Tails of Spring Break Page 2

  “That’s too bad your grandpa got sick.” I unlaced my sneakers and kicked them off. “And you’re missing Washington, D.C.”

  “I never thought I’d be at your house for spring break,” she said. She sighed.

  In the next room, Dad cleared his throat and wadded up some papers. “Be nice to her,” he’d said. Talk about impossible.

  “You sure brought a lot of stuff,” I said.

  “I should unpack.” Claire slid off the bed and opened a tote bag. She unrolled a small rug, light blue, and put it on the floor between our beds.

  She set a blue ruffled pillow on her bed and a blue clock radio next to my lamp. She laid blue-and-white striped pajamas at the foot of the bed. She set out a white teddy bear. It had a sweater on, baby blue. None of her stuff went with my orange-and-white polka-dot spreads.

  She turned to me. “I have to hang up some things,” she said.

  “In the closet?”

  She looked down her nose. “Of course, in the closet. On hangers. That’s how we keep clothes nice.”

  “Here goes,” I said. I forced the closet doors open and shoved all my stuff to one side. We jammed in Claire’s dresses and skirts and tops. “What did you bring all those for?” I asked. “We’ll just be wearing jeans this week.”

  “I like to look nicer than that,” Claire said. She unzipped her fashion boots and pulled them off. She set them in the corner.

  My stomach began to hurt. I went back to sit on my bed.

  From another tote bag, Claire pulled out a photo album, a box of pale blue notepaper, pens and pencils, and a package of glittery butterfly stickers. “I’m going to write to all my pen pals this week,” she explained. “I have their pictures in this album. Ten of them.”

  “Nobody has ten pen pals.” I watched her stack up my books so she could put her album on the shelf.

  “My favorite one lives in France.” She held up a plastic box that rattled. “I’m stringing beads for a bracelet for my Aunt Kirsten,” she said. “Want to see?”

  I squinted at the little beads. “Don’t you ever spill them?”

  “Never.” Claire set the box of beads on her album. “I hope Tyler won’t come in here.” She shuddered and made a face. “Where is he, anyway?”

  “He’s sort of taking a nap in Dad’s room. Sierra’s cat is under his bed.”

  Claire raised her eyebrows. “Sierra’s cat?”

  “I take care of lonely pets now. It’s my new business. People are paying me.”

  Claire pushed empty tote bags and suitcases under her bed. Lucky thing Dad had vacuumed under there.

  “Are you organized enough to have a business?” she asked.

  “I’m very organized.”

  Claire shook her head. “I remember that Thanksgiving dinner you planned. A disaster!”

  “Ms. Morgan loved my dinner.”

  “I bet she thought it was weird,” Claire said with a frown. “Not one thing was traditional.”

  She was still mad about our teacher coming to my house instead of hers. I lay back on my bed remembering my decorations and the food I made, and Tyler running away to tame the turkey monster. What a day it had been. I sat back up. “I handed out pet sitter flyers this morning. People will be calling.”

  “You handed out flyers?” Claire looked up from rearranging my shell collection.

  “Be careful of those.”

  “Don’t you ever dust them?” She blew at the shells and wrinkled her nose. “Where are your lists for your business?”

  “My business doesn’t need lists.”

  “You’re supposed to write things down so you don’t forget something important.” She left my shells and opened another tote bag and pulled out a notebook. She flipped it open. “I make lists about everything. This page has all my pen pals. This one is all the books I ever read. This is my list of what to pack for Washington, D.C.” She looked sad as she turned that page.

  I rummaged in my bookshelf until I found my own notebook. “First,” I said, “I’ll list each pet.”

  “And their phone numbers.”

  “That’s really stupid, Claire. Pets don’t talk on the phone.”

  “For emergencies, dummy,” Claire said. “My father told your father how to reach him. He gave him the number for my doctor too.”

  Had Sierra’s family left any phone numbers? I wasn’t sure. China had better not get sick.

  Just then, while we were talking about phones, our phone rang. I heard Dad answer it.

  In a minute, he came to the door. “That was Mrs. Anderson from next door. I don’t know what made her think of it, but she wants you to take care of Muffin this week.”

