Dawn and the Impossible Three (7 page)

The next day was the beginning of Memorial Day weekend. The Stoneybrook schools were closed on Monday. In California, we usually spent most of the long weekend at the beach. There was no chance of that in Connecticut. Although we lived near the coast and the weather was beautiful, the temperature had dropped back to about seventy degrees. Mary Anne assured me that was normal. I didn't care. On Saturday morning, I shouted at my clock radio and called the weatherman a cheesebrain. (Several days earlier, I'd called him a magician and a saint.)

When I heard that the ocean temperature (the
Atlantic
Ocean temperature, that is) was fifty degrees, I called the weatherman a moron.

Nevertheless, my mother, who was giving a picnic on Saturday, decided to hold it outdoors. I told her it was probably going to be the first picnic ever attended by people wearing down jackets.

Mom just rolled her eyes heavenward and said, “For pity's sake, Dawn. It's perfectly pleasant outside.”

No, it wasn't.

I tried to be enthusiastic about the picnic anyway. It had started off as just a small party for my mom and grandparents, but it had grown. First, Mom had invited Mr. Spier and Mary Anne. Then I had asked if I could invite the Thomases, the Kishis, and the McGills. Then Jeff had asked if we could invite the Pikes, and finally I decided to ask the Barretts and (out of guilt) the Prezziosos.

Most of them couldn't come, since they already had plans. In fact, apart from my grandparents and the Spiers, the only people who were able to attend were the Barretts, and Kristy and David Michael. (Mrs. Thomas was giving a party for her relatives and Watson and his kids on Saturday night, so she'd be busy getting ready for it during the day, but Kristy said she wanted to come to our picnic anyway. I was very flattered.)

On Saturday morning, shivering in a sweatshirt and blue jeans, I helped Mom set up a table and our lawn furniture in the backyard. Then, while Jeff hosed everything down (the furniture was dusty from sitting in the barn) and decorated
the yard with balloons, flags, crepe paper, and lanterns, Mom and I worked on the food.

“You know, Mom,” I said, surveying the messy kitchen, “some people don't like tofu.”

“Really?” she replied vaguely.

“And, Mom, before the guests arrive this afternoon, could you find matching socks? Mr. Spier would probably really appreciate it if your socks matched. And your earrings.”

“My earrings? I know
they
match, honey. I just put them on…. I wonder if I could substitute raw honey for sugar in this recipe.”

“They don't match, Mom. They're both gold hoops, but they're different sizes. Here, let me look at that recipe.” I was beginning to feel nervous.

“I've got a great idea,” I said on impulse. “Instead of trying to make this fancy stuff, why don't we go to the grocery store, buy hamburger patties, hot dogs, buns, and potato salad, and serve that? Grandpa can barbecue. We won't have to cook at all.”

“Red meat?”
exclaimed my mother. “
Hot dogs?
Do you know what's in a hot dog?”

“Yes, and I don't even want to think about it. I'd rather eat tofu any day. But we're in
Connecticut
. In Connecticut, people barbecue things. Especially at picnics. Don't you think we should serve food
our guests will like?” I tried to imagine Kristy looking at a table of dried fruit, tofu salads, and raw vegetables. She'd go hungry before she'd touch a thing.

“I suppose,” said Mom. I could tell that the idea of not having to cook was very appealing to her. “Do you really think we can buy ready-made potato salad?”

“Sure. In the deli section at the grocery. I've seen it. Vats of it. We could probably buy ready-made green salad, too. It might be a little expensive, but we won't have to prepare anything.”

Mom considered this for all of two seconds. “Let's go!” she cried. “What a relief!”

We made a dash for the car. On the way to the shopping center, I realized we didn't have a grill, so we had to buy one of those, too. It was a costly morning, but it was worth it.

As we were driving back home, the car loaded down with food and a big red Weber grill, I said casually, “Hey, Mom, I thought when you were in high school your parents didn't approve of Mary Anne's father.”

“That's right, sweetie.”

“Well, what's going to happen when they see each other today?”

“Oh, nothing. That was years ago,” Mom answered mildly.

But I thought she looked uncomfortable.

