Stacey McGill... Matchmaker?

by Ann M. Martin

  “What changed your mind?” Claudia asked.

  “Dawn, of course. I was so excited about the idea of us becoming stepsisters that I forgot all my other worries.” She stopped as a thoughtful expression came to her face. “It’s funny the way it worked out,” she continued after a moment. “I didn’t especially want a stepmother, but I did want a stepsister. And now my stepsister is thousands of miles away for most of the year, but I have a wonderful stepmom. So — you never know how things are going to turn out.”

  “Tell me about it,” Kristy said, leaning forward in Claudia’s director’s chair. “Remember how unsure I was about Watson?”

  “I remember,” Claudia said. “You didn’t think your mother should marry him at all.”

  Kristy shook her head. “I know. Now I can’t imagine why.”

  “You probably felt protective of your mother,” I suggested.

  “Could be. And I suppose it just takes awhile to really get to know someone.”

  “I wish my mother would date instead of being so involved with her job,” Abby complained. “Even if Mr. Perfect showed up on her doorstep, she’d probably trample him on her way to the office.”

  “But do you really want a stepfather?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Abby replied. “I don’t think Mom would ever find anyone as cool as my father, but …” Her voice trailed off and I suspected she was remembering her dad.

  At that moment, the phone rang, distracting us all from the conversation. It was Mrs. Rodowsky wanting a sitter for Shea, Archie, and Jackie for Sunday afternoon. While Mary Anne found a sitter, I thought about everything we’d been talking about.

  Mary Anne and Abby had parents who had died. And Kristy’s father was pretty much gone too. None of them had the expectation that their other parent might come back someday. I didn’t either. I’d accepted that my parents were divorced for good.

  I suddenly felt a lot of sympathy for Joni and Ewan. I realized they were younger, and the divorce had just happened. They didn’t understand why their mother was gone. They didn’t want her replaced before she had the chance to return.

  “Mallory, how about you?” I heard Mary Anne say. “It’s from noon to three. You could handle it.”

  “I can’t,” Mallory replied. “I’ll be in Massachusetts.”

  “Massachusetts!” Kristy cried. “Why?”

  All eyes turned to Mallory. She drew a deep breath before she spoke. “My parents and I want to see a boarding school there.”

  Everyone spoke at once, our voices tumbling over one another.

  “Boarding school!”

  “No way!”

  “You can’t!”

  “Why?”

  “I thought you wanted to go to Stoneybrook Day!” That was me. I wasn’t as shocked as everyone else because of the conversation I’d had with Mal. Still … boarding school? It seemed pretty extreme.

  The only one not crying out in dismay was Jessi. Her jaw had dropped and her eyes were wide with shock. She stared at her best friend, speechless.

  While she tuned out all the noise, Mallory heard Jessi’s silent outcry. She turned to her as if the rest of us weren’t there. “You don’t know how horrible it’s been. I hate going to school. I have a stomachache every morning, and at night I cry, just thinking about what tomorrow will be like. Each day I hope it’s going to be better, but something always happens. Someone knocks into me or calls me Spaz Girl. I can’t stand it anymore.”

  Jessi was still speechless, so I spoke for her. “But why go to a boarding school, and so far away?” I asked.

  “My parents can’t afford Stoneybrook Day. But I got on the Internet and researched schools offering scholarships. I found this school in Massachusetts that sounds very cool. I persuaded Mom to contact them by e-mail. She did and we’ve been communicating that way. It seems that I have a very good chance to win a scholarship because they were impressed with my writing awards.”

  Jessi finally found her voice, although it came out in a choked whisper. “It’s so far away.”

  Mallory tried to smile but her expression was more an apologetic grimace than a grin. “Not that far. You can come visit. And I’ll be home a lot, summers and holidays and all. Like Dawn.”

  I don’t think that comparison cheered anyone. Dawn isn’t completely gone — but it’s not the same as having her here all the time.

  “I might not even like it!” Mallory said, her voice rising defensively. “I could hate it. I’m only looking.”

