Once Upon a Toad

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  “I’m knackered,” she said wearily. “I think the message finally got through to Olivia, though. She’s going to bed, and I guess I will too. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

  “I won’t.”

  I waited, listening for a while to the duet between Geoffrey’s rhythmic snores upstairs and the steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the front hall downstairs. I wanted to be sure Olivia was asleep before I went up to our room.

  She wasn’t, though. She was lying in wait for me, still furious.

  “You ruined everything!” she whispered as I climbed into bed. “I wish you’d never come to Portland!”

  The flame of anger I’d felt earlier today in the cafeteria rekindled. “I wish I’d never come too!” I whispered back hotly.

  “Why don’t you just leave, then?”

  “I would if I could!”

  “I hate you!”

  “I hate you back!” Seething, I flung one last retort at her. “And by the way, I dunked your toothbrush in the toilet.”

  Olivia let out a howl of rage. “You stupid, rotten … Catbox!” she sputtered, hurling her pillow at me.

  “Girls!” Iz flung our door open and flipped on the light. “What in heaven’s name is going on in here?”

  Bursting into tears, I grabbed my quilt and pillow and fled downstairs to the living room. I was blowing my nose when my stepmother came down to check on me a few minutes later.

  “I’m sleeping down here,” I told her stiffly.

  She smoothed my hair back from my face. “I guess that’s okay,” she said, then added with a sigh, “I wish your dad were here.”

  I did too. But he wasn’t, and my mother was a million miles away. Okay, not really a million—more like 220, straight up—but it might as well have been a million. It sure felt like it. My fingers found their way to the gold charm on the necklace she’d left for me. HOLD FAST, it said. To what?

  Iz gave me a kiss and tucked the quilt around me, then went back upstairs to bed.

  I lay there until the house was quiet again—well, as quiet as it could be with my little brother’s elephantine snores—then slipped my cell phone from the pocket of my pajamas, where I’d placed it earlier. It was time to put my emergency plan into action.

  Desperate times call for desperate measures, I texted to A.J.

  What’s up? he texted back.

  The reign of terror continues, I wrote, quickly hitting the highlights of the day’s events.

  Ouch! he replied. Catbox? Really?

  Uh-huh.

  So you’re going to do it?

  Yeah, I told him.

  Good luck, he texted back. Let me know what happens.

  I stared at my phone. My mother had given me an emergency number before she left, but she’d also pounded into me the importance of not using it unless I absolutely, positively had to.

  This qualified as an emergency, didn’t it? How was I supposed to show my face at school after this?

  I got up from my makeshift bed and crept into my dad’s study. After closing the door, I sat down in the leather chair at his desk and dialed the number my mother had given me.

  “This is Mission Control,” said a voice a few seconds later.

  “Uh,” I replied, feeling really, really stupid all of a sudden. For some reason I had it in my head that my mother had given me the direct line to the International Space Station. But of course there was no such thing. What was I thinking? I was talking to NASA in Houston. “This is Catriona Starr,” I finally managed to stammer. “I’d, uh, like to speak to my mother, sir.”

  There was a long, long pause on the other end.

  “Catriona Starr, did you say?”

  “Yessir.”

  “You’re Fiona MacLeod Starr’s daughter?”

  “Yessir.”

  Another long pause.

  “That’s a long-distance call, young lady.” The operator paused again, then laughed.

  Just my luck. A comedian. “Yessir,” I replied. “But I really need to talk to her.”

  “Okay, honey, let me see what I can do,” he said, finally taking pity on me. “This may take a bit, so hang on.”

  I sat there, swiveling idly back and forth in my dad’s chair and playing with the chain of my necklace. A minute or two later the phone line got all crackly and hollow-sounding. “Cat?”

  It was my mother.

  “Mom!” A wave of relief washed over me at the sound of her voice. I hadn’t realized how much I missed her.

  “Is everything okay? Nobody’s hurt or anything, are they?” She sounded sleepy. I’d checked the map of the world this morning, the one Dad had put up on the bulletin board over the breakfast table—we’d been using a little American flag pushpin to track the space station’s progress—but for the life of me I couldn’t remember where she was right now. Probably over Outer Mongolia or something. Obviously, I’d woken her up.