Our guests were invited for one o'clock. In California, one o'clock means two or two-thirty. Here in Connecticut, every last guest had arrived by 1:15. Luckily, since we didn't have much to do except start the Weber grill, we were ready anyway. The backyard was decorated and the furniture was clean. All we had to do was carry out the food.

When that was done, I pulled Kristy and Mary Anne aside so we could survey the scene. Jeff, David Michael, Buddy, and Suzi were playing ball. Mrs. Barrett was bouncing Marnie on her knees and talking to my grandmother. My grandfather was lighting the fire in the grill. And Mom and Mr. Spier were sitting as close together as they could possibly sit, their heads bent in quiet laughter.

“Keep an eye on them,” I said to my friends. “This is a good opportunity to see how they're acting with each other these days. And keep an eye on my grandparents and your father, Mary Anne. It could be interesting. We may have
to — to avert a crisis,” I said, remembering words Mrs. Barrett had once used.

“Okay,” whispered Mary Anne.

“Hey,” Kristy exclaimed, looking awed. “Mary Anne, where are your father's glasses?”

“He got contacts,” Mary Anne replied.

“Your
father
?”

Mary Anne nodded.

“Got
contacts
?”

“Yup.”

I began to giggle.

“I don't believe it. I absolutely do not believe it,” said Kristy. “It's amazing. Get me a chair, somebody. I may have to sit down.”

Mary Anne made a great show of pulling up a lawn chair, and Kristy made a great show of collapsing into it with one hand pressed over her heart.

When we calmed down, I dragged a lounge chair next to Kristy's chair and Mary Anne and I both sat in it. Then the three of us watched the adults.

It didn't take me long to realize that my grandmother was only pretending to have a conversation with Mrs. Barrett. All she did was ask questions that required long answers, and while Mrs. Barrett was talking, Granny would keep
shooting little glances over at Mom and Mr. Spier.

Pop-Pop (my grandfather) was watching them, too. Once he got the fire started, there wasn't much for him to do until the coals were hot. Even so, he stood over the grill, occasionally poking a lump of charcoal, but mostly just gazing at the lovebirds.

Lovebirds. That's exactly what they looked like. If one of them had cooed — even Mr. Spier — I wouldn't have been the least bit surprised.

I tried to read the expression on Pop-Pop's face. He didn't look angry. I nudged Mary Anne and then Kristy. “How would you say my grandfather looks?” I asked them.

“Well, he looks very nice,” replied Kristy. “This is the first time I've ever met him, of course, but I'd say he looks good, although his shirt doesn't exactly match his pants.”

“No!” I exclaimed. “I mean, what does he look like he's thinking about as he watches my mom and Mary Anne's dad? Mary Anne, what do you think?”

“I don't know, I can't tell.”

“Do you think he looks like he disapproves?”

“No,” answered Mary Anne and Kristy.

“Do you think he looks deliriously happy?”

“No,” they replied.

“Deliriously proud?”

“No.”

We weren't getting anywhere.

“What about Granny?” I asked. “She's been watching them the whole time she's been talking to Mrs. Barrett.”

“It's hard to tell,” said Mary Anne. “If you want my honest opinion, she has to pretend she's interested in what Mrs. Barrett is saying, and there's no room on her face for any other expression.”

Adults certainly are hard to understand. Sometimes they seem to have several faces. It's as if they own masks, and you
know
they own masks, but you can't always tell their masks from their real expressions. Why do they make everything so complicated?

The picnic became more interesting when we started eating. Mom settled the little kids — Jeff, David Michael, Buddy, and Suzi — at a child-size picnic table. Then she arranged Marnie and the adults — who were going to eat on their laps — in a semicircle of lawn chairs. She left Mary Anne and Kristy and me on our own, so we just inconspicuously tacked ourselves onto one end of the semicircle. From there we had a bird's-eye view of the adults.

The first interesting thing that happened
was that Pop-Pop sat himself down next to Mr. Spier and said, “So, Richard, how are things at Thompson, Thompson, and Abrams?”

“Oh,” replied Mary Anne's father, “I haven't been with them in quite some time.”

“Oh?”

“No, I started my own firm about four years ago. I practice in Stamford.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It's doing very well, too. Leaving Thompson's was the best decision I ever made.”

“Oh?”

