Dreamsleeves (9 page)

T
he next day I get up my courage and dial Sue-Ellen Dandridge's number, praying that she won't answer the phone.

“Dandridge residence,” a grown-up woman answers.

Sue-Ellen's mother, good. “Hello. This is Aislinn O'Neill and I'm calling to say that I will be pleased to attend Sue-Ellen's birthday party.”

“Let me get the list,” Mrs. Dandridge says.

She's back on the line in a second. “Say your name again,” she says.

I do.

“Spell it for me, please.”

“Sure, I know. Aislinn is an unusual name.”

“It's a nice name.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Dandridge.”

There's laughter. “Oh, no, sweetie. I'm not the missus. I'm just the maid.”

The Dandridges have servants? Wow. They are richer than I thought they were. I wonder if the maid has to wear a gray uniform dress and a frilly white apron and cap like the ones on television. I start to get nervous about the pool party. What if my new suit isn't good enough? What if Sue-Melon can tell I bought it at Two Guys?

I can't do anything about the suit, but I can work on my tan. I'll need to make sure all the little ones are sound asleep first, though. One of them might try climbing up to follow me and fall off and get hurt.

Up in the shed, we say the pledge of allegiance, hands over hearts, proud faces turned to the small flag stuck out of a hubcap on the wall. B, C, and D look so solemn and patriotic lined up, chins in the air, “I pledge allegiance to the flag….” Eddie is standing up in his playpen, hands clutching the top, thumbs sticking through the mesh netting, mumbling along in baby talk like he knows the words. I wish I had a camera to take their picture to send to my uncle Bobby and uncle Jimmy serving in Vietnam to let them know how much we appreciate their service.

The last time Mom got a letter from Uncle Jimmy he said his feet were getting moldy from tramping through wet rice fields and trenches, but he was sure better off than his best buddy, Wayne, who got his leg blown off in a land mine.

Please, God, bring my uncles home safely, and all the other soldiers, too
.

I speed through school, teaching Beck and Callie the capitals of ten states, Dooley how to do upper and lower case G, and Eddie how to count on his fingers.

After lunch — peanut butter and marshmallow fluff because it's quicker than grilled cheese — I put on Mom's Chubby Checker album and I get the little ones dancing, dancing, dancing until I see Callie yawn. I read
Curious George Flies a Kite
in a whisper-voice and soon, good, they're all sleepy little monkeys.

Beck down. Callie down. D and E down. Done.

I'm putting on my bathing suit when I hear the key in the kitchen door lock. Oh, no! I rush to put my clothes back on.

My father is at the counter, pouring himself a drink.

A drink at one o'clock in the afternoon? This is not good.

“Where are the little ones?” he says.

“Taking a nap.”

Dad chugs his drink down fast.

“Maybe you can wash and wax the floor, then,” he says. “It's filthy.”

“Sure,” I say.

He uses the bathroom, the toilet flushing loud. Oh, no, don't wake them up.

He makes a call on the extension in his office. I hear him laughing loud. He's always laughing loud when he talks on that phone. I never know what the big joke is. Now he's really got a chuckle going. Eddie cries. Great, thanks for waking up the baby.

“Tell Mom I'll be home late,” Dad says as he's leaving. “I've got a meeting.”

I stick a pacifier in Eddie's mouth and rub his forehead and soon he's off again asleep, but all the commotion woke Dooley up. I try to soothe him down again, but then he sees Callie and Beck standing there and he wants to be a big boy, too.

“What are we going to do now, A?” Beck says.

“Something fun,” Callie pleads.

“Yeah, something fun,” Dooley repeats, giggling.

Think, A, think
…
I've got it
. “How would you like to go camping?”

“Yeah!!” they shout, all excited.

I haul the big spread off of Mom and Dad's bed and lay it over the kitchen table, sides hanging down all around to make a tent. I get some blankets and the pillows from their beds. Beck's Lambie-Poo, Callie's Raggedy Ann, and Dooley's LoveyBear.

“All right, campers, in for the night.”

They scoot in and snuggle under their covers.

“Now, listen,” I say, peeking in the tent, using a very stern army-sergeant camp director voice. “All campers must take a nap. One hour. No exceptions.”

Beck groans.

“And if you all take a nap without making so much as a peep, there will be a very special reward, a prize for each of you.”

“A prize?” Callie says. “What?”

“It's a surprise,” I say, then I smile and shake my head back and forth, eyes big like I'm picturing that surprise in my head, “and it's something
spectacular
.”

Dooley claps his hands. “Yes!”

“But everybody has to stay in the tent. And if there's one peep. Even one. Nobody gets their prize.”

They look at me and nod. Game on. The phone rings.

It's Mike.

“Your dream thing worked,” he says. “My mom thought it was sweet, like I made her a valentine or something. I didn't tell her it was your idea.”

“That's okay,” I say. “It doesn't matter. I'm glad it worked.”