  “No,” I assured her, then blurted out the whole humiliating story about the Hawk Creek Tappers and their “Catbox” number in the cafeteria, ending with all the reasons that I needed to go home, right now.

  “Have you talked to your dad?” she asked when I was finished.

  “I can’t!” I told her. “I tried, but he’s at Klamath Lake this weekend, counting grebes or something. He won’t be home until Sunday night.”

  “What about Iz?”

  I explained how Iz was trying to help but that it wasn’t working. “I can’t do it, Mom!” I said, my voice rising. “I can’t take another minute of Olivia!”

  My mother’s sigh was barely audible above the static. “Right. Well, sweetheart, there’s not a whole lot I can do about it from up here. Do you think you can hang in there just a little while longer?”

  I know it’s not fair to cry on the phone to your mother when she’s in outer space and can’t just hop on a bus or a plane and come home. Really, I do. But I couldn’t help it.

  “Oh, honey,” she said, sighing again when she heard my sobs. “I really, really wish I could be there right now. But I can’t; I have a job to do up here. An important job.”

  “I know,” I managed to whisper.

  “And you have an important job to do too, remember?”

  I nodded. “I’m your support system. Team Starr.”

  That’s what my mom calls us. She says no way could she do her job without me.

  “That’s right, and I need you to hang in there for me and stay strong.” She was quiet for a minute, and I pictured her sailing through the silent darkness, winging past the stars. “Maybe there is something I can do,” she said finally.

  “Really?” Hope bloomed in me as I wondered what she had in mind. Dropping something on Olivia from orbit, maybe?

  “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She told me that she loved me, and I told her I loved her back, and we hung up. As I turned my cell phone off for the night, I realized I’d forgotten to ask her about the necklace.

  Nothing happened on Saturday except Olivia and I both got a long lecture from Iz, who managed to forge a frosty truce between us. I slept back in my own bed that night, ignoring Olivia’s silent treatment. By Sunday morning I started to worry that maybe my mother had forgotten. As we turned onto our street coming home from church, though, I spotted her solution sitting in the driveway. Its Arizona license plate read “ABYCNU.”

  Uh-oh, I thought. I knew that RV.

  My mother had called Great-Aunt Abyssinia.

  CHAPTER 5

  The door to the RV flew open, and a large figure in a bright orange rain poncho emerged.

  “Catriona!” cried Great-Aunt Abyssinia, launching herself down the steps and swooping me up in a bear hug. She smelled like roses and something else—vinegar, maybe, or curry. It was a pungent combination, and my eyes started to water.

  “And you must be Olivia,” she said, putting me down and pouncing on my startled stepsister.

  Olivia stared up at her, op
enmouthed. Olivia is tall, but even she had to tilt her head back, because Great-Aunt Abyssinia is really tall, like Julia Child or one of the Harlem Globetrotters.

  “Let’s go inside out of the rain,” said Iz, unbuckling Geoffrey from his car seat.

  Once indoors, Great-Aunt Aby shook herself like a big wet dog, sending water flying everywhere, then removed her poncho and handed it to my stepmother. Iz took it from her, looking a little bewildered, but then, my great-aunt tends to have that effect on people.

  “You’re looking lovely as always, Isabelle,” said Great-Aunt Aby.

  “Thank you,” said Iz, trying not to stare at my great-aunt’s hair, which was short and spiky and dyed traffic-cone orange, the same shade as her poncho. “You’re looking lovely yourself.”

  Great-Aunt Abyssinia grinned. “You know what they say, ‘A laugh a day keeps the wrinkles away.’”

  Behind me, Olivia snorted. Great-Aunt Aby had plenty of wrinkles. She might not be road-map-wrinkles-and-chin-hair old, but still, she was old. She wasn’t deaf, though, and I was pretty sure she’d heard Olivia even if she didn’t say anything. She just gave her a sidelong glance and then turned to my little brother.

  “This young man can’t be Geoffrey!” she exclaimed, lifting her glasses from their resting place on her shelflike chest and peering down at him. He was hanging back behind Iz, clutching his blanket shyly, but he removed his finger from his mouth long enough to reply, “With a G!” as he always did when someone said his name.

