by John Anthony
When I pulled back my blankets and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my toes touched the cool wooden floor. The rug was no longer there to cushion my feet. It was already rolled up and waiting to be loaded on a truck.
The curtains on the back window were also packed away, so it was open to the backyard. The moon’s glow lay over everything in the yard, making it look like a painting.
I looked over at Tommy’s house, and all the windows were dark. I reached for my flashlight that was normally tucked behind the drapes on the windowsill so I could try to get his attention, but it wasn’t there. The flashlight was also somewhere in a box.
The floor creaked as I walked toward the door and peeked into the hallway. The other bedroom doors were pulled halfway closed to keep much of the hall light from entering the room, but open enough to let Mom and Dad hear if one of us needed something.
Hopefully they won’t be able to hear me up and about.
I slipped on some clothes and tiptoed to the room next to mine and peeked around the door. Jenny and Heather were sound asleep. Across the hall, I heard Dad’s snoring. Other than that, the house was still.
I made my way to the stairs and crept down to the living room, and grabbed my jacket from the hook by the front door. Using both hands, I gently grabbed the front door knob and turned it until it released its grasp and set me free.
The pine tree waved at me in the breeze, and I tiptoed down the porch steps and crawled under its branches to lie down and stare into the canopy. Moonbeams cut through the middle of the tree. In thinner areas, I could see stars hanging in the black sky.
I imagined all the space battles that could be happening somewhere up there. And what strange aliens there might be. I thought of Luke and Han and the princess, and wondered if they could be real.
What if this tree really is a spaceship, and I’m about to take off?
The world was a pretty big place. And when you looked at it compared to the whole universe, it made you realize how stupid your own little worries were. Especially when on just our little block, Cubby, one of my best friends—who was one of the best people you could imagine—was made to feel like he was different, and not in a good way. And Tommy, the one guy who was the closest to a brother I’d ever have, having his dad leave.
It made me realize how stupid it was for me to complain, and I started feeling bad that I had. These were people I cared about, and all I did was worry about me. Every day they’d forget their own problems and help make me feel better. And all the while, I complained about something they’d probably wish for themselves: a family who loved them.
The cool night air started to bite. A shiver shook my body, and I pulled my jacket tighter and curled up into a ball on my side. The pine needles cushioned my cheek, and the earthy smell of crisp fallen leaves filled my nose—the smell of autumn. Back-to-school weather.
I closed my eyes for a moment. Before I knew it, sleep took me.
I awoke to the sound of branches rustling and held my breath.
Was it a raccoon? A bear? An alien? Oh gosh, maybe it saw me outside without protection and came to steal me away.
“Has the spaceship taken off yet?” a voice said softly.
It was Mom. I sighed with relief.
“Mind if I come in?”
I sat up and shook my head, shedding the pine needles from my hair. Of course she knew where I’d be; she knew where I’d go when I needed to think.
She handed me a blanket, then spread another out on the ground and sat down next to me. It wasn’t so cold we could see our breath, but it would have been a good night for a bonfire.
“So,” Mom said. “How do you feel about your new little sister?”
I shrugged. “She’s okay, I guess.”
Mom nodded. “Yeah, I think we should keep her.” She nudged me. “What do you think?”
I giggled. “Yeah, she’s good.”
Mom pulled out a thermos and unscrewed the lid. She handed me a cup, and poured me some hot chocolate. I quickly took a sip and felt the warmth run down my throat and into my stomach.
“I’m going to miss this place,” she said, looking up into the dark pine canopy. “It’s a good thinking spot.”
I nodded and took another drink.
“There are lots of good memories here.” She looked at me. “That doesn’t mean that when we leave, the memories leave too.”
“I know.”
She put her arm around me and I snuggled into her shoulder. “And just because there’s another girl in the house doesn’t mean you’re any less important.” She leaned forward to look at my face. “You don’t think that, do you?”
I did, but I didn’t know how to tell her that. “We just don’t get as much you-and-me time like we did before.”
She pulled me closer and gave me a squeeze. “That might be true. But part of that might be because you’re growing up. It’s important for you to be with your friends now too, and not just me and Dad, or your sisters.” She took a sip of hot chocolate. “That just means the times we do get to play and talk together are more important.”
I nodded. “Like right now.”
“Like right now.” She smiled that big mom smile. “And I’ll make sure we still have our time together.”
I could see her face better now as a soft glow appeared, coating the pine branches in a golden light. Mom and I sat quietly as we watched the sun begin to peek over Mr. Shaw’s lumber building across the street.
Everything was quiet. There were no cars, and everybody was still asleep. It felt like Mom and I were the only ones in the world. The soft orange light crept over the top of the building, and the sky around it started to turn a deep blue and purple.
“Grandma used to love watching the sunrise,” Mom said.
“It’s really pretty.”
“She used to call it magic hour.” Mom gazed up at the pine branches as the colors became more vivid. “Because everything looks beautiful and perfect, like anything could happen.”
