The Kindness Club: Designed by Lucy

by Courtney Sheinmel

  I didn’t realize how much work went into figuring out the placement of the quilt patches. We’d been at it for a half hour when the doorbell rang again.

  “You expecting someone?” Mrs. G asked.

  “I don’t think so.” I stood up and headed to the front hall, feeling much less nervous this time around, since I had Mrs. G right there with me. When I looked through the peephole, Chloe and Theo were standing on the porch steps. I unlocked the door and threw it open.

  “I’m so glad you’re here!” I told them.

  “We wanted to check on you,” Chloe said. “Plus we brought the weekend homework for you. Not that you should worry too much about homework if you’re sick. But we thought maybe you were just upset about the last couple of days, and that’s why you stayed home. Don’t worry—we didn’t tell Ms. Danos we thought that. We didn’t talk to anyone about it besides each other.”

  “I’m feeling much better now,” I said.

  “Are you sure?” Theo asked. “You look a little flushed. He took a step back. “Do you think you’re contagious?”

  “Definitely not,” I said. “I’m completely cured, and I need your help—both of you.”

  I pulled Chloe and Theo into the living room. They said hi to Mrs. G, and looked shocked by the project on the living room floor. We told them all about it. Of course they thought it was a great idea and wanted to help. But first Chloe had to use the kitchen phone to call her mom and let her know where she was. Then Theo called his parents. Then I called Grandma to belatedly let her know we were home, since I hadn’t done that before.

  I’d completely forgotten about the call with Felix up until that moment. I could hear Mrs. G in the other room, explaining the next steps: “We finally settled on the placement of the squares. So if you two agree, we’ll move on to the next step, which is pinning them together row by row.” I wanted to talk to Grandma about what Felix had said, but now wasn’t the time.

  “You okay, mago?” Grandma asked.

  “I am,” I said. “Chloe and Theo came over to bring my homework, and they’re staying to help us with the quilt.”

  “Just don’t overdo it.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  I headed back to the living room to help pin things together. It was already starting to look like a quilt.

  Mrs. G asked me to bring down the iron and the ironing board. Luckily, I didn’t have to use them myself. My job was the sewing machine. I ran the first row through, attaching square to square to square.

  “Wow,” Chloe said. “I never realized how much work sewing is. It’s amazing how you make all your own clothes.”

  “Not all of them,” I said.

  “But a lot of them.”

  “Yeah. It’s hard work, but it’s worth it,” I said, and I ran the next square under the needle.

  After about a half hour, the first row was finally done, and I handed it over to Chloe. Mrs. G told her how to iron them to get the seams all facing the same way. Meanwhile, I’d moved on to stitching the second row. It went a little bit faster than the first, but not much.

  “We have so many rows to do,” I said when I finally finished. “We’re never going to get this done by Sunday.”

  “You have to eat the elephant one bite at a time,” Mrs. G said.

  “Elephant?!” I cried. “I’d never eat an elephant!”

  “It’s a metaphor,” Theo told me. “It means when you have a big project, you need to go one step at a time.”

  “Precisely,” Mrs. G said. “Don’t worry about the finished product just now. We’ll do it square by square. Do you want me to take over for the third row?”

  “Yes, please,” I said.

  While she did that, I measured out and cut the fabric that would make the border and the binding, while Chloe and Theo started cleaning up the leftover scraps of clothing, stuffing them back into the garbage bags. On my first quilt, I didn’t even use a border or a binding, but I quickly realized why Mrs. G thought we needed them. They were the final pieces that would hold everything together and make the quilt look professional. But we weren’t even close to the final steps yet. We’d only made it through half the rows when the front door opened. “Hello, anyone home?”

  “Dad!” I called. “We’re in here!”

  Mrs. G stood up from the sewing machine and shook Dad’s hand hello. “What’s all this?” he asked.

  “We’re making a quilt to bring to Serena,” I said. “I know it looks a little messy, but I’ll clean it all. Don’t worry.”

  “I wasn’t worried,” Dad said.