  “So I’ve heard,” said Great-Aunt Aby, nodding solemnly.

  Geoffrey pointed at the chain attached to her glasses.

  “You like this, do you?” My great-aunt lifted it over her head and handed it to him. Looking over his shoulder, I saw that the chain’s links were actually rhinestone cactuses. It was just the sort of bizarre thing Great-Aunt Aby loved to wear.

  “Found it at a thrift store in Arizona,” she told us as Geoffrey’s chubby little fingers traced the sparkling stones. “Though why anybody’d want to part with a treasure like this is beyond me.” She shook her head regretfully, then took it back from him and slipped it over her head once again, settling the glasses onto her large nose.

  Olivia’s gape had turned into a smirk. I could practically see the wheels in her head turning and could only imagine the mileage she’d get out of my weird great-aunt at school. If I ever went back, that was.

  Great-Aunt Abyssinia swiveled her head sharply in my stepsister’s direction. Her eyes glinted behind her glasses. “‘The cat who ate the canary’ is not always an attractive look,” she told her. “You’d do well to remember the rest of the tale, my dear—the part we rarely hear these days. Puss came to a sad end when he choked on the feathers.”

  Olivia blinked. I was pretty sure I understood what my great-aunt was getting at, but she tended to talk in circles. It took some getting used to.

  “Well then,” said Iz brightly, “would you like to join us for lunch, Abyssinia? We’re just having chili and corn bread, but there’s plenty, and it’s all homemade.”

  “Sounds divine,” Great-Aunt Aby replied. She patted the pockets of her sweater and frowned. “Now, where did I put that? Oh yes, here it is.” She pulled a small plastic bag out of the pocket of the ratty sweatpants she was wearing. We all peered at the brownish powder in it. “Add a pinch of this,” she told my stepmother. “It’ll give the chili a little snap. It’s my secret ingredient—works on diaper rash, too.” She gave a slight nod in Geoffrey’s direction.

  Iz’s mouth fell open. My little brother wasn’t quite out of diapers yet. He still wore them at night. But how could my great-aunt have known that?

  “How … interesting,” said Iz, taking the bag from her.

  “Isn’t it?” Great-Aunt Abyssinia replied, beaming. “The world is so full of interesting things. And I have seen many of them.”

  Over lunch she proceeded to tell us about a number she’d seen recently, ending with her Christmas trip to the Grand Canyon.

  “Everyone should spend time in the canyon in winter,” she enthused. “Best time of year—hardly any tourists, and all that snow frosting everything! It’s pretty as a picture.”

  Olivia yawned.

  Great-Aunt Abyssinia’s eyes glinted behind her glasses again.

  I took a bite of corn bread and watched her surreptitiously. Except for the new hair color, she looked exactly the same as the last time I’d seen her, when my mother and I vacationed with her at Mount Rushmore. My great-aunt has a large, Mount Rushmore–worthy nose planted firmly in the middle of a big moon of a face, eyes that can twinkle or blaze depending on her mood, and prominent front teeth that shoot forward slightly, as if maybe they’re trying to escape from between her lips. Over her sweatpants she was wearing a baggy green sweater with two denim pockets sewn onto it. I figured Great-Aunt Aby had sewn them on herself, because they were lopsided. Like me, my great-aunt doesn’t have much patience for crafts.

  The sweater itself was probably another thrift-store find. Great-Aunt Aby loves thrift stores and flea markets and yard sales. “Junking,” as she calls it, is one of her hobbies. You can barely move in her RV for all the knickknacks and souvenirs she’s collected.

  Across the table I noticed Olivia sizing her up too. Her gaze lingered on the crooked pockets, and I sighed. I’d be hearing about them, too, no doubt.

  Great-Aunt Aby caught my eye, and her lips quirked up at the corners. I smiled back sheepishly. I had the feeling that she knew exactly what I was thinking. She winked at me. It was a great big wink because her glasses were the kind that magnify your eyes. They made her look like a lemur or a bush baby.