(It's amazing how many meanings the word
oh
seems to have. Mr. Spier's
oh
had sounded surprised. Pop-Pop's first
oh
had sounded suspicious. His second
oh
had sounded impressed. His third
oh
had sounded sort of awed.)

Mary Anne and I glanced at each other.
That
conversation seemed to have gone all right.

A little while later, Granny leaned over and said, “Richard, are you still living on Taylor Street?” (Taylor Street is the neighborhood Mr. Spier had grown up in.)

“Why, no,” he replied. “We live on Bradford Court. Mary Anne's mother and I moved out of the house on Taylor Street several months before Mary Anne was born.”

Again Mr. Spier sounded surprised. He was probably wondering why my grandparents didn't know all this stuff. The truth is, Mom and her parents rarely discuss Touchy Subjects. And their three Touchiest Subjects at that time were the divorce, my father, and Mary Anne's father. I was beginning to think that Mom had brought Granny, Pop-Pop, and Mr. Spier together just so that my grandparents could see how well Mary Anne's father had done for himself, not to mention the fact that he's a perfectly nice, normal guy.

Toward the end of the meal, Pop-Pop got into a discussion of banking laws with Mr. Spier. (Pop-Pop is a banker.) The talk went on and on. Sometimes they seemed to be arguing, but at the same time enjoying themselves. The rest of the time they were agreeing with each other and talking earnestly.

Mom looked so happy about that that she relaxed and became involved in a conversation with Granny and Mrs. Barrett.

Kristy and Mary Anne and I, satisfied that things were going well, snuck over to the barn where Kristy and I took turns swinging through the loft on the rope, while Mary Anne sat outside on a bale of hay and daydreamed.

Later, as the guests were leaving, Mrs. Barrett
asked if I could baby-sit after school on Tuesday. I was busy, but Mary Anne was free, so she took the job.

I decided that it had been a good day all around, even if it had been chilly. I went to bed that night and had a lovely dream in which Mom and Mr. Spier got married and Mary Anne and I were in the wedding. It was a beautiful ceremony, except that the bride and groom were wearing ski jackets and snow pants.

When Mary Anne got home from the Barretts' that afternoon, the first thing she did was call me. She was extremely miffed.

“Dawn,” she exclaimed, “how can you possibly sit at the Barretts' so often?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“What do I
mean
?! They're terrors, that's what I mean! If I were their mother, I'd have … I don't know what I'd have done, but I'd have done something by now. Something drastic.”

“You've sat for them before,” I pointed out.

Mary Anne calmed down somewhat. “I know, and they were a little wild then, but nothing like today.”

“Maybe it was the weather.” It had been raining for three days.

“Maybe. That must have been part of it, but
you always get along so well with them. They really like you. It's almost as if you have — what do you call it? — some kind of chemistry with them. I don't think we have any chemistry at all.”

“They do like me,” I admitted. Lately Buddy had come over to our house more and more often, and since Suzi had learned how to use the phone, she had started calling me, although she never had much to say. “What did they do today?” I asked Mary Anne.

“What
didn't
they do?” she replied. She began to describe the afternoon. The first part of it sounded very familiar. When Mary Anne rang the bell, Buddy, Suzi, and Pow had answered the door. Buddy was wearing the cowboy hat and swimming flippers and was aiming his ray gun at Mary Anne.

He greeted her with a, “Fshoo, fshoo. Bzzzzt,” followed by a gleeful, “I got you! You're dead! You're completely dead!”

Although Mary Anne didn't mention anything about not using guns, she did say, “Well, I'm not dead for long, because I'm coming into your house. Stand aside, Martian man.”

“
Mar
tian man?! I'm not a Martian man. I'm a cowboy from Venus. And this is my Venus weapon.” Buddy jumped into a position of
offense, legs spread, arms extended, holding the ray gun stiffly. He aimed it first at Mary Anne, then at Pow. But suddenly he dropped the gun and gave Suzi the Bizzer Sign instead.

Suzi burst into tears.

Marnie, sitting alone in her high chair in the kitchen (wearing only a diaper), burst into tears, too. (Sometimes tears are contagious.)