  “You’ll hate it,” Jessi murmured, staring down at the rug. I felt terrible for her. She was losing her best friend. I can’t imagine what I’d do if Claudia suddenly announced she was moving out of town, or even thinking about it.

  A terrible silence fell over us. The idea of Mallory’s leaving was awful. I wished I could come up with some other solution to her school problem. I couldn’t, though, and I suppose no one else could think of one either. None of us wanted her to go on being miserable. Yet we didn’t want her to leave.

  “Someone better call back Mrs. Rodowsky,” Kristy said at last, breaking the tension. “Who’s taking the job?”

  “Me, I guess,” Mary Anne told her.

  Claudia called Mrs. Rodowsky, since she’d taken the original call. When she was done, I sensed another big silence about to fall over us, so I jumped in. “What about our book group?” I reminded them. “Has everyone been reading Jacob Have I Loved?”

  “I have,” Mallory spoke up. “It’s meant a lot to me because I understand how Louise feels. She’s just got to get off that little island where they live and go somewhere else, but she’s trapped in a place where she doesn’t think anyone understands her or cares about her.”

  “How can you say that?” Jessi cried indignantly, rising to her knees. “We understand you. We care about you.”

  “And Louise is wrong,” Abby added. “There are lots of people who care about her; she just doesn’t see it.”

  “And in the end,” Kristy added, “she doesn’t —”

  “Stop!” Mary Anne said sharply. “I’m nowhere near the end. Don’t tell.”

  “Okay,” Kristy said. She gazed pointedly at Mallory. “What I mean is, even though Louise wants to leave the island, it’s not necessarily what she should do.”

  “Maybe,” Mallory admitted. “But I’m not a character in a book. This isn’t a story. I have to do what I think is best.”

  “Have you spoken to Joni and Ewan yet?” I asked Mr. Brooke — I mean, John — when I baby-sat at his house on Tuesday after school. The kids hadn’t realized I was there yet. They were playing in the basement.

  “Yes and no,” he replied. “I talked, but I’m not sure they listened.”

  “Oh,” I said glumly. I’d arrived there hoping that the kids would feel better about everything. “Well, maybe some of it sunk in,” I suggested, trying to sound encouraging.

  He nodded but didn’t appear convinced. “They do understand that no amount of bad attitude on their part is going to stop me from seeing your mom,” he added firmly. “Maureen is a terrific woman. So smart and funny.”

  “She’s pretty amazing,” I agreed.

  “She’s beyond amazing,” he said, heading toward his study. He planned to work for two hours, then pick up Mom to go to dinner. “She’s … she’s luminous.”

  “Luminous?”

  “Yes, she shines with an inner light.”

  “She does?”

  He laughed. “She does. She has an inner glow. Look more closely next time you see her.”

  He disappeared into his study, and I made a mental note to check Mom for signs of glowing. As far as I was concerned this was going extremely well. John was wild about Mom, and that was fine with me.

  That night, Ewan sat close beside me while we watched TV together. I think he simply couldn’t keep up with Joni’s campaign against me. He was too young to stay angry when he didn’t fully understand what he was supposed to be angry about.

  While he sa
t there, Joni glared at him from her spot on the floor. He wasn’t aware of her, but I was. And when I got up to go to the bathroom, I heard her hiss the word traitor at him sharply. When I came back, he was glued to his sister’s side, on the floor, and wouldn’t look at me.

  The evening went on pretty much in that way. Things were the same when I sat for them on Thursday. (The BSC members had decided to give me all the Brooke jobs, so I’d have a chance to work this out.)

  Once again, John and Mom were going out, this time to the movies. And, once again, I was getting mixed messages from Ewan and the deep freeze from Joni, the human ice storm. “Come on, Joni, give me a break,” I pleaded at one point.

  Her face softened, and, for a moment, I thought she was going to say something without a snap in her voice. Then her large green eyes shifted to the picture of the kids with their mother that stood on the TV. Her face hardened again. Without a word to me, she walked upstairs.

