Falling into Place

by Stephanie Greene

  Contents

  *

  Title Page

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Before

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About the Author

  Clarion Books

  3 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10016

  Copyright © 2002 by Stephanie Greene

  All rights reserved.

  For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to trade.permissions@hmhco.com or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

  Clarion Books is an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

  Greene, Stephanie.

  Falling into place / by Stephanie Greene.

  p. cm.

  Summary: As eleven-year-old Margaret struggles to find a way of coping with the hassles of a new stepfamily, she learns that her Gran is facing similar concerns after moving to a retirement community and becoming a widow.

  [1. Grandmothers—Fiction. 2. Stepfamilies—Fiction. 3. Family life—Fiction. 4. Moving, Household—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.G8434 Fal 2002

  [Fic]—dc21 2002002744

  ISBN 978-0-618-17744-8 hardcover

  ISBN 978-0-618-68928-6 paperback

  eISBN 978-0-544-98694-7

  v1.0716

  To my brothers and sisters

  Before

  “Would you like to buy some magic dirt?” asked Margaret.

  “Magic dirt?” Gran looked surprised. “Why, that’s just what I was looking for. How much is it?”

  “It usually costs ten dollars a bag, but today you can buy six bags for a dollar.”

  “What a bargain! What makes it magic?”

  “It makes worms come to your garden.”

  “That’s all fine and well,” said Gran, frowning, “but does it cure chicken pox?”

  “Noooo.”

  “What about stomachaches? Does it do anything for those?”

  “Gran! You’re not supposed to eat it!”

  “Sounds like you two are up to your old tricks again.” Tad came out onto the front porch and rested his fishing pole against the railing.

  “Margaret says her magic dirt attracts worms, but it doesn’t do a thing about chicken pox,” said Gran indignantly.

  “As long as the worms like it, I’ll take some,” said Tad. He pulled a dollar bill from his pocket and held it out to Margaret.

  “You get five more bags for that much,” she said, picking up one of the brown paper bags in front of her.

  “Put ’em on my account.” Tad sat down on the top step and opened his tackle box. “Come on, sport. Are we going fishing or aren’t we?”

  “The picnic’s all ready,” said Gran. “It won’t take more than a minute to mix the lemonade.” She disappeared inside the cool, dark front hall.

  Margaret sat down next to her grandfather and rested her chin on her hands. In silence she watched him untangling his lures. Then she said, “Tad?”

  “Hmm?”

  Margaret frowned. “Is Dad going to marry that lady?”

  Tad gave her a quick glance. “You mean, Wendy?”

  She nodded.

  Tad lifted up the top layer of hooks and took out a pair of clippers. “Well, I can’t say for sure, Margaret. Why? You think it’s a good idea?”

  She shook her head.

  “I thought you two seemed to be getting along real well those times she came down here with you and your dad.”

  “I don’t really like her.”

  “You don’t, huh?” Tad took his time unwinding a length of line from the spool, measuring it to the right length, and cutting it. “Your dad says she’s a great mother.”

  “I don’t need a mother,” Margaret said. “I have Dad.”

  “Well, it’s true that you two have done fine on your own all these years. I guess you don’t miss your mom, seeing as she died so soon after you were born.” Tad fed the line through the hole in the lure and tied it. Then he put it back in the box and picked up another one. “But mothers can do a lot of things fathers can’t,” he said. “And what about those little girls? Your dad says they’re crazy about you.”

  “They’re babies.”

  Tad laughed. “Seems to me that’s the way you started out, and you didn’t turn out so bad,” he said, nudging her with his elbow. “Might be nice having three younger sisters to boss around. You can make them clean your room, and do your homework, and stuff.”

  “I like it just Dad and me,” Margaret said stubbornly.

  She heard Gran’s quick steps coming back down the hall toward them. Gran always moved quickly, whether she was working in the garden or hanging out the wash. She did everything with brisk, efficient motions, like a bird. The screen door burst open, and she came bustling out onto the porch behind them. “I told you it wouldn’t take long.” Gran put the picnic basket down and looked at them expectantly. “Are you two ready?” Tad looked up at her over Margaret’s head. “We’ve been talking about Matt and Wendy,” he told her. “Margaret’s worried they might be planning on getting married.”

  “Oh, but lovey.” Gran sank down on the other side of Margaret and put her arm around her shoulders. “Think of what fun it would be if they did. Wendy’s a lovely woman, who loves you and your father very much. You’d have the little girls to play with and share things with… . Think of what a big, happy family you’d have.”

  “We already have a happy family,” Margaret said, not looking at her.

  “Of course we do.” Gran gave her shoulders a little shake. “And if your father and Wendy get married, it will just be a bit bigger.”

  “Margaret says she likes it just her and Matt,” said Tad.

  “Yes … Well, there are a lot worse things than having to share someone you love,” Gran said firmly. She took her arm from around Margaret and straightened up with resolve. “Besides, there’s nothing you or Tad or I can do about it. And don’t you worry. No matter what happens, Tad and I will be here to help hold you up. Won’t we, Tad?”

