“I guess,” said Ellie. “It’s not so bad, is it?”
Holly shrugged. She poked at her toe through the canvas. “Could be worse.”
Ellie glanced at her watch. “I should probably go,” she said. “Marie and Albert will be back soon. Dad, too.”
Holly looked at the watch herself. “Gosh, your dad really does get home early now, doesn’t he?”
“Five-fifteen exactly, every single afternoon,” replied Ellie. “He told his boss he has to be home by then.”
“He told his boss that?”
“Yup. He said it was a condition. He said he could only take the job if they met all his conditions. And they did. They really wanted him.”
“Does he like the job?”
“So far. He says there’s nothing like being your own boss, but that this job is better pay and better hours. He’s been home every single evening and every single weekend since he started. Albert can’t believe it. Even Doris wasn’t home this much, and she didn’t have a job.” Ellie stood and dusted her hands on her pants. “See you tomorrow,” she said. “Just think, only two more weeks of school.”
“And then seventy-four days of summer vacation,” Holly replied blissfully. “I counted on the calendar last night.”
Ellie whistled for Kiss, who came bounding off the ladies’ porch and rocketed down the street to meet her. Ellie stooped to give her a hug and got a whiff of sardines. “Come on, you little beggar,” she said. “Let’s go start dinner.”
Ellie busied herself in the Dingmans’ kitchen, which she had cleaned out, rearranged, reorganized, and decorated. Taped to the refrigerator were a composition Albert had written entitled “My Best Dog,” and a Mother’s Day card Marie had made in school and presented to Ellie three Sundays earlier. Marie had said nothing about Doris when she gave it to Ellie, only, “I made this for you. It says ‘Dear Mom’ because that’s what Miss Riddel told us to put on the front. But it’s really for you.”
Ellie set the table, fed Kiss (whose appetite had not been diminished by the sardine sandwich), and washed lettuce for a salad. She was debating whether to defrost some hamburger patties when she looked at her watch and exclaimed, “Five forty-five! Where is everybody? Nobody’s home yet, Kiss.”
And at that moment the door burst open and in came Mr. Dingman, Albert, and Marie, lugging bags of groceries.
“Sorry we’re late,” said Mr. Dingman.
“Mrs. Lauchaire was driving by the A&P,” said Marie, “and we saw Daddy’s truck outside, so she let us out and we got to go grocery shopping with Daddy.”
“He wouldn’t let us get anything good,” Albert said, but Ellie noted that he seemed quite cheerful about this.
Mr. Dingman began unpacking the bags. Onions, potatoes, celery, more lettuce, more hamburger meat, a package of hot dogs, cantaloupes, apples, nectarines, two boxes of cereal, three boxes of macaroni, milk, ginger ale….
Ellie was trying to put everything away in her carefully organized kitchen when her father handed her a paperback book. “Look what I found at the check-out counter,” he said.
Ellie read the title aloud. “Quick Fixes: Healthy Meals in Less Than Thirty Minutes.”
“If you can make the meals in half an hour, they must be pretty simple,” said her father. “So I figured even I could make them.”
“You?” said Ellie and Marie.
“You’re going to cook?” said Albert.
“Why not? I’m home early enough now. Ellie shouldn’t have to do all the cooking.” He opened the book. “‘Simple Summer Fare,’” he read. “Okay. This is what we’re going to have tonight. Some kind of simple summer fare. While I’m cooking, the three of you go start your homework. No arguments,” he added, glancing at Albert. “If you finish your homework before supper, you can play outside for fifteen minutes before you take your baths.”
Mr. Dingman’s dinner was a success. When he served it, Albert looked at him with the same kind of respect he usually reserved for Roy Rogers or Superman. And Ellie, feeling just the teeniest pang of jealousy, recovered quickly when she realized that, with her homework done, she could visit with Holly again.
That night, as Ellie lay in bed, the window open, sweet air curling around her and twilight sleep beginning to overtake her, Marie called out, and Ellie jumped. “What is it?” she said, startled.
“My tummy hurts.”
“Really? Do you feel like you have to throw up?”