  I sighed. At least Ewan relaxed and smiled at me once Joni was gone. We turned off the TV and worked on a house of cards together. From time to time, Joni came halfway down the stairs, glared at us, and left. When I checked on her, I found her in the living room, sitting on the couch, intently writing a letter on unicorn-bordered stationery. She never even looked up, pretending not to know I was there.

  That night, as I rode home from the Brookes’ house with Mom, I tried to get some idea of how she felt about Mr. Brooke. “John’s great, isn’t he?” I said.

  “Very nice,” she replied. I’d expected more. After all, he thought she was beyond amazing — luminous.

  “Nice?”

  Mom nodded. “And intelligent.”

  Of course he’s intelligent. He’s an author and a playwright. Anyone would know he’s intelligent. “Would you say he’s a genius?” I probed.

  She turned to me with a surprised smile. “Why would you think he’s a genius?”

  “Not everyone can write books,” I reminded her.

  “No … but that doesn’t make him a genius.”

  “Don’t you think he’s smart?”

  “Yes. I said he was intelligent.”

  “More intelligent than Dad?”

  My own words shocked me. I couldn’t believe they’d actually come from my mouth. What did it matter if he was more or less intelligent than my father?

  “I can’t say,” Mom answered as we pulled into the driveway. “Your father is analytical and highly logical. John is so creative. They have very different kinds of intelligence.”

  I liked that answer. It made them equal but different. Impossible to compare. “Was his play brilliant?” I asked.

  “Not especially,” she said, getting out of the car.

  “But you told him it was good. I heard you.”

  “Good, but not brilliant. There were some stretches of dialogue I thought were trite. And there were some philosophical positions I didn’t agree with.”

  We walked together into the kitchen by the side door. I had no idea what she was talking about — philosophical positions? “Do you mean you didn’t agree with what he had to say?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Those were only his characters talking,” I said.

  “A dramatist speaks through his characters.”

  “Not all of them,” I pointed out.

  “Well, his main character voiced some world views I don’t agree with. The main character acted and looked and seemed a lot like John.”

  “What kind of world views?” I demanded to know.

  She thought a moment. “Well, that … that people are basically selfish and are always motivated by what’s best for them. I think that’s untrue and somewhat distasteful.”

  “You seemed so happy when you came home from the play,” I reminded her.

  “I was happy,” she said as she took off her jacket and hung it in the closet. “I had a great time. It’s just that I’ve had some time to think about the play since then. And I’m reading John’s other books and seeing that theme again and again. I’m sorry, but it disturbs me.”

  “Oh, that’s nothing to worry about,” I assured her. “That’s writing. Your relationship with him is real life.”

  “The literature that he creates comes from what’s in his head.”

  “Who cares if he thinks people are generally rotten?” I said. “He thinks you’re wonderful. He told me you’re luminous.”

  “He said that?” she asked as a smile spread across her face. And guess what. I saw it on her face. She was glowing from within. He was right.

  Mom and I had a cup of herbal tea together at the kitchen table. I warned her about Joni. I felt she ought to know.

  “John told me about that tonight,” Mom said. “We came up with a plan. Tomorrow night we’re going to dinner, all of us. You can come, can’t you?”

  “Sure. I can come.” In fact, nothing could have stopped me. This was great. Even if Mom thought John was less than brilliant and had a rotten “world view,” she was getting serious. I’d seen how she glowed at his compliment. Plus, she wouldn’t want to go out with his kids if the relationship weren’t going somewhere. I was sure we were on the right track.

  * * *

  On Friday, we went to Pietro’s, an Italian restaurant on the way to Washington Mall.

  John and the kids pulled into the parking lot at the same time Mom and I arrived. “Are you ready for this?” she asked me with a wry smile.

  “I am. Are you?” Although Mom had been introduced to the kids, I knew them better than she did. I knew what to expect.