  “Oh,” I said. “That’s cool.”

  “Cool Dad strikes again.” I wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not, but then he smiled, so I gave a little smile, too.

  “Where’s Grandma?” I asked. “At the alley?”

  “No, we closed for the night.”

  “Closed?” It was barely dinnertime on a Friday night. Usually the alley stayed open late on Fridays and Saturdays. People liked to bowl when they didn’t have school or work to wake up for. “Why?”

  “Grandma’s taking a night off,” Dad said, not answering. “She’s been working so hard lately. I thought she should go out with a couple of friends, and that gave me an excuse to have dinner with you.”

  “Oh, no,” Chloe said. “Are we intruding? I can call my mom to pick me up. She doesn’t like me to walk home this late.”

  “No intrusion at all,” Dad said. “We’re adding to the menu at Tanaka Lanes. I brought food home to try. There’s plenty for everyone.”

  I set the table in the kitchen for the five of us. Dad had Tanaka dogs and Tanaka burgers, plus chicken wings with a bunch of different dipping sauces, cheese sticks, wrap sandwiches, and even sushi.

  “This is quite an assortment, Ken,” Mrs. G said.

  “We’re thinking of building out the restaurant to attract a bigger crowd,” Dad explained. “A potential chef came today with some samples. He thought sushi might be a nice touch, given the name of the alley. Though that’s something we’re thinking of changing, too.”

  “Tanaka Lanes might not be Tanaka Lanes anymore?” I asked. “Then what would it be?”

  “That’s all up for debate,” Dad said. “Lots of changes are coming, so I’ll need your votes on the food.”

  I tried a little bit of everything, except the salmon sushi—Chloe and I both opted out of eating that. I did it for Poseidon, of course. Chloe didn’t know Ollie’s fish, but she didn’t want to eat it, either. “I’m sure it’s really good, as salmon goes,” she assured Dad, “but I tasted it recently, and it wasn’t really my thing.”

  “No worries,” Dad told her. “Different folks, different strokes.”

  “Actually,” Theo said, “the secret to liking new food is repetition. You have to taste it like nine or ten times.” He popped a piece of sushi in his mouth.

  “What do you think?” Dad asked.

  Theo chewed and chewed and chewed, and finally swallowed. “I think I need to taste it a few more times,” he admitted, and he picked up a cheese stick.

  The phone rang, and Dad stood to answer it. It was Chloe’s mom, calling from the car. She was on her way. We were pretty much finished with dinner, but I was still disappointed that Chloe was leaving. There was so much left to do on the quilt.

  “One person down,” I said. I turned to Dad. “Unless you can help Theo, Mrs. G, and me.”

  “I’m afraid it’s time for me to head home as well,” Mrs. G said. “It’s been a long day.”

  “But Mrs. G—”

  “Hey, Goose,” Dad cut in. “I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you.’ ”

  “Yeah, of course. If you’re tired you should go home. And thank you for everything. Really.”

  “You’re welcome,” Mrs. G said.

  “Just out of curiosity, how long does it usually take you to make a quilt?”

  “It depends on the quilt,” Mrs. G said. “Some quilts take a month.”

&nbs
p; “A month? We don’t have that kind of time.”

  “I’ve done some in a week’s time.”

  “Serena’s birthday is Sunday.” I was trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice, because I knew Mrs. G had done a lot for me. But still. I supposed we could get the quilt to Serena after her birthday. It just wouldn’t be the same.

  “It’s going to be tight, I know,” Mrs. G said. “But this quilt has four workers on it, not just one. I’ll take a couple rows home with me. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, and I may as well fire up my own sewing machine. I’ll come over here in the morning.”

  “I’ll come over, too,” Chloe said.

  “So will I,” Theo added.

  “How does that sound, Lucy?” Mrs. G asked.

  “It sounds great,” I said, and I meant it.

  A horn honked outside. Chloe’s mom had arrived. She was going to take Theo home, too. He only lived a block away, but it was too late for him to walk on his own. We said good-bye, and they left with Mrs. G.

