up and make a really weird story about what had happened. Spread it all around school.
Heck with it. I wasn’t going to brood.
I decided to go over to Dee’s studio, see if she was there. She works early in the morning, seven days a week. If she was involved in painting something, she might be there.
If Dee looked spaced out when I knocked, I’d know her juices were flowing and she didn’t want to be disturbed.
Today I hit it right. She had just put the finishing touches on a portrait of a mother with her arms encircling two little children. All three had dark hair and widely spaced dark eyes. They were very beautiful.
“Oh, Dee,” I said. She grinned.
“Yeah, it’s good, right? This captures them. This lives and breathes. It’s good. I’m thrilled with it. What’s up, Nora? You hungry? Thirsty? Both? Sit and I’ll fetch some goodies. If I have any. Yeah, I think I do.”
She brought forth a turquoise teapot decorated with yellow dragons. We had Oreos and tea with a plastic container of milk and Cheerios. It was a feast.
“Talk to me,” Dee commanded. “I haven’t talked to a living soul for days. How’s everything going?”
“Remember a long time ago when Patsy stubbed her toe and we laughed and I said I thought I heard Mother laughing with us?” I said.
“Has she been laughing again?” Dee said.
“No.” I ate my way slowly around an Oreo. “But I think I felt her in my room one night. She kissed me.” I swallowed. “And she was there another time, in the living room.”
Dee nodded, listening.
“Some days I’m so sad my stomach hurts,” I said. “I wonder if she’s happy and free of pain. Sometimes I worry that even though she’s dead, it still hurts. I can’t forget the way she looked before she died.”
“Nora, darling.” Dee put out her hand but didn’t touch me. “I think your mother, wherever she is, is happy and free of pain. And as lovely as ever. Her spirit remains. She is strong and full of love for you. That’s what I think.”
“Good,” I said. “Thanks.”
“How’s your dad? And Patsy?”
“Okay. Daddy says he might marry The Tooth. Patsy’s having fits.”
“Don’t let Patsy get you down, Nora.” Dee poured more tea. “Don’t let her walk all over you. She comes on pretty strong at times. She’ll take over if you let her. You and Patsy are made from different cloth. Cookie?”
I shook my head, wanting her to go on.
“I don’t know why, but Patsy has self-confidence to burn,” Dee said. “And you don’t, but you should.” Dee cupped my chin in her hand. “You have the dearest little face, Nora. I can see your soul shining out of your eyes. I think you’ll be a perfectly splendid woman and you’ll do lots of good things.”
“You do?” I whispered, overcome. “What?”
“You expect me to know everything?” Dee cried. “Better scoot now. I have a major cleanup to do here and I don’t need any help.”
I knew she meant it. Dee liked to clean up on her own. I walked to the door and paused, wondering if I should tell her.
“Dee,” I said, “I kissed Chuck Whipple on Saturday. He took me to Radio City Music Hall and on the way home I just grabbed hold of him and kissed him. He was surprised. I grabbed him, he didn’t grab me.”
“Was it fun?” Dee asked me.
“Yes,” I said. “I liked it. I couldn’t believe I really did it. I just grabbed him and kissed him.”
“Good for you, Nora!” Dee said. “You’re your mother’s own daughter, all right.”
I walked home slowly, thinking about what Dee had said. And of all the comforting things she’d told me, those last words were the best of all.
Twenty-six
The tooth is back. She came back a week early. I heard Daddy making a date with her on the phone. His voice sounded light and happy and delighted to be talking to her. It feels odd to have your father going on dates. I wonder if they go dutch or if he pays for everything.
Daddy said he liked Chuck and that he seemed like a good kid. Baba said she thought Chuck had lovely manners. Baba is really into manners. I was glad they liked him. And I realized I’d never said anything nice to Daddy about The Tooth.
“What’s there to say?” Patsy asked.
Patsy’s a sore loser. When I told her about The Tooth getting back early and calling Daddy for a date, she groaned and said, “There goes the ball game. Prepare for the worst.”
Patsy is sometimes psychic.
About ten days after The Tooth got back, Daddy told us they were getting married the end of May.
“It will be a small wedding, family and close friends,” he said. Then, looking straight at me, he said, “Wynne and I would like you two to be members of the wedding.”
“You mean bridesmaids?” Patsy yelped. Funny thing, she has always wanted to be a bridesmaid, though not—God forbid—a bride.
Daddy laughed. I hadn’t heard him laugh in a long time, I thought, and it was a nice sound.
“No, I think not, Patsy,” he said. “Maybe you could just stand up with us to show goodwill and that you wish us happiness. How would that be?”
We said okay.
That night as Patsy was putting lavender gunk on her face to give herself a facial and clear her skin of impurities, she said, “I see us in pink frocks and carrying bouquets of sweetheart roses. What say, Norrie? Does that sound good?”
“You heard Daddy,” I said. “No bridesmaids.”
“Yeah, but listen,” Patsy said. “As The Tooth comes down the aisle, we trip her up and she lands splat and breaks lots of bones, and they haul her off to the hospital where they put her in traction.”
“They could still get married,” I said. “One minute you won’t go to the church and the next, you’re a bridesmaid. Make up your mind.”
“Or”—Patsy paused for her knockout blow—“or, we tuck a couple of black widow spiders in our bouquets and at the crucial moment, the spiders hop out and nail The Tooth and send her to Never-Never Land. How’s that?”
Like I say, Patsy’s a sore loser.
After Daddy told us his plans, I went over to Baba’s to see what she thought.
“Wish them well, darling,” Baba said. “Your father would do anything in the world for you two. But you can’t expect him to throw her over just because you don’t care for her. If he were that kind of man, he wouldn’t be Sam. You really don’t have any right to say who he should marry. It’s out of your control. Give them your blessing, Nora,” Baba said. “That’s what he wants, more than anything.”
The wedding reception would be at our house, Daddy told us. He’d get Glorious Grub to provide the food.
To show Daddy he had my blessing, I decided to clean the house for him. Cleaning house is not my idea of a fun time. It was a labor of love.
I got out the vacuum. Vacuuming’s the best part. I like the humming sound the vacuum makes. It’s very soothing.
First I did the living room rug. Then the couch. I used that special little attachment that gets down into the crevices. I was doing a thorough job when I felt something tucked among the cushions. I reached down and pulled out a white linen handkerchief. It smelled faintly of something familiar and very delicious.
Shalimar. My heart began to pound.
I’d know that smell anywhere.
It was Mother’s handkerchief. She had put it there so she’d have an excuse to come back, like Louise said. It was a memento.
Or maybe a sign. Maybe a sign that this was the last time she’d come.
I wasn’t sure, but I was sure she’d left it for me.
I’d tell Daddy and Patsy, of course. And Baba, too. But not right away. I’m going to keep it to myself for a while. Not long. Not forever.
But even when I tell them, it will be mine to keep.
About the Author
Constance C. Greene is the a
uthor of over twenty highly successful young adult novels, including the ALA Notable Book A Girl Called Al, Al(exandra) the Great, Getting Nowhere, and Beat the Turtle Drum, which is an ALA Notable Book, an IRA-CBC Children’s Choice, and the basis for the Emmy Award–winning after-school special Very Good Friends. Greene lives in Milford, Connecticut.
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All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1993 by Constance C. Greene
Cover design by Connie Gabbert
ISBN: 978-1-5040-0092-5
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