“No. It just hurts. Can I get in bed with you?”
“Sure.” Ellie pulled back her covers, and Marie crawled in beside her.
“Ellie? Why haven’t we heard from Doris?”
Ellie’s eyes opened all the way, but she said evenly, “Oh, you know Doris. She’s so busy.”
“But when are we going to go live with her? School’s almost over. She said we would finish out the school year, then move to New York City.”
“I guess we’ll have to talk to Dad.”
“I miss Doris,” Marie said sleepily as she nestled against Ellie.
“I know.”
Marie spent the rest of the night curled into Ellie like a kitten, and Kiss never left the bed. In the morning, Marie didn’t mention Doris to Ellie, so Ellie didn’t mention Doris to their father. The Dingman children went to school, they came home from school, time slipped by, and suddenly it was the next to the last day of the term.
It was on this day that two things took place that reminded Ellie it was impossible, absolutely impossible, to guess what might come your way. The first thing happened just before lunchtime. The bell had rung, and Ellie and her classmates had lined up and filed out of Room 12. Holly had been sent ahead on an errand to the office and was to meet Ellie in the cafeteria. Ellie was hurrying through the hall, feeling the coins she had slipped into her sock that morning along with her key, pleased that she had enough money to buy ice cream for both herself and Holly, when a body slammed into her from behind, sending her toward the wall of lockers. Ellie caught herself, pulling up short, and was slammed again, this time with more force. She hit the lockers with a crash, and even before she touched her hand to her mouth, before she tasted blood and spat a shower of red onto locker #89, she knew that she had split her lip.
Ellie gasped. The attack was unexpected. She had truly thought the slamming had stopped, her ghostly existence firmly in place, a fact of life she was willing to tolerate.
Ellie heard a derisive snort behind her and turned around slowly. She lowered her bloody hand and faced Maggie Paxton. “Nice—” Maggie said, and without thinking, without a single moment of thought, Ellie lunged forward, arms outstretched, and shoved and shoved; shoved Maggie until she banged against the lockers on the other side of the hall and then crumpled to the floor.
Maggie landed with a small cry, but the hall was emptying already, and the few kids who saw what happened didn’t know Maggie and Ellie, and they hurried on to the cafeteria or the library or the gym.
Ellie barely noticed them, anyway. She glanced at Maggie, then stepped over her legs and walked down the hall toward the entrance to Washington Irving Elementary. When she reached the door, she walked outside, walked across the schoolyard, and turned right. She had walked nearly half a mile before she began to think about what had happened, and she felt shaky and had to sit down by the side of the road.
She was at the intersection of Route 27 and King Street, cars and trucks whizzing by her, whipping her hair across her face and stinging her eyes. Ellie scooted back from the road. She found a Kleenex in her pocket and she held it to her puffy lip, blotting it until the stains grew smaller. Tentatively she touched her lip with her forefinger. The pain made her gasp, and she pulled her hand away quickly. Then she drew her knees up to her chest, folded her arms across them, and laid her head on her arms.
She had pushed one of the sparrows. She had humiliated her, and left her on the floor. She had done to Maggie what the sparrows had been doing to her and Holly for months, so her behavior was as cruel as theirs. E
llie touched her lip again and realized that, to her surprise, she felt glad she had hurt Maggie. Furthermore, she had no doubt that Maggie, unlike Ellie and Holly, would tell Mr. Pierce what had happened. And then Ellie would get to tell her own story, and everything would be out in the open at last. And with only one more day of school to go—who cared?
Still, Ellie had walked out of school, just left. All her things were in her desk, Holly was waiting for her in the cafeteria, Mr. Pierce would have no idea where she was. She could go back; she could just turn around and go back now and face Maggie and Mr. Pierce and whatever would come her way. Instead, Eleanor Roosevelt Dingman got to her feet and began to walk to Witch Tree Lane.
It was a long walk; a long walk, and the day was very hot. Ellie’s hair stuck damply to the back of her neck, and her lip throbbed. She wished for a hat. She wished for a drink of water. She wished for cool hands tending her lip, a voice telling her to lie still, that everything would be all right.