  After lunch we went into the living room for tea and cookies. Geoffrey seemed to have overcome his shyness, and once Great-Aunt Aby had lowered herself onto the sofa—kind of like a hippo sinking into a water hole—he climbed up into her enormous lap. Popping his index finger back into his mouth, he leaned back against her with a sigh of contentment.

  “Would you care for a piece of shortbread, young man?” asked my great-aunt, offering him one from her plate.

  Geoffrey shook his head. My little brother is probably the only kid in the entire world who doesn’t like sweets. Iz unwrapped a cheese stick and handed it to him instead, and he swapped it for his finger.

  “I hope you can stay and visit for a few days,” my stepmother said politely.

  Great-Aunt Aby shook her head, sending shortbread crumbs flying. “No can do, I’m afraid, Ms. Iz. I just got a hankering to pop in and say howdy to Catriona here.” She gave me another big wink. “I’m a road warrior—footloose and fancy-free. Us rolling stones gotta keep moving on, so I’ll be hitting the road bright and early tomorrow. California is calling, and I’d like to visit the redwoods again. They’re particularly beautiful in the spring.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re staying long enough to see Tim, at least,” Iz replied. “I know he’d be sorry to miss you. He should be home this evening.” She glanced out the window, then turned to me. “It’s stopped raining, Cat. Why don’t you take your great-aunt for a walk?”

  “Splendid idea!” boomed Great-Aunt Abyssinia.

  I thought so too. I was dying to find out what my mother had told her, and why the heck she’d even called her in the first place, but it wasn’t something I could ask in front of Iz and Olivia.

  Great-Aunt Abyssinia turned to my stepsister. “Olivia, would you care to join us?”

  My heart sank. So much for alone time with Great-Aunt Aby.

  “I’d love to, Mrs… . uh, I mean—” Olivia hesitated.

  “Just call me Aby.”

  “I’d love to, Mrs. Aby, but I have to finish my math homework.”

  I gaped at her, astonished. Since when did Olivia give two hoots about math?

  “Ah,” said Great-Aunt Aby. “Well then, Catriona, it looks like it’s just you and me.” Setting down her teacup, she stretched her large legs out in front of her and gave Geoffrey a nudge. He launched himself d
own them like she was a slide at the playground, landing on the floor with a thump and a giggle.

  “And you, young man, could use a nap,” said Iz.

  My great-aunt and I put our raincoats on just in case—Oregon is as famous for its short-lived sun breaks as it is for its rain—and headed out the front door.

  “There’s nothing quite like the smell of rain-washed earth, is there?” Great-Aunt Aby asked, inhaling with deep satisfaction.

  It wasn’t a question that really needed an answer, but I nodded anyway. As we made our way past the Dixons’ house, I spotted Connor and his older brother, Aidan, playing basketball in the driveway. The two of them stopped and stared at us as we passed by, and I could feel my face turn bright red. It was hard not to feel embarrassed walking down the street with someone like Great-Aunt Abyssinia. She was impossible to miss, what with the orange poncho and matching hair. Plus, she was so, well, big. Not fat, really, just tall and solid. It was kind of like having an elephant on a leash or something.

  “Afternoon, boys!” she boomed, waving at them. They waved feebly back.

  We walked just past the entrance to our dead-end street, then turned onto the muddy path that led into Forest Park.

  “Good thing I wore my hiking boots,” said my great-aunt.

  I had to smile at that. My great-aunt always wears hiking boots. Last time I was in her RV, I’d counted seventeen pairs of them.

  “Eighteen,” she said absently, poking at one of the shrubs we passed. “Ah, eighteen rhododendron buds, I mean. They’ll be blooming before you know it. Dogwood, too.”

  We continued on, with her taking note of all the trees and plants we passed. It was almost like going for a hike with my father. I’d had no idea that my great-aunt knew so much about the outdoors, but then again, it made sense, what with her obsession with the national parks and everything. We emerged into a clearing, and she paused to catch her breath, then turned to me, abruptly changing the subject.

  “So what’s all the fuss about, Catriona? I must say, when I spoke with your mother last night, I was expecting a life-and-death situation. It looks to me like you have it pretty good here in Portland.”