“For half the week,” said Francie sullenly, although the idea was appealing.
* * *
By the end of the afternoon, after eating a second package of Twinkies and after spying on George and his current girlfriend, one of the bra-wearing eighth graders at John Witherspoon, Francie felt slightly better. Dana drove her back to Vandeventer, to the yard with the sad, undressed snowman in it, and the Goldbergs ate dinner together, just as they usually did, as if Dana and Matthew hadn’t told Francie that morning that they were going to split the family up and set their daughter’s life spinning.
“You seem happier,” said Dana as Francie began to clear the table.
“Yes,” replied Francie, although she realized that she now carried with her a familiar feeling of dread. But maybe if she tiptoed through these next few months with her parents, maybe if she was as good as she could possibly be, Dana and Matthew would change their minds. Maybe they could still be one happy family, living together in the house on Vandeventer Avenue.
“Pumpkin?” Dana knocked on Francie’s closed bedroom door. “This is the fourth time I’ve called you this morning. Time to get up. You’re going to be late for school.”
“I’m coming,” Francie replied from her bed. “I told you.”
It was so unfair that school started at 8:05.
“Tone of voice!” Dana replied. She opened Francie’s door, left it ajar, and returned to the kitchen.
Francie threw back her covers, staggered to her feet, and closed the door, using more force than was necessary. But then she turned and saw Sadie on the bed, lying on her back with her feet in the air, and she ran to her and hugged her. “I can’t believe I have to leave you for the whole weekend,” she said. “I’m going to be at Matthew’s for the next few days. It’s Hanukkah, you know. I won’t see you until after school on Monday. I’ll miss you.”
Francie dressed quickly and hurried down the hallway and into the kitchen of the small house Dana had bought after the divorce. She stopped in the doorway when she saw her mother eyeing her.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” asked Dana.
Francie looked down at her outfit — jeans and a thin lavender cotton V-neck shirt with three-quarter sleeves. Well, yeah, it was what she was wearing. As in, these were the clothes she had just put on. She rolled her eyes. “Yes. What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“It’s thirty-four degrees outside. Aren’t you going to be cold? Don’t you at least want a sweater?”
“Dana. I’ll be wearing a coat when I walk to school. And you know how hot it’s going to be in school. Really. I’m thirteen years old. I think I know how to dress myself.”
Dana, her fingers stained with paint, put a piece of toast on a plate and set it on the table. “That’s yours,” she said. “Eat up. And please, please, let’s not let this be the tone of our last conversation before you go to your father’s. You stayed up too late last night.”
“It wasn’t my fault! Mr. Borzak gives us so much homework. And most of it’s reading. It takes me twice as long as anyone else to read the assignments.”
Dana leaned over and kissed her daughter’s head. “And yet you make straight As.”
Francie didn’t have anything to say to that.
“What are your plans for the afternoon?” asked Dana.
“I’m going to Kaycee’s. And then we’re going to go to the tree lighting in Palmer Square before I go to Matthew’s.”
“By yourselves? After dark?”
“Don’t worry. George is going with us. And then he and Kaycee will walk me to Matthew’s.” She paused. “I hope Matthew remembers our plans.”
“I’ll call him today and remind him.”
Francie hesitated for a moment before saying, “Just so you know, what’s-her-name might answer the phone.”
“Francie …”
“I’m sorry. But this is at least his third girlfriend this year. He’s as bad as … as a thirteen-year-old. I honestly don’t remember this one’s name. Melanie?”
“Melissa.”
“Doesn’t it bother you? Plus, he was seeing his very first girlfriend before you guys were even divorced.”
“Francie!”
“Well, it’s true. He thought he was being so sneaky, but I knew what he was doing.”
“We were separated and already living apart, Francie. We were just waiting for the divorce to become official. Anyway, that’s not your business. It’s ours. Your father’s and mine.” Dana sat down across from her daughter. “Does it bother you that Matthew is dating?”