  Chapter 5

  No Tarantulas, Please!

  “WE NEED TO GO over there,” Dad said, “to find out what she wants done. Come with us, Claire.”

  Claire already had her jacket on.

  “Wait a minute,” I said.

  “I’d better come,” Claire said. “You’ll forget things. Bring that notebook.”

  A few minutes later, the four of us crossed the yard to the Andersons’ house. “Mrs. Anderson’s my friend,” Tyler told Claire. “She sometimes takes care of me. She brings her knitting needles.”

  As Mrs. Anderson let us in, her dog Muffin scooted between our legs and around the room, yapping hello. “Hi there, little dust mop.” I squatted down to pat her head as she rushed past me.

  Mrs. Anderson grabbed a paper towel and ran after Muffin, pushing the towel across the floor.

  “What’s she doing?” Claire whispered.

  “Wiping up piddle,” I answered. “I forgot about that.” Claire made a face and went to stand by the door.

  “A few excitement drops, the little dear,” Mrs. Anderson said, panting a bit. She threw away the paper towel and washed her hands at the kitchen sink. “We’re going tomorrow to visit the grandchildren,” she told us. “I kept thinking we’d take Muffin, but then I found Katie’s clever flyer.”

  Dad looked confused, but Mrs. Anderson didn’t give him time to ask about the flyer.

  “I’ll want you to feed her once in the morning and once at night. Let her out in the yard after she eats. It would be nice if you could take her for a walk, but she’s such a silly girl when it rains. She hates getting her feet wet. The best thing is to exercise her in the house. Throw the ball for her.” She looked down at Muffin and smiled. “The little dear.”

  “Write all that down,” Claire said.

  “I was already doing it,” I said. I opened my notebook.

  “Here’s her towel for wiping her off if she gets wet,” Mrs. Anderson said. “She thinks that’s quite a game, the little rascal.” She set the towel next to Muffin’s food.

  “And the vet,” she continued. She opened the phone book and looked through the bottoms of her glasses for the number. “This is just in case . . .”

  “Told you so,” Claire whispered.

  Mrs. Anderson looked up from the phone book. “Will Claire be helping you?”

  “No,” I answered.

  “Please bring in the mail,” Mrs. Anderson said. “And the newspaper.” She handed me a key that had a piece of red yarn tied to it. “This will let you in the kitchen door.”

  “You have to lock up every time you leave,” Dad said. “I’ll come with you a couple of times, to get you started.” As we squished through the wet grass on the way back to our house, my brain buzzed with all the instructions. Feed Muffin. Let her out. Let her in. Dry her off. Get the mail. Lock the door. A lot to remember!

  Then I thought about how happy Muffin would be when I opened her door. I’d brush her and maybe give her a bath. We’d play a game with the towel. She’d lick my cheek and crawl into my arms. No more lonely dog. As we walked in, the phone rang. Could it be another customer?

  “Hello,” Dad said. “You’re calling about what? A tarantula?”

  “No, no, no,” I whispered, tugging on his sleeve.

  Tyler pulled on Dad’s other sleeve.
“Great!” he shouted.

  Dad hushed us. “How did you get this number?” he asked. As he listened, he began to frown. At me!

  “May I call you back?” Dad asked. He waved his arm. “Paper,” he whispered. “Pencil.”

  “At my house,” Claire said, “we keep paper and pencil next to the phone.”

  “Be quiet, Claire,” I said. I gave Dad my notebook and the pencil. He wrote down a number, hung up the phone, and looked at me. “You made flyers?”

  “For advertising my business,” I said. “A tarantula sounds very good,” Tyler said to Dad. “Better than a cat.”

  “What business?” Dad asked.

  “I’m already doing it, Dad. I’m taking care of lonely pets. China Cat. And Muffin.”

  “How many flyers?”

  I hated it when Dad’s voice barked at me. “Just around our block.”

  “This man has a tarantula,” Dad said. “And I don’t know him. The man. I don’t know the man or the tarantula.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “You can’t be going into houses of people we don’t know.”