I thought about that. Right then and there, with my mom at my side, my little sisters sleeping in the house, and Dad snoring away, life did seem perfect. It felt safe.
“Do you think she sees us?”
Mom took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and smiled. “I know she does.” Then she looked at me. “And she’s very proud of you.”
“For what?”
Mom sat up quickly, like I’d startled her. “Well, for a lot of things,” she said. “For being a great big brother, for one.”
I shrugged. “I’m not as good a big brother as Tommy is.”
“We talked about that. You can’t compare yourself to Tommy, silly.” She nudged me. “I agree he’s a wonderful big brother, but that doesn’t mean you’re any less.” She shifted on the blanket to face me. “The night of the fire, you were the one who helped the firemen find Lucy. And then you ran as fast as you could back home to check to make sure your sisters were okay.”
“I guess so.”
“Every morning when you get up, you check on them. And every night before you go to bed.”
“Yeah, but they don’t know that.”
Mom chuckled. “Being a good big brother isn’t just about the things they see. A lot of times it’s about the things they don’t.”
I squinted as I tried to figure out what she meant.
“It’s giving up the last cookie so they can have it, or letting them play with one of your toys, even though you’re afraid they’ll break it.”
I thought of my poor GI Joe with the bite mark across its forehead.
What Mom said started to sink in. And I think I grew up a little bit more in that moment under the pine branches.
“Do you think Becky and Lucy are gonna be okay?”
Dad had said the house was “a complete loss.” I figured that meant it was no good anymore. The wiring was what caused the fire; it was just good that no one was hurt. Their house could be rebuilt and they’d be back, lickety-split, right where they belonge
d. But for a little while, they’d be living with their aunt and uncle a few blocks over.
“I think they’re going to be great.” Mom looked up into the branches as the morning light grew brighter. “They all still have each other, and that’s what’s important. Houses can be fixed.”
“And they’ll still have Tommy and Cubby,” I said.
“Yes. Because friends are important too.”
I hung my head and realized I wouldn’t be part of that anymore. After today, I wasn’t going to be one of the neighborhood kids.
Mom saw how sad that made me. “How about we take a little walk?”
I sniffled and looked up at her.
“I want to show you something.”
Chapter Fifteen
Mom and I walked down the block, checking out the neighborhood one last time. The sun was up over the top of the houses now, and the neighborhood started to wake up.
As we passed Old Man Stillson’s house, he opened his front door to grab the daily paper off of his front stoop. Mom waved to him, and he raised his paper in return.
One of the ladies across the street was walking her dog. It stopped for a minute to look at us, then went back to sniffing out a spot to do its business.
The sunshine sparkled off the dew on the grass. I remembered Grandma telling me about how fairies came in the overnight hours and watered the blades of grass, each with a drop of dew. That was why the grass was damp every morning.
“Do you think the new place will have the same kind of people as we have here?”
Mom squeezed my hand. “I think you’ll be pretty surprised how similar they’ll be.”
“For real?”
“Yep.” She nodded. “For real.”
We stopped in front of Cubby’s house. The kitchen light was on, and we could see his mom through the window. She looked up at us and smiled.
Then Mom put her hands on my shoulders and turned me to face Mrs. Tremont’s house. “It’s a pretty great house, isn’t it?”
The yard was all cleaned up now, and the house looked pretty close to how it did when she had lived there. It didn’t look haunted anymore. And I swore I could see Mrs. Tremont in the front window looking out at us.
“Yeah, it looks a lot nicer than it did.”
And then I looked closer. I really could see Mrs. Tremont—or at least, there was someone standing in the window. I could make out their shadow.
“Mom?” I looked up at her. “I think Mrs. Tremont’s there.”
“Maybe we should go over and say hello.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off the front window as Mom led me across the street. Everything in my head had disappeared. I wasn’t thinking about the move, or about Tommy or Cubby, my sisters, Granddad, or anything. No, I was simply aware of how uncomfortable I was the closer we got to the house.
“Mom,” I said. “Maybe we shouldn’t. Maybe we should leave her alone.”
“Nonsense,” she said.
We headed past the shrubbery and up the front walk. The front yard was neatly mowed, and actually had some nice potted plants on the front steps. Just like I remembered being there before Mrs. Tremont moved away.
My nerves began to settle a bit.
As we approached the steps, a woman about Granddad’s age opened the door.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning,” Mom said as we walked up the rest of the steps to the porch.
My forehead crinkled. “That’s not Mrs. Tremont. She isn’t old enough.”
Mom put her hand over my mouth. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.”
The woman let out a belly laugh that could have woken the neighborhood. “I’ll take that as a compliment. How about if you call me Lorraine?” She held out her hand to me. “The Mrs. Tremont you’re thinking of is my mother.”
I took her hand in mine and shook it. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
As the words left my mouth, an ancient woman in a wheelchair rolled up next to Lorraine. My face went numb and a cold feeling ran down my arms to my fingertips. It was the woman from Mr. Stillson’s party who had pointed at me in the tree.