Francie shrugged. “It’s just weird. Fathers aren’t supposed to date. They’re supposed to be married.” She glanced at Dana and then back at her toast. Her mother had not, as far as Francie knew, been on a single date since the divorce. “Are you going to your studio today?”
“Right after you leave for school.”
Dana’s house, while perfectly nice, was much smaller than the old house on Vandeventer and didn’t have space for a studio. So Dana had rented a small building on Charlton Street, off Nassau. It consisted of exactly one room and a bathroom. Years ago, it had been a tailor’s shop. Dana’s house, her studio, Matthew’s house, and Francie’s school were all within walking distance (if you didn’t mind a long walk now and then) of one another. Francie had grown used to going back and forth between her two homes, and Sadie had grown used to accompanying Dana to the studio every day. She enjoyed the walk there and back, and while Dana worked, she lay patiently by the door. On warm days, when Dana left the outer door open, Sadie sat at the screen and watched the traffic on Charlton Street.
Dana looked at her watch. “You’d better get a move on,” she said.
* * *
Francie ran most of the way to school, and by the time she met Kaycee by the main entrance, she was completely out of breath. “Sorry,” she said. “It was so hard to get out of bed this morning.”
“Did you do Borzak’s assignment?”
“Just barely. It took me forever.”
Francie and Kaycee hustled inside. They were eighth graders now, the same age as the students they had looked up to in awe a mere two years earlier. Amy was a freshman at Princeton High, and George was a sophomore at George School, forty-five minutes away in Pennsylvania. Kaycee would follow him there in the fall, but Francie preferred not to think about that.
The bell rang just as Francie slammed her locker shut. “Yikes!” she exclaimed to her best friend. “See you later.”
* * *
“I thought today would never end,” said Kaycee as she and Francie left school that afternoon and started the walk to Kaycee’s house. “And I have so much weekend homework! It’s completely unfair!”
“Tell me about it. I can’t believe we have another huge reading assignment from Borzak. It’s going to take me half the weekend to do it. But I’m not starting it until tomorrow. The rest of today is going to be free.”
Francie and Kaycee walked through the Nobles’ front door just as Mrs. Noble pulled into the driveway.
“It’s kind of weird knowing that Mom’s at work now while I’m in school,” commented Kaycee. “When I was little, it was comforting to think of her at home all day, doing the laundry and stuff. But she must have been bored to death.”
The girls waited for Mrs. Noble to lock the car. She hurried along the front walk, laden with book bags.
“What’s all that?” asked Francie.
Mrs. Noble smiled. “We started a new unit. Shapes. Today, we worked on big and little triangles. Anybody want to help me go through magazines and cut out photos with obvious shapes in them? I’m going to put up a new bulletin board next week.”
“Um,” said Francie, who adored Kaycee’s mother but really didn’t want to work on a preschool bulletin board that afternoon. “Well …”
Mrs. Noble smiled at her. “Never mind. You girls go ahead and do whatever you had planned.”
“Thanks!” cried Kaycee, and she and Francie ran directly
to her bedroom, closed the door, threw off their coats, and flopped on her bed. “Ahh,” said Kaycee with a sigh. “Peace. Listen, do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” asked Francie.
“The sound of Borzak not talking.”
Francie smiled. “Hey, did you hear about Liam’s party?”
“Who’s Liam?”
“That guy who wears the top hat.”
“He had a party?”
“He’s having one. Tomorrow night. His parents are going to be away and he invited everyone in our grade.”
“Are you going?” asked Kaycee.
“Of course not. Matthew and Dana would never allow that. Besides, it’s Hanukkah. I’ll be at home with Matthew tomorrow night. Maybe you could go, though.”
“Are you crazy? I wouldn’t be allowed to go either.”
“Parents are so unfair.”
“Would you really want to go to Liam’s party?”
“I don’t know. No,” Francie said. And then wondered why she hadn’t said yes.
* * *
George hurtled through the Nobles’ front door that afternoon just as dark was falling, and stood in the hallway, still wearing his coat. “Kaycee? Francie? Come on!” he shouted.