  “Probably not,” she said, reapplying her lipstick in the rearview mirror. “But we’re here now. Let’s do it.” She and I got out of the car and joined the Brooke family.

  “Hi, ladies,” John greeted us warmly.

  “Hello, John,” Mom said with her eyes on the kids. “Joni, Ewan, how are you tonight?”

  “Fine,” Joni snapped, not making eye contact with Mom or me.

  “I’m hungry,” Ewan announced with more warmth.

  The restaurant was crowded and noisy. We were seated at a large round table in the middle of the dining room. “Those are great earrings, Maureen,” John said as the waiter passed us the menus.

  With her hand, Mom touched one of the Venetian glass beaded earrings she wore. “Oh, thanks. I like them too.”

  “I know why you like them, Dad,” Joni spoke up. “They’re almost exactly like the ones you gave Mom for Christmas last year. Only my mother’s beads are nicer colors. Mrs. McGill, did your ex-husband give you those beads?”

  Wow! I thought, staring at Joni. This kid is going right for the kill. She was good at it too.

  I had a feeling Dad had given Mom the earrings for her birthday one year. (I recalled that he mailed them to her because he was out of town on business. Typical.) “I’ve had these a long time,” Mom said, dodging the question.

  “And besides, it’s none of your business,” John said pointedly to Joni. “What are you going to order?”

  “I don’t know. The food here stinks.”

  “You’ve never eaten here,” John reminded her.

  With a shrug, she covered her face with the menu. “Everyone says it does,” she replied from behind it.

  John rolled his eyes at Mom and she smiled at him. In a few minutes, the waitress came for our order. When she left, we had nothing to do but talk. Only no one said anything. “How’s your book coming, John?” I asked in an effort to fill the silence.

  “I don’t know,” he answered. “I can never tell until I’m finished.”

  “My mother always read what he wrote and told him how to fix it,” Joni volunteered. “She practically wrote his books herself.”

  “Joni!” John said, looking hurt. “That’s not true.”

  “She said it was.”

  “I’m sure every writer can use another eye on his or her work,” Mom spoke up, trying to smooth things.

  “That’s true. I wonder if you’d have the time to look at the man
uscript I’m working on now,” John said.

  Mom looked trapped. “I’d be glad to read it, but —”

  “She doesn’t know how!” Joni cried indignantly. “That’s Mom’s job.”

  “Joni!” John said sharply.

  “That’s all right,” Mom said. “She’s right. I’m not an editor and —”

  “And you’re not his wife!” Joni cut her off.

  John abruptly pushed back his chair and eyed his daughter angrily. “Joni, I’ve had just about enough of this.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. She stood, knocking her chair backward into the table behind us as she ran from the dining room.

  Mom looked at John, expecting him to follow her. My eyes were on Ewan, who was misty-eyed and wore a panicked expression. John sat firmly in his chair, red-faced with anger.

  “I’d go get her, but I don’t think she’d want to talk to me,” Mom said. I knew it was her way of suggesting John go.

  “Let her be,” John said, pulling in his chair. “If she wants to miss dinner, that’s her choice. But she’s not going to spoil it for the rest of us.”

  I knew Mom wasn’t happy with that decision. “I’ll go,” I offered. “Maybe I can talk to her.” Hurrying through the restaurant, I found Joni sitting on a chair in the lobby, fuming. “Come on, Joni,” I said. “Come back to the table.”

  “Why should I?” she snapped, folding her arms.

  “Mom and I just want to be friends with you guys. It’s no big deal. You don’t have to get all defensive about it,” I said.

  “Liar. You don’t want to be friends. You want your mother to marry my father.”

  Maybe I did, and maybe I didn’t. It was too early to say for sure. But there was no sense telling her that just then. “It’s too soon for them to be thinking about marriage,” I said.

  Before Joni could reply, John appeared in the lobby. “Joni, get back to the table this instant,” he said.

  “No.”

  He came close to her and took hold of her arm. “You get back there now, and you show Maureen some respect, or you will be grounded without TV for the rest of the week. Got that?”