  “Like bookends,” he said cheerfully.

  It felt good being sandwiched between the two of them—Gran so small and quick on one side, Tad so tall and calm on the other. Margaret knew they would be there to help her, because they’d always been there. But she didn’t care what Gran said about there being worse things than sharing someone you loved. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than having to share her dad.

  “You can’t be bookends,” she said sourly. “You’re uneven.”

  Gran and Tad laughed. Then Gran said to Tad, “This is all your fault, you know.”

  “My fault?”

  “Look at her.” They both leaned in from either side and peered into Margaret’s face. She frowned even harder and stared straight ahead, as if there was something very important out in the yard she had to keep her eyes on.

  “She doesn’t get those frown lines from my side of the family,” said Gran.

  “Hmm, I guess you’re right.” The tip of Tad’s nose was so close, it was almost touching Margaret’s cheek. It was all she could do not to reach up and scratch. “My great-aunt Lucy used to grow corn in her furrows,” he said. “Looks like Margaret could give her a bit of competition. But what about this?” She tried not to squirm as he ran his finger firmly down her spine, but she couldn’t help it. “This is a Hanson stubborn str
eak if I’ve ever seen one.”

  She knew they were trying to make her laugh, but she was determined not to. Then they started to lean against her on either side, gently at first, and then harder, until her shoulders were pressed firmly up against her ears, and her stomach felt like it was going to pop.

  It was impossible.

  “Hey! You’re shmushing me!” she yelped.

  When Gran and Tad stopped leaning, Margaret sagged gratefully against Gran’s side.

  “That’s better,” said Gran. She patted Margaret’s knee and stood up. “Brooding is a waste of time unless you’re a hen. Now, come on, we’ve got work to do.” She picked up the two plastic containers she’d left on the rocking chair and handed one to Margaret. “If we’re going to have those blueberry pancakes you asked for tomorrow morning, we’d better get picking.”

  “We might have to eat right here on the porch,” said Tad. He glanced up at the sky. “Looks to me like rain.”

  “On Margaret’s last day? It wouldn’t dare.” Gran started down the steps. “I think you’ll have to bring the basket, Tad. Margaret’s too small.”

  “I am not,” said Margaret indignantly. She jumped down and stood next to Gran on the walk, standing as straight as she could. “I’m almost as tall as you are, Gran.”

  “Yes, well, you can be thankful you inherited that Mack gene,” Gran said. “None of the women in my family have been over five foot two.”

  “Your grandmother’s the tallest of the lot,” Tad agreed, “and she’s no bigger than a minute.”

  “Lucky for you I’m not, David Mack,” said Gran.

  Tad gave a snort of appreciation.

  “I think you’d better let Tad take it, Margaret,” Gran said to Margaret as she started to cut across the front yard. “It’s very heavy.”

  “Not to me it’s not.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” But it was heavy. Margaret had to use both hands to lift it up and hold it against her chest. “You must have a lot of food in here,” she said.

  “All your favorites,” called Gran airily. She stopped when she got to the huge maple tree near the end of the walk and put her hand absentmindedly on the rope ladder that hung down from the tree fort. “Tad’s Folly” Gran had named it. Anything Margaret asked for, Tad added to it. In addition to the rope ladder it had a swing, a slide that spiraled down to the ground, a bucket on a pulley for Margaret to lift things up in, and a real picture window. Tad was going to build a turret with windows next.

  “Are you sure you can manage?” Gran said now.

  “Yep.”

  Too late Margaret recognized the mischievous grin on her grandmother’s face.

  “Good … Then the last one to fill her bowl cleans the breakfast dishes,” Gran said, and took off running.

  “Hey! No fair!” shouted Margaret. She tried to run, but the basket banged against her legs.

  “Looks like she pulled a fast one on you,” said Tad. “I’ll bring the basket, Margaret. You go get her.”

  She put it down and ran, but Gran was way ahead. Margaret didn’t catch up to her until Gran was halfway across the field.

  Then they walked, hand-in-hand and breathless, the rest of the way to the pond.

  Chapter 1

  “Anyone have a hug for a tired man?”

  Margaret looked up from her book to see the big, comforting shape of her father framed in the doorway to the family room.

  “Dad!” She started up off the couch to go to him, but the little girls were quicker.

  “Dad! Daddy! Daddy!” Emily, Sarah, and Claire scrambled across the room and hurled themselves at Mr. Mack like puppies looking for a treat. He laughed and pretended to stagger back from the weight of them as the twins wrapped their skinny arms around his legs and Claire grabbed him around his waist and pressed her face into his jacket.

  “Matt! What a wonderful surprise,” Wendy said, coming out of the kitchen. She leaned in toward him over the girls’ heads for a kiss. “You weren’t supposed to get home until tonight.”

  “I took the redeye,” said Mr. Mack. He looked at her worriedly. “You sounded tired on the phone last night.”

  “Oh, it’s just that it’s been so hot.” Wendy pushed her damp curly blond hair back off her forehead and rested her hands on top of her huge stomach as if it was a shelf. “I have to admit, I’m glad you’re home.”