  “But . . .” I zipped my jacket zipper up and down.

  “That’s exactly what my father would have said,” Claire told us. She shook her blonde curls and sat down across from Dad at the table. As if it were her table!

  Dad rubbed at his forehead. “We’ll have to call him and tell him no. Maybe that’s the only call you’ll get.”

  The phone rang. We stared at it. It rang again.

  “You mustn’t say ‘hello’,” I told Dad. “Say, ‘Thanks for calling your lonely pet’s best friend.’”

  Chapter 6

  Mom Calls to Chat

  DAD FROWNED AT ME and picked up the phone. “Hello,” he said. Then, “Hi, Roxie.”

  “It’s Mom!” I ran to stand beside him.

  Tyler got to talk to her first but, as usual, he hardly said a word. He mostly listened and nodded. “She can’t see you nod,” I said, and Dad said, “Hush, leave him alone.” Then, he handed the phone to me, and it was my turn.

  Mom’s voice on the phone was like listening to her sing. “We’re setting up to do a show,” she told me. “Pretty soon they’ll ask me to sing into my mike, to make sure the sound is balanced.”

  “Where are you?” I asked.

  “Tulsa, Oklahoma,” she said. “Near Texas.”

  Over the phone, I could hear the guitar and fiddle sounds of her band. Mom’s life was so exciting. “Do you have on your red sparkly vest?” I asked.

  She laughed. “Actually, tonight it’s going to be green sparkles. Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

  I told her it was spring break, and everyone else had gone somewhere. But it was okay because I had a business. I’d grown again. I needed some new jeans.

  About then, I heard someone call to her. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I have to go now. I’ll call you again, Honey.”

  “Bye, Mom,” I said. As I hung up, I wished I’d told her about how I might buy an artist box. As I turned around, I saw Claire.

  She was still sitting at the table, but she held her arms across her stomach as if she had a pain. Pink blotches covered her cheeks. She stared at me with a strange look on her face.

  “Are you sick?” I asked.

  She stood up. “I hate you, Katie Jordan,” she said in a tight little voice. “It’s not fair. Your mom can call you.” She ran down the hall into my bedroom and slammed the door. I started to follow.

  “Wait,” Dad said. “I think she needs to be alone.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead. “Too bad. Too bad.”

  “What’s too bad, Daddy?” Tyler asked.

  “Claire can’t get phone calls from her mother,” he said. “Her mother’s dead.”

  “We’re lucky, huh, Daddy,” Tyler said. He climbed up onto Dad’s lap.

  “Pretty lucky,” Dad answered. He hugged Tyler close, but he was blinking as if he had something in his eye. Was he blinking back a tear? I couldn’t tell.

  “Now, what do we do?” I asked. “She’s in my bedroom.”

  Dad stopped blinking and looked hard at me. “You’re being kind to lonely pets. Seems like you could be kind to Claire.”

  As I stared out at the wet bushes in the backyard, I saw Claire’s sad face. I should be nicer to her. But then, I remembered all the mean things she said. “I can’t, Dad.” I lowered my voice. “She’s awful.” As I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets, my fingers touched the Andersons’ house key. “Here,” I said, pulling it out. “We need a safe place for this.”

  Dad’s face brightened. “The two of you could . . . ,” he began.

  “No way!” I yelled. “It’s my business.” I threw the key onto the table.

  “You’re sharing with me,” Tyler said. “It’s my bed China’s under.” He slid off Dad’s lap and went down the hall.

  “First of all,” I said, “everybody but us went somewhere good for spring break.” I lowered my voice. “And the worst person in fourth grade is living in my bedroom.” I flung myself into a chair. “And China Cat doesn’t cuddle and purr, the way I thought she would.”

  Dad tipped his head to one side. “Listen to that,” he said. “Tyler’s singing.” I listened as the words to “Three Blind Mice” drifted down the hall.

  Dad began to smile. “Tyler knows how to make a lonely cat feel better,” he said, “and he’s only four years old.”

  I stopped grinning as I figured out what he meant. Since I was older, he thought I could share everything with Claire. Well, he was wrong. I’d have to be an old lady before that would happen.