“Hello, George,” said his mother pointedly from the dining room, where she sat at the table, surrounded by open magazines and scraps of paper.
“Hi, Mom. Where are the girls? I’m supposed to take them to the tree lighting.”
“Here we come!” called Kaycee.
In minutes, Francie and Kaycee had shrugged back into their coats and were on their way through the quiet streets of Princeton, George between them.
“So, how’s everything at John Witherspoon?” asked George. He poked Francie in the shoulder. “Got a boyfriend yet?”
Francie could feel her cheeks flame and was grateful for the darkness. “Nope.”
“Francie, he’s only teasing,” said Kaycee.
“I know.” She glanced at George, who towered over her, and then at the sidewalk ahead. Sometimes, it was hard to look at George for too long. It was like staring directly at a perfect sunset.
“Wow,” said Kaycee a few moments later. “Palmer Square is mobbed.”
Francie was grateful to be distracted. She and Kaycee and George joined in the carol singing and listened to the Princeton High School choir. Then they listened to the shrieks of children as Santa arrived. At last, as Francie watched the dark shape of the tree, it suddenly exploded into thousands of tiny lights. The crowd applauded, and she found herself transported to a Christmas two years earlier, when she had stood on Fifth Avenue in New York City, with Dana and Matthew and Adele, and gazed at the Rockefeller Center tree. Two years earlier, when Dana and Matthew seemed to be happily married and Adele had not yet — not quite yet — divulged her cancer diagnosis.
“Okay, you guys,” said George as the crowd started to drift away. “We’d better get Francie to her father’s.”
Francie was immediately grateful to George for understanding that the house they were walking to did indeed feel like her father’s. And her mother’s house felt like her mother’s. Francie didn’t have a “my house” feeling anymore. She had a room at each house, but her family feeling had disappeared in a way she hadn’t expected.
George and Kaycee walked Francie to Matthew’s and called good-bye to her from the street. Francie waved to them, then approached the front door. She drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, closed her eyes briefly, knocked, and called, “Matthew? I’m here.”
Francie’s father enveloped her in a hug. “How’s my girl?” he asked.
“Good.” Francie smiled. “Is Melan — Is Melissa here?”
“Not yet. She’s coming over later. Get settled and then we’ll light the candles.”
Francie didn’t have much to do in order to get settled. She left her backpack full of homework in her bedroom and then joined Matthew in the living room, where the menorah had been set on a table by a window.
Her father was about to strike a match when the phone rang.
“I’ll get it!” said Francie. She picked up the phone in the kitchen. “Hello?”
“It’s your old aunt Adele,” said the voice at the end of the line.
“Adele! How are you?”
“Fit as a fiddle.”
This seemed to be true. Earlier in the year, Adele had officially been declared in remission from her cancer. Her hair had grown back, although it was a startlingly different color — nearly orange — her energy was back, and she was hard at work at Bobbie Palombo’s. This was so much better than Francie had expected — such good news in a seemingly short period of time (although she was sure it hadn’t seemed short to Adele) that she almost couldn’t believe it. And yet, whenever she saw her aunt, all she could think was This is my aunt who had cancer. The cancer seemed to come first, no matter what Francie tried to tell herself. She had read somewhere that people with cancer shouldn’t be defined by their cancer, but this was just what Francie had allowed to happen.
She shook her head.
“I wanted to wish you a happy Hanukkah,” said Adele.
“Thank you. We’re just about to light the candles.”
“I’d better let you go, then. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Love you,” said Francie, and hung up the phone. In the last two years, she had pulled herself away from Adele a bit, just a tiny bit, like paint peeling from a wall. She knew this wasn’t fair, but if Adele were to get sick again, Francie felt it would be too much to bear. There had to be some way to make it matter less.
She returned to the living room. “Sorry,” she said.