“Hi, Mary Anne!” called Mrs. Barrett as she rushed downstairs. She ignored the crying children, frantically threw on her raincoat, and as usual, ran out the door without giving the babysitter any instructions. Mary Anne did, however, hear her call, “Don't forget that Marnie's allergic to chocolate!” as she got into her car.

“Great,” muttered Mary Anne, closing the front door.

Mrs. Barrett wasn't going on an interview that afternoon. She was just running errands and wanted to do them by herself. Mary Anne could see why.

In order to get the kids under control, Mary Anne sent Buddy outside to walk Pow. He asked if he could wear the flippers, and Mary Anne said yes, since she thought the walk would take longer that way.

Then she gave Suzi a cracker and told her to
go try to find
Sesame Street
on TV. Suzi stopped crying right away. With Suzi and Buddy occupied, Mary Anne turned her attention to Marnie.

“Okay, Marnie-o,” she said, lifting her out of the high chair. “First we'll get you cleaned up, then we'll get you a fresh diaper, and then we'll get you dressed.”

“No-no,” said Marnie.

“Yes-yes,” said Mary Anne.

Marnie screamed while Mary Anne wiped her face, changed her diaper, and dressed her. Then suddenly she stopped crying. Mary Anne held her up to a mirror and said, “Pretty!”

Marnie made the ham face. She was back to her usual sunny self.

Mary Anne was just carrying Marnie downstairs when Buddy returned with Pow. He took Pow's leash off, hung it in the kitchen, patted the dog affectionately, ran into the playroom, and gave Suzi the Bizzer Sign.

Suzi burst into tears.

Marnie burst into tears.

Mary Anne was back where she started. “Buddy,” she said, “you give one more Bizzer Sign to anyone today —
anyone
— and you'll have to stay in your room until your mother comes home.”

“No, I won't.”

“Yes, you will. I'm in charge here and what I say goes.”

“Will you tell my mom if I'm bad?”

“I might.”

“Tattletale.”

Mary Anne shrugged her shoulders. “That's the way it is.” She turned to Suzi and Marnie. “Okay, you guys, quiet down. You know what we're going to do today?”

“Not read,” said Buddy.

“Not color,” said Suzi.

“Not watch TV,” said Buddy.

“Not play Candy Land,” said Suzi.

“Nope,” replied Mary Anne. “I can tell you're tired of the same old rainy-day stuff. Today we're going to go outdoors for a puddle walk, and then we're going to come back inside and go camping and have a picnic.”

“Really?”
cried Buddy.

“Yes,” answered Mary Anne. “Now, to take a puddle walk, the first thing you guys have to do is find your bathing suits. Do you know where they are?”

“Yes, yes!” shouted Buddy and Suzi, jumping up and down.

Marnie tried to jump up and down, too, but
all she could do was bend her knees and make the ham face.

“Okay, upstairs and into your suits.”

“Even Marnie?” asked Suzi.

“What about you?” Buddy wanted to know. “Did you bring your suit?”

“No, but it doesn't matter. Marnie and I won't really need them. Go upstairs and change now.”

Buddy and Suzi thundered upstairs and returned a few moments later with their bathing suits on. Mary Anne couldn't help smiling. In his suit, Buddy turned out to be a skinny little boy with big, knobby knees, and Suzi was pudgy with a fat, round tummy.

“That was fast,” said Mary Anne. “What did you do with your clothes?”

“Threw ‘em on the floor,” replied Buddy.

Mary Anne pointed up the stairs. “Back,” she said. “Go back and pick them up. Put them on your bed —
neatly
.” She turned to Suzi. “Where are your clothes?”

“In my doll bed.”

Again Mary Anne pointed upstairs.

After much grumbling, Buddy and Suzi returned. “Now what?” asked Buddy.

Now,” said Mary Anne, “Marnie and I take off our shoes, Marnie puts on her boots, we all put
on our raincoats and rain hats, and then we go for a walk in the puddles.”

“Barefoot?” asked Suzi incredulously.

“Almost,” said Mary Anne. She had found a whole bunch of flip-flops — all sizes — in the closet, and she handed them around.

“Oh, boy!” cried Buddy.