  “Being nice to a cat is easy,” I told him. “Being nice to Claire is impossible.” I went down the hall to Tyler’s room.

  Chapter 7

  Talking to Mothers

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON, CLAIRE finally came out of my bedroom. She sat at the table and wrote letters to her pen pals. Still later, she helped Dad and me fix supper. None of us mentioned Mom’s phone call. Claire reminded us to use place mats and napkins. And forks, as if we would have eaten macaroni and cheese with our fingers. “We should have a centerpiece,” she said.

  “We do centerpieces on holidays,” I told her.

  “Where’s Tyler?” Dad asked. “Still in there with China?”

  “Whatever he’s doing is working,” I said. “She’s not growling.”

  Dad handed the paper napkins to Claire, who set them around the table. “We want you to feel at home with us, Claire,” he said. “What would help you feel comfortable?”

  She sat down at the table, thinking. “I should have brought some games. We could play games.”

  “We have tons of games,” I told her. From the kitchen, Dad sent me a thumbs-up.

  I frowned at him. Playing games with Claire was not my idea of fun. I sighed. Then I remembered her sad face. I would try to cheer her up.

  After dinner, Tyler built things with Legos in his room and talked to China who was growling again. Dad turned on the TV to a basketball game.

  When Claire and I opened the game cupboard, things began to slide out. “I might have known,” she said. “Everything in your game cupboard is mixed up.”

  First, she made us find the Sorry pieces and put them in their box. Then, the checkers. Then, the Chutes and Ladders. Then, the worst thing—the cards. “I might have known,” she said again as she separated the decks.

  I slapped a deck of cards onto the floor. “That’s it,” I said. “Play by yourself.”

  She looked surprised. “I’m going to read to China. I do have a business.” I stepped over all the cards and went to find my book.

  “Big deal,” Claire said. I heard her ask Dad to play Concentration, and I couldn’t believe it when he said yes. As I lay on Tyler’s bed and read my book out loud, I could hear them in the family room, laughing and having a great time. Claire even beat Dad. They came down the hall to tell me.

  I turned my back on them. China growled just then, and I was glad.<
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  Later when Claire and I got ready for bed, she kept getting in the way. “Excuse me,” I said, as I searched for my pajamas that were lost because of cleaning up my room.

  “Excuse me,” she said as she pushed past me with her toothbrush in her hand.

  “Excuse ME,” I said when we both ended up at the sink.

  “Excuse ME,” she said and turned off the bathroom light before I was done.

  I flopped on my bed while Claire rubbed something smelly into her hair and started brushing it. “You’re dropping yellow hair all over my room,” I said.

  “Your hair would look nicer if you brushed it now and then.” She held up a blue-and-white plastic mirror and smiled into it.

  I stared at the empty space on the wall where my poster used to hang. Most nights, I pretended Mom and I were having a talk before I went to sleep. Now, because of Claire, I couldn’t even do that. I wondered if Mom was singing right that minute. In Tulsa, Oklahoma.

  Claire fluffed her hair and set the brush in her lap. “What does she say when she calls?” she asked.

  How could she know I’d been thinking about Mom? I twisted my sheet into a flower in my hand and pushed my face into it. “Not much,” I said into the flower. “Stuff about where she’s performing.”

  “I can hardly hear you.” Claire picked up her hairbrush. “My mother had a bad accident. She’s dead.”

  “I know that,” I said into the sheet flower. I patted the sheet flat and looked over at Claire. “I’m sorry,” I told her. My mom wasn’t at all dead. But still. She wasn’t here. She was never here when I needed to talk about things.

  Claire’s blond curls bounced as she began to brush again. “I wish I’d been sick that day. If I’d been sick, she would have stayed home.” She laid the brush on the bedside table and pulled her covers up to her shoulders. “She’d still be alive.”

  “It wasn’t your fault it happened,” I said. “You didn’t know she was going to have an accident.”

  “I talk to her after I say my prayers,” Claire said. “Since she’s in heaven, I figure she can hear me. Do you say prayers?”