Matthew smiled at her. He handed her a match and Francie lighted the candles, but she had realized recently that the excitement of the holidays seemed to be gone. In two weeks, she and Dana would decorate a tree at Dana’s house. Sadie would watch, and Francie would make her wear a red bow on her collar, like she did every year. Dana would laugh and take a picture, and Francie would smile for the camera. On Christmas Eve, four stockings would be hung by the fireplace — Francie’s, Dana’s, Adele’s, and Sadie’s. Fun, but not the same.
“I miss Mom,” said Francie now.
“Me, too,” said Matthew.
Francie tightened the sash on her bathrobe, tiptoed to her bedroom door, and listened for a moment. She heard only quiet, early morning sounds — a chickadee in the bushes outside her window, the front door opening and closing, probably as her mother retrieved the paper from the stoop. She leaned against the doorjamb and breathed in early morning smells — coffee, the faint scent of shampoo and steam from the shower.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
Cautiously, she opened her door. The hallway was empty, the door to the guest bedroom closed.
“Come on, Sadie,” she whispered.
Obediently, Sadie hopped off Francie’s bed and followed her down the hall and into the kitchen. Dana was settling herself at the table with a cup of coffee and the paper.
“Anyone else up yet?” asked Francie.
Dana shook her head. “Both still sleeping.”
Francie let Sadie out in the yard, then sat down across from her mother. She folded her napkin into a tiny triangle, unfolded it, reached for the container of orange juice, then set it down again.
“Nervous?” asked Dana.
“A little.”
“This is going to be a big change for all of us.”
“What if Uncle Peter doesn’t like it here?”
Dana sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m sure it won’t be smooth sailing, at least not in the beginning. But since there really isn’t any other choice, we have to make this work.”
“I know. But I’m still nervous.”
“Me, too.”
Francie listened for sounds from the guest room. “I wonder what time Uncle Peter usually wakes up in the morning.”
Dana smiled. “I’m sure that’s somewhere in the millions of notes Grandma Abby
’s been making.”
“It’s kind of weird,” said Francie, lowering her voice. “It’s like a little kid is moving in with us, but Uncle Peter is thirty-three.”
“That’s one reason it’s getting so hard for your grandmother to take care of him. It’s like caring for a thirty-three-year-old child, and Grandma Abby is in her sixties. It’s gotten to be too much for her and Orrin.”
Francie nodded. She remembered the evening two months earlier when she’d picked up the phone and heard her grandmother’s voice on the other end. “Hi!” she’d exclaimed, both pleased and surprised. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, honey,” Abby had replied, but to Francie, she had sounded tired, on the verge of tears. “Could I speak to your mother, please?”
“Sure,” said Francie, who suddenly felt that very bad news was in the air. Her thoughts turned to Adele, and she found Dana in a rush. “It’s Grandma Abby,” she whispered, holding out the phone. “I think something’s wrong.”
Francie had sat in the kitchen and listened to her mother’s end of the conversation. She was relieved not to hear Adele’s name mentioned, at least not at first, but as she’d watched Dana’s frowning face, she’d felt a queasiness in her stomach.
“No, of course not,” her mother had said. “I understand, but — No, living with Nell is definitely out of the question. She’s still in graduate school…. Adele offered to take him? Well, that was nice, but I can’t see Peter moving to Manhattan.” After a long pause, she’d said, “But how do you think Peter will react? Does he know what’s happening? He hasn’t left Maine in years. Not to mention that he’s never lived without you…. I know…. I know…. All right, let’s talk again over the weekend.”
When Dana had hung up the phone, she’d turned to Francie. “I guess you’ve figured out that Grandma Abby is wondering if Uncle Peter might come live with us.”
“Why?” Francie had wanted to know. “Is — is he hard to take care of?”
“No. Not if you’re young. He’s a very pleasant man. He’s polite, he’s friendly, he likes people. He knows how to read and write. He can be funny. But he doesn’t know to watch out for danger. You have to help him cross the street. He can’t be left alone because he doesn’t know how to use the stove and he wouldn’t remember to lock the door. He has to be watched and entertained all the time.”
Best Kept Secret Page 9