The ladies would be home, thought Ellie as she scuffed through the dust along Route 27. A dump truck barreled by her, showering her with gravel and blaring its horn. Ellie would tell the ladies everything; everything, from the beginning. The ladies would know what to do.
It was when, more than an hour later, Ellie finally turned off of Route 27 and onto Witch Tree Lane that the second unexpected thing happened. She was looking down the lane to see if Millie, the blue truck, was in the ladies’ driveway, when she noticed a car in her own driveway.
It was the Buick, and Doris was sitting on the Dingmans’ front stoop.
For a moment Ellie stood still and stared. Surely she was seeing things. Maybe she had hit her head when she fell. She shook her head gently, conscious of her lip. She blinked her eyes. The Buick remained in the driveway, and Doris remained on the stoop.
“Doris?” she called.
Doris raised her head and saw Ellie. “Eleanor? What—”
Ellie crossed the front lawn, her hand to her lip.
“Good lord, Eleanor, what happened to you?” exclaimed Doris. “What’s wrong with your lip?”
Ellie answered with questions of her own. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell us you were coming back?”
“We better get you inside and fix you up.”
Ellie slumped onto the top step, suddenly afraid she might faint. “Okay.”
Doris hesitated. “I forgot my key,” she said.
Ellie looked up sharply, her head clearing. “You came back and you didn’t bring your key?”
“Let’s talk about this later. Right now we need to fix your lip. What happened, anyway?” She reached her hand down to Ellie, and Ellie jerked away.
“My lip’s fine. Why don’t you have your key?”
“I don’t want to have a big argument right now, Eleanor. I think it would be better if I spoke to your father. Where is he working today?”
Ellie stared at her mother. “Don’t you know?”
“How would I know where he’s working? He works all over the place.”
“Not anymore. Not since he got his new job. You do know about Dad’s new job, don’t you?”
“No … what’s his job?”
Ellie looked at the Buick in the driveway. She looked at Doris sitting awkwardly on the stoop, encased in a too-tight yellow skirt and a glowing pink jacket, the brightest spot on Witch Tree Lane; a jigsaw piece tossed into the wrong puzzle box.
“Eleanor? What’s his job?”
“How could he not have told you about his job?”
“Well—”
“When was the last time you and Dad were in touch?”
“Let’s at least put some ice on your lip; then we can talk.”
Ellie let out a loud, annoyed sigh, retrieved her house key from her sock, and opened the front door, allowing Doris to pass inside ahead of her. She watched for the signs of someone returning to a well-loved place, a missed place—but saw only a look of agitation as Doris glanced around Ellie’s reorganized kitchen. And another look of agitation as Kiss scrambled down the stairs and flung herself at Ellie, then saw Doris and barked frantically at her before recognition set in.
“What happened to the dish cloths?” Doris asked, peering into the Messy Corner and ignoring Kiss’s attempts to lick her hands.
Ellie pointed to a drawer. “They’re in there. But don’t use a dish cloth. I’ll get blood on it.” She reached for a paper towel. Then she took two ice cubes from the freezer, wrapped them in the towel, and held the towel to her mouth. “Okay. I have ice on my lip,” she said and glared at Doris.
Doris sighed. “Let’s sit down. But not in here. It’s too hot.”
Ellie and Doris returned to the front stoop, preceded by Kiss. “So,” said Ellie, staring straight ahead at Holly’s house, “when was the last time you spoke to Dad?”
“We haven’t actually spoken since you left New York.”
“Huh. Very interesting.”
“Eleanor—”
“Doris, look. You came here without your key, so I know you aren’t moving back. And I know we’re not going to be moving to New York City with you. I guess I even know you and Dad are probably going to get divorced now.” Kiss dropped down next to Ellie, hind-quarters on one step, front feet on the step below, and leaned into her side. “But,” Ellie said, and she lowered her voice, humiliated by the prospect of asking this question, more humiliated by why she needed to ask it, “could I maybe go back to New York City with you for a little while? I need to get out of here, too.” Ellie watched Doris, willing the answer to be no, but wishing to hear a yes slip from her mother’s lips.