So Mary Anne and the Barretts headed outdoors for a puddle walk. The day was wet but very warm. Mary Anne herded the kids down the driveway and onto the sidewalk. “Jump in as many puddles as you can,” she told Buddy and Suzi. “Try to make big splashes.”

“Eee-
ii
!” shrieked Buddy, running toward a wide puddle. “Bonsai!” He leaped into it, sending out a spray of warm puddle water.

“He splashed me!” accused Suzi.

“Good,” said Mary Anne. “That's the idea. You're wearing your bathing suit and your raincoat. Those clothes are
supposed
to get wet.”

“Oh,” said Suzi. Then, “Blam!” She jumped into the puddle with Buddy. She and Buddy ran down the sidewalk.

Mary Anne followed slowly with Marnie, who liked to get into a puddle and stay in it, patting her boots in the water and laughing. Between puddles, she stooped down to examine every
worm she saw. She would poke them, smile at them, and then look up at Mary Anne and give her the ham face.

The puddle walk ended when Suzi threw a worm at Buddy, and Buddy said, “The puddle walk rule is, if you throw a worm, you have to eat it. So, here. Take a bite.” He held the worm out to Suzi.

“No, no, no!” Suzi began to cry again.

“All right,” said Mary Anne. “The puddle walk is over. It's time to go camping.”

Back at the Barretts' house, the raincoats and bathing suits were hung up to dry, and everyone got dressed again. Then Mary Anne helped the kids make a “tent” by throwing some old blankets over a card table in the playroom. They added “rooms” to the tent by overturning the kitchen chairs, placing them by the table, and covering them with more blankets.

“Kristy and I used to make tents all the time,” Mary Anne told me over the phone, “but this one was the biggest I've ever seen.”

The Barrett kids loved the tent. Suzi and Buddy crawled around inside it, playing an imaginary game about camping and bears and spacemen. Marnie invented a game of her own, which involved peeking at Buddy, Suzi, and Mary Anne from under the tent flaps.

When it was time for the picnic (orange juice and graham crackers), the kids wanted to eat in the tent. Just as they were finishing up, the phone rang.

“I'll get it!” shouted Buddy. “It's the space phone.”

“Sorry,” said Mary Anne, remembering that I'd said Mrs. Barrett didn't want the kids to talk to their father. Besides, she had a feeling
I
might be calling.

Buddy scrambled out of the tent anyway, but Mary Anne was hot on his heels. She reached the phone at the same time he did, and since she was taller, she answered it first.

Out of sheer frustration, Buddy gave her the Bizzer Sign.

“Hello,” said Mary Anne. “Barrett residence. Can you hold on a sec?” She covered the receiver with her other hand. “Buddy, you are in trouble. Go to your room.”

Buddy stuck his tongue out at Mary Anne and stomped upstairs.

“Hello?” Mary Anne said again.

“Hello,” answered a man's voice. “Who's this?”

“This is Mary Anne Spier, the baby-sitter. Who's this?”

“This is Mr. Barrett. May I speak to Buddy, please? Or Suzi?”

“I'm sorry, they're … they're at a friend's house,” Mary Anne lied.

“Oh,
fine
,” said Mr. Barrett, and slammed down the phone.

Mary Anne felt afraid. What was wrong? Why didn't Mrs. Barrett want Mr. Barrett to talk to the children? Was Mr. Barrett angry at Mary Anne now? Did he know she had lied?

Probably, Mary Anne decided.

There was a scene when Mrs. Barrett came home. Buddy was mad because he'd been punished, and Mrs. Barrett was mad both because Buddy had misbehaved and because Mr. Barrett had phoned.

“He's only supposed to speak to the kids on alternating Tuesdays. That's part of the custody arrangement. This is the wrong Tuesday. He can't keep his own schedule straight,” she said, fuming.

“And, Buddy, what is the
mat
ter with you? I get notes from your teacher; you give Mary Anne trouble. I don't have time for this, young man. I cannot be your mother and your father, run this household, look for a job,
and
straighten out the messes you get yourself into. It's too much to ask of anybody.”

Buddy, standing at the top of the stairs, began to cry silently.

At the bottom of the stairs, Mrs. Barrett did the same thing. Then she opened her arms and Buddy rushed into them. Mary Anne, who had already been paid, tiptoed out the front door.