  Watching them, Margaret started to get her funny balloon feeling again. The one she’d gotten for the first time almost a year ago, right after Dad and Wendy got married and the little girls had surrounded him with their curly blond hair and huge blue eyes so much like Wendy’s and called him “Dad” over and over again, just for the sound of it. It had given Margaret the strangest feeling, as if she was a balloon a child had let go of, and she was floating up into the sky, higher and higher, with nothing to hold her down, until, before anyone knew it, she would be a faint speck in the white part of the sky, alone… .

  “Whoa! Hold on for a minute!” Mr. Mack held up his hands. “We need to do a head count. One, two, three …” He put his hand first on Sarah’s head, then Emily’s, then Claire’s. “I thought so. We’re missing one.” He looked up with an expectant smile toward the couch. “Where’s Mar—?”

  …

  Margaret shut her bedroom door, sat down on her bed, and pushed herself back until she was resting against the wall. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

  It was all right. She didn’t need to hug her dad the minute he came home from a trip. That was what she used to do when she was little. Maybe babies needed a hug when their dad had been gone for a week. But not eleven-year-olds.

  Anyway, it wasn’t as if Dad missed her hugs. Why should he? He got so many of them now. Not once, in all the months since Wendy and the girls had come to live with them, had he ever said, “Where’s my number-one hugger?” the way he used to. Maybe he’d gotten tired of having only one person around to hug, she thought. Maybe he liked being hugged by three little girls who were so much younger and prettier than she was.

  She got up and went over to her dresser and stared hard at her face in the mirror. Horrible brown hair, dark heavy eyebrows over plain brown eyes. Nose too thin, mouth too wide. She frowned, and watched with grim satisfaction as the furrows between her eyes deepened. When she heard a soft knock at the door, she whirled around. The door opened a crack. Claire stuck her head around the edge and looked at Margaret with huge eyes.

  “Margaret,” she said breathlessly, “Daddy brought us presents! Come see.”

  Claire looked like an angel. Everybody said so. She had a mass of curly blond hair and dark blue eyes, and a neck so delicate it looked as if her head could topple right off.

  An angel who clung to Dad every time he came into the room, Margaret thought, watching her. An angel who seemed to appear from nowhere whenever Margaret got her father to herself, and squeeze in between them so insistently it made Mr. Mack laugh.

  Margaret felt a sudden urge to wipe the happy, excited look off Claire’s face. “He’s not really your daddy,” she said slowly. “He’s mine.”

  Claire’s mouth fell open and then froze in an astonished “O.” She blinked once as tears rose in her eyes like water up the side of a glass. And then as suddenly as she had arrived, she disappeared, and the door closed with a soft click.

  Margaret walked back over to her bed and sat down. She shouldn’t have said that. She hadn’t really meant to hurt Claire. It was just so hard sometimes, this new life of hers. Dad and Wendy kept talking about how great it was that she was eleven going on twelve. How mature she was, compared to the little girls. But she didn’t feel mature. Sometimes, like now, when she could feel a lump rising in her throat, she felt like a baby.

  There was another knock at the door. This time it was her dad.

  “Hi.” He hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. “Can I come in?”

  “I guess.”

  Mr. Mack shut the door behind him and came
over and sat down on the edge of her bed next to her. He rested his warm hand on her knee. “You disappeared so quickly, I didn’t get to say hello.” He smiled a questioning smile. “You’re getting too old for hugs, is that it?”

  “Kind of.” Margaret looked down at her lap, hiding her face from him with a curtain of hair.

  “Did you miss me?” he said.

  She shrugged.

  “I missed you.” He waited. When she didn’t reply, he reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “It sounds like it was kind of a tough week,” he said.

  “It was okay.”

  She could feel her dad looking at her. “Wendy told me about the game you made up for the girls in the basement,” he said at last. “She’s afraid she may have overreacted.”

  Margaret looked up into his dark brown eyes that were so much like her own. “I told Claire the queen was going to be arrested and thrown in the dungeon,” she said fiercely. “Dungeons have to be dark. I said we had to tie the queen up so she wouldn’t escape. I said I would be the queen. But Claire always has to be the queen, or she cries.”

  “Wendy knows that,” said her dad. “It’s just that Claire’s afraid of the dark, and Wendy was worried your game was going to make it worse.”

  “Claire’s afraid of everything,” said Margaret. She looked down into her lap again quickly. The sympathy in his voice wasn’t for her, it was for Claire.

  “Hey, come on.” His voice was gentle. “This hasn’t been an easy summer for any of us, Margaret. It’s so hot, everyone’s cranky. Wendy says the little girls have been wild all week. After the baby’s born, we’ll go to the shore for a week. Things will get back to normal.”

  Oh, no, they won’t, thought Margaret dully. Things were never going to get back to normal. Normal had disappeared the day she ran out to the car after school in the third grade and found a woman she’d never seen before sitting in the front seat next to her dad. Margaret’s seat, which had been hers for her whole life, practically. All Dad had said was, “Margaret, this is Wendy. Hop in the back, like a good girl.”