Doris turned away and looked down Witch Tree Lane. She rested her hand on Ellie’s knee, and Ellie began to tremble.
“Eleanor, the thing is—this is why I came today—well, the thing is that it’s time for me to move on. I really would like to give my career one more chance, so I’ve decided to go to Hollywood.” Doris turned to face Ellie with a half smile. “Hollywood,” she repeated, as if the word itself implied success.
Ellie jumped to her feet. “WHAT?” Why couldn’t Doris just say yes or no like a normal mother? “What?” she cried again. She recalled the moment in the little store in New York City when she had felt herself rolling toward the mouse trap. And quickly, so quickly that the thought buzzed through her mind almost without her being aware of it, she realized that what Doris had just said was going to change Ellie’s life again—but this time Ellie was not aware of a mouse cage about to fall around her. She felt Kiss’s weight against her side, saw Smudge lolling on his back in the sunshine, smelled cut grass from the Levins’ lawn, and she pictured herself, the marble, rolling on toward whatever lay ahead, bravely passing the mouse trap.
Ellie sat down again, this time a foot away from Doris, and Doris glanced at her, then said, “Well, I know it’s a shock, but …” She looked over her shoulder at the Dingmans’ front door, “anyway, I guess I’ll be needing some warm-weather things.”
“You mean the rest of your things,” said Ellie. “You mean you came back to get the rest of your things.”
“Don’t be snide, Eleanor. It’s a different climate out there. Look, I have to do what I have to do.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.”
Ellie closed her eyes and formed a picture in her mind: Doris in a red convertible cruising down a wide street lined with palm trees. Her hair is held in place by a red-and-white-polka-dotted kerchief; large red-framed sunglasses are on her nose. She’s smiling, she’s color coordinated, she works at the checkout counter at the grocery store or the window of the drive-in or as a temporary secretary somewhere, anywhere.
This picture was very detailed, but it didn’t tell Ellie whether Doris was happy.
“Doris,” said Ellie, “are you happy in New York?”
“Well,” Doris said, after a pause. “I guess I was, at first. It’s such a glamorous place. But I didn’t really get where I wanted to be.”
/> Ellie nodded. She didn’t think Doris would get where she wanted to be in Hollywood, either, that she would stay there until the excitement ran out and she began to dream of somewhere else, and then she would move on—to Chicago or Nashville or maybe Mexico or an island. More places without Ellie in them, because the Dingmans weren’t enough to make Doris happy, and because Doris could never be happy for very long anyway.
“I see,” said Ellie. She hugged Kiss to her for a moment, then stood and opened the screen door, newly patched by Albert. “Okay. I’ll go call Dad for you.”
Ellie was halfway to the kitchen before she was struck by a thought, and she turned around and stood at the screen door again. “Hey, Doris,” she said. “How come you came back in the middle of a weekday? Was it because you knew Albert and Marie and I would be in school? Was it so you wouldn’t have to see us?”
Doris tried to laugh, then said, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Eleanor. You know I don’t like good-byes.”
Ellie called her father, and Mr. Dingman, incredulous, said he’d come home as fast as he could.
“You might as well start packing now,” Ellie said to Doris. “It’ll take Dad a little while to get here.”
Doris retrieved two empty suitcases from the Buick and brought them inside, but she didn’t start packing. Instead, she toured slowly through the Dingmans’ small house—the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen on the first floor, the three bedrooms on the second floor. Ellie trailed after her, trying to see things through Doris’s eyes. The house was tidy, and if not exactly sparkling clean like in TV commercials, certainly cleaner than it used to be. Just the weekend before, Mr. Dingman had drawn up a list of chores that must be accomplished every week. He had posted the list on a bulletin board in the kitchen, along with a chart showing which of the four Dingmans was responsible for each chore. Most of the current week’s chores had been checked off, and so the vacuuming and dusting had been taken care of, the bathroom floors had been mopped, and the laundry had been started.
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