  Then it was just Dad and me. It had been a long time since I was alone with my dad, and even though he was my dad, I felt a little nervous about it. It was a strange feeling. After all, he’d been my dad for a decade. What did I have to feel nervous about?

  “What do you say we tackle these dishes before Grandma gets home?” Dad asked. “If she comes in before we’re done, she’ll take over, and I want her night off to actually be a night off.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I have a lot of experience doing dishes lately.”

  Dad sighed and shook his head. “A new dishwasher is going to cost several hundred dollars,” he said. “We’ll get one when we get one. Money doesn’t grow on trees, Lucy.”

  “I know that,” I said. “I wasn’t complaining about it. I just meant—I’m getting good at doing the dishes. That’s all.”

  To prove it, I stepped up to the sink, turned on the hot water, and donned Grandma’s rubber gloves.

  “You wash, I’ll dry?” Dad asked.

  “Sure,” I said.

  We worked quietly side by side for a couple minutes, and then Dad cleared his throat. “I’m sorry if I snapped at you,” he said. “I think I’ve been short with you a few times these last couple weeks. I didn’t mean to be. And to answer your question, I think Grandma and I are going to go next weekend to pick up a new dishwasher, so you’ll only be on dish duty for another week. Sound okay?”

  “Yeah, but you don’t have to. I don’t mind dish duty if it’s too expensive. Plus it gives me something kind to do. I need at least three a day.”

  “Is that a club rule?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “But I think I’m the only one counting.”

  “Well, I’m happy for the help,” Dad said. “And things will get easier from this point forward, I think.”

  “That’s good.” I paused, scrubbing some blue cheese sauce off a plate with the scrub brush. “Dad? Felix called today.”

  “He did, did he?”

  “Uh-huh. He said to tell you he got the job at the fitness center, thanks to you.”

  “I’m really glad to hear that.”

  “Felix didn’t quit without giving you notice, did he?” I asked. “He didn’t quit at all.”

  Dad dried off the plate that was in his hands and put it on the counter. We weren’t done washing and drying yet, but he folded the towel he’d been using, and placed it next to the plate. “Come sit down,” he said.

  I turned off the faucet and took off my gloves. Dad pulled out my chair, and after I sat down, he sat down, too. “No, Lucy,” he said. “Felix didn’t quit. I had to let him go. Believe me, I didn’t want to. It was the most painful business decision I’ve ever had to make. But business hasn’t been good, and I’ve been cutting corners to try and save the alley.”

  My stomach tightened. Of course. I’d known that’s what it was. Ever since Felix had called, I’d known it. Even before that, I’d sort of known. I just hadn’t wanted to.

  But it was one thing to think something in your head, and another to hear it out loud. As long as it was in my head, it didn’t have to be true. Now Dad had said it. I was afraid for him to answer the question I wanted to ask next. But I took a deep breath and asked it anyway: “Is it saved?”

  “Yes,” Dad said. “As a matter of fact, I think it is.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” I said. I let out a breath. Phew. “How come you don’t sound happy about it?”

  “I am happy about it,” Dad said. “But I’m sad, too, because I had to make certain sacrifices. I’m not the sole owner of Tanaka Lanes anymore.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “It’s called Tanaka Lanes.” But as I said the words, I remembered something he’d said over dinner. “Wait, is that why there might be a name change?”

  “It’s part of the reason,” Dad said. “An investment group bought a percentage of the business, which means they own part of it and I own part of it.”

  “How much do they own?”

  “Assuming the deal goes through on Monday, they’ll own ninety percent.”

  “Ninety percent!” I cried. “That’s practically the whole thing.”

  “Be grateful it’s not the whole thing. That’s what they wanted. I didn’t want to give up a business that I worked so hard to build. Thanks to your grandmother, I’ve been bowling my entire life. Having Tanaka Lanes was a dream come true. But the alley needs money right now—and I don’t have money to give.”

  “I wish I could speed up time and be all grown up already,” I told Dad. “Then I’d be a famous designer, and I’d have plenty of money to give you.”