My eyes began to well up. Was I about to get in trouble for climbing the apple tree?
“And speak of the devil,” Lorraine said. “Here she is.”
I looked up at Mom, and she leaned forward to shake Mrs. Tremont’s hand. She then tapped me on the back with her hand to prompt me to do the same. I stood frozen.
Mrs. Tremont squinted at me. “So this is the boy who climbed Albert’s apple tree.”
I swallowed. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Nonsense.” She waved her hand. “It’s exactly what you should be doing.”
My jaw relaxed and I took the first breath I’d probably taken since we walked across the street. “Ma’am?”
Her thin face brightened, and I saw a twinkle in her eye that I hadn’t noticed until that moment. She reached for me with her bony hands.
When she took my hands in hers, I was surprised that her skin was fragile and soft. Not cold, but warm and soothing.
“Your grandmother used to speak so fondly of you, young man.” She tightened her grip. “I bet you miss her as much as I do.”
“I do, ma’am,” I said as Mom’s hand rested on my shoulder.
Mrs. Tremont looked into my eyes, and I could almost see a little girl in there, asking to come out and play. The color on her face seemed to brighten the longer I looked back at her.
“I suppose you know this house has been empty since I went to live with my daughter and her family.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I didn’t have the heart to sell it and let someone else take our family home, even if I wasn’t living in it.” The corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk. “I suspect you know the feeling.”
I did. It would be hard to see someone else living in my house. Because how could it be theirs when it would always be mine?
“Mom said we gotta move forward, not stay standing still.” I looked up at her, and she nodded at me in agreement. “And we gotta let someone else have their turn.”
Mrs. Tremont winked at me. “Indeed, we do. And that is why, after much deliberation, I’ve decided it’s time to let someone else have their turn here.” She patted the arm of her wheelchair. “As hard as it may be.”
Lorraine grasped Mrs. Tremont’s shoulder and leaned forward to check on her. Mrs. Tremont released my hand and waved at Lorraine to let her know she was doing fine.
“This house needs some love again, Jack,” Mrs. Tremont said. “It needs children. It needs kids running through the halls and sliding down the banister.” She turned her head to look at the stairwell. “And the sound of laughter.”
I stood still, not understanding why she was explaining this to me.
“Do you think you can love it like I have?”
I looked up at Mom, my nose scrunched up.
Mom raised her eyebrows at me. “Well?”
I was puzzled. “Yes?”
Mrs. Tremont laughed and took my hand again. “I want your family to live in my house. I want to sell it to you.” She smiled at me. “Would you like that?”
I gasped and glanced at Mom as if for permission. My eyes burned a little, and I could feel them welling up as I looked back at Mrs. Tremont with amazement.
“Your granddad called me earlier this summer. I was hesitant, of course. But when I thought about your grandma, I knew she’d have loved for you to be here.” Looking up, she gave a big smile to Mom. “All of you.”
Mom’s cheeks reddened and her eyes got sparkly.
“And then when I saw you climbing Albert’s apple tree.” She chuckled. “I knew that was the spirit this house needed. Kids need to be kids.”
Everyone was staring at me, and I was fully aware I hadn’t spoken since Mrs. Tremont told us she was selling the house. My insides felt ready to burst out of my chest, and I wanted to do nothing but run and tell Tommy and Cubby we were staying.
But
there was something else that needed to be figured out first.
“What do you say, young man?” Mrs. Tremont leaned toward me.
“I think that’s awfully swell, Mrs. Tremont.” I looked up at Mom, and she beamed back at me. “But I don’t have no money.”
Mrs. Tremont laughed so hard, a tear squeezed out of her eye. Mom and Lorraine joined in.
“Why don’t we let the grownups worry about the money part,” Mrs. Tremont said, wiping the tear away with a tissue. “But I tell you what.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the arms of her wheelchair. “I’d love it if you’d invite me over for Christmas.”
“I think that can be arranged,” Mom said. “What do you say to Mrs. Tremont, honey?”
I walked over and gently put my arms around her. I didn’t know what to say, because thank you didn’t seem to be enough.
“Jack, my dear, you are more than welcome. Be happy here.” She squeezed me, her grip stronger than I would have expected. “And now, young man, I think you have some people to share the good news with.”
Chapter Sixteen
Moving day went quickly since most of the neighborhood seemed to come out and help. And the following day—Labor Day—there was an entire block event to help the Petersons.
Tommy’s mom was across the street from our new house, helping organize the donations. There were boxes of clothes, food, and other household items they could use, as well as a donation jar.
Cubby’s mom handed out sandwiches, and Steph helped by pouring lemonades. Mr. Shaw and his crew were there, having donated a lot of wood to help them rebuild. Mr. and Mrs. Stillson made apple pies. And Granddad brought bags of candy for the kids.
Even Lorraine and Mrs. Tremont were there, smiling and chatting with the neighbors.
I was sitting on the curb. Jenny and Heather were next to me on the grass. Jenny picked dandelions and stuck them in my hair. Heather watched and giggled.