  “Let’s not speed up time, okay?” Dad said. “You’ll be grown up soon enough. And when you are, it won’t be your job to fix this.”

  “Sure it will be,” I told him. “It’s important to help your family out. Like Grandma helped you take care of Ollie and me, and at the bowling alley.”

  “You take after your grandmother,” he said. “Your instinct is always to help out where you can. I’m so proud of you. But part of being an effective helper is knowing your own limits.”

  “You mean some things I can change, and some things I can’t,” I said, and he nodded. “But eventually everything changes all on its own, you know.”

  “I know,” Dad said.

  “I’m sorry I called you unkind,” I told him. “I know you’re not. You’ve always been a kind person, and I know you would’ve let us have a party if you could’ve.”

  “Once things are running smoothly back at the alley again, you can invite your friends,” Dad said. “Maybe we can throw together a belated birthday party for Serena. I know it’s not the same as a party on the actual day, but we can make it special.”

  “Thanks, but we don’t have to. Serena doesn’t want a party after all.”

  “Oh?”

  “I thought if I made her birthday really special, she’d have a day when she didn’t have to miss her mom so much. Like on my birthdays, I don’t miss Mom. I have you, and Grandma, and when Ollie was home, I had him, too.”

  “You still have Oliver,” Dad said. “He went to college, but he didn’t disappear completely.”

  “It’s still different now,” I said.

  “Yes, it is,” Dad said.

  “And I do miss Mom. I think I miss her more than I used to. It’s been longer since she’s been gone, and the missing part is getting worse. Sometimes I just say that I don’t because then it’s easier.”

  “How is it easier?” Dad asked.

  “It’s like if you’re a kid and a stranger sees you, that stranger will say, ‘Where’s your mom?’ because most kids have moms. I never say the truth—I never say that my mom is dead. I just say, ‘She’s not here,’ or ‘I’m actually looking for my dad,’ or Grandma, or whoever. Because I don’t want to make them feel bad. But if you want to know the truth, it makes me feel bad. Not having a mom stinks. It really stinks.”

  “I know it does,” Dad said.
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br />   “I don’t even remember her, and that makes it worse. Like she was never mine.”

  “She was yours, Lucy. And you were hers. I promise. I was there.”

  “Can I tell you something else?” Dad nodded. “It makes me a teeny bit jealous of Serena. I know that’s crazy, because Serena doesn’t have her mom anymore, either, but at least she has memories of her. I only have memories that come from pictures. Like, I can almost feel the way her hair was, but it’s just because I’ve looked at the picture of my first birthday so much. But it’s not a real memory. If it was, I’d remember other things from that day, too.”

  “I can tell you anything you want to know.”

  “I want to know everything,” I said. “And even more than that, I want to know what it was like on the days that there aren’t any pictures. Do you remember those?”

  “Of course I do,” Dad said.

  “Tell me something.”

  Dad reached out and put a hand on my hand. “She was the first person to call you Goose,” he said. “It started out as ‘Lucy-Goosey,’ when you were a brand-new baby, but pretty soon it shortened to Goose. I wouldn’t have been surprised if you thought that was your actual name.”

  “I think I did,” I said. “Maybe.”

  “And she taught you to say ‘quack,’ ” he went on. “It was, maybe, your third word. I told her that geese technically honk at one another, and she said she knew, but she thought quacking was cuter. And as far as your mother was concerned, nothing in the world was as cute as you—except Oliver. I have to agree with her on that.”

  “Do you think she’d be proud of me now?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Dad said. “She’d be very proud of you.”

  “Would she be okay with my clothes, or would she have tried to get me to dress like everyone else?”

  “Your mom didn’t want any kid but you,” Dad said. “You were the child of her dreams, and she’s a part of your life now, even though she’s not here in person. Every time I look at you, I see parts of her. Your eyes, and the slope of your nose, and the little furrow you get in your forehead, like you’re getting right now. And when you laugh, you sound exactly like her. Maybe it’s easier for me, because I get to remember your mom every day, every single time I look at you.”