We talk for a few more minutes and then I say I have to go. I poke my head into the tent and the campers all have their eyes closed.

Up on the roof, soaking in the sun, I feel pretty proud of myself. The little ones are safe and sound having an imaginary campout in the kitchen and I'm getting a tan for the party. I think about Mike calling me. How comfortable and fun it is talking with him on the phone. Maybe, just maybe, at the party, he'll hold my hand.

I start to hum “Leaving on a Jet Plane.”

Ahh, this is the life, a nap on the beach. The roar of traffic on the road below almost sounds like ocean waves.

M
y first clue there is trouble comes as soon as I come down from the beach and quietly open the kitchen door so as not to awaken the campers and I hear Beck shout-whisper, “Hide them, C, quick….
She's back!
”

Hide what, I wonder. I pull up a side of the tent.

Beck and Callie stare out at me looking guilty as convicts. Callie is chewing something
quick, quick, quickly, gulp, swallow
. Beck's got one hand behind his back.

“Give it to me, Beck,” I say.

“What?” he asks.

“Now!” I shout.

Head hanging low, Beck hands me a plastic bottle — the one that was filled with little pink baby aspirin just last week. I remember the bottle was full when I saw Mom give two to Dooley because his gums were hurting from a new molar coming in.

I hold up the bottle. There are only three left.

My head starts pounding.
Oh, no
.

Beck and Callie are looking at me, scared.

“We're sorry,” Callie says.

“It was my idea,” Beck says.

Dooley's asleep.
Please, God, let him be alive
. “Did you give him any?” I ask.

“No,” Beck shakes his head.

“Are you sure?” I demand.

“Yes,” Beck says, eyes filling with tears. He crisscrosses his finger over his heart. “I swear, A. Scout's honor.”

“Me, too,” Callie says, reaching over to grab Beck's hand in hers.

“Did you eat all of them?” I say.

Mmm, hmm
. Beck nods yes.

Oh my God. What should I do?

“I'm tired,” Callie says, her eyelids drooping.

“Me, too,” Beck says.

“We'll take a nap now, A,” Callie says, laying her head down on her pillow.

“NO!” I shout, yanking her arm up. “You have to stay awake!”

They stare at me, small and scared.

From what I know from television shows, you're not supposed to let someone fall asleep if they've ingested something poisonous. You're supposed to make them throw up.

“Throw up!” I shout. “Throw up!”

B and C look at me, terrified.

“You've got to throw up, right now!”

“No,” Callie cries. “I don't want to.”

I quick stick my finger in Callie's mouth to try and make her vomit, but she bites me. “Stop it, A!”

“Leave her alone!” Beck says, punching my arm. He hugs Callie close to him. They are both crying now.

I run to the phone and dial Mom's work number.

The lady who answers sounds annoyed, but I say, “It's an emergency!” and she puts me on hold to get my mother.

“Stay calm, Aislinn,” Mom says. “I'll call an ambulance and get someone to drive me home. Try to keep them awake. It will be all right.”

Please let it be all right. Please let it be all right. Let it be. Let it be. Let it be. Oh my God, what if I've killed my brother and sister all for a stupid tan? Oh my God, when my father finds out, he is going to kill me!

“Beck,” I shout. “Callie,” I shout, loudly to keep them awake. I race to my room, pull off the bathing suit, and change into my clothes fast as Superman back into Clark Kent. I rub the oil off of my face and race back to the kitchen. “Let's play tap, tap, goose,” I shout, yanking them up to standing position. “Come on, it's a new game. You'll like it.” I gently slap Beck's cheek “tap” and then Callie's cheek “tap” and then Beck's cheek “tap.” I keep slap-tapping them and shaking them and slap-tapping them, singing “
up, up with people
” as loudly as I can. Dooley's clapping his hands, believing the game. Eddie's starting to wake up.

Finally I hear a siren. I run to the window to check. The ambulance pulls up just as another car is turning off into our driveway. The man driving must be my mother's boss. Thank God Mom is home.

The ambulance people are kind to Beck and Callie as they lift them onto stretchers. Beck smiles at me and makes the little one-finger wiggle good-bye sign I taught him when he was a baby. That nearly cracks my heart in two.

“They'll need to get their stomachs pumped,” Mom whispers to me. “Take care of Dool and Eddie.”

“Dad said he'd be home late because he has a meeting.”

“Good,” she says. “That keeps him out of the way.”

Sitting on the bench looking out the window, I cry as I watch them putting B and C in the ambulance. What a horrible, awful sister I am. My stomach clenches. I feel like I'm going to throw up.

“Are they okay?” Dooley asks, climbing up on the phone bench to look out the window with me, a race car in each fist. He's just now realizing this isn't a game.

“Yes, Dool,” I put my arms around him. “They just have a little tummy-ache.”

M
y father is going to kill me
.

Fear as bitter as cough syrup slide-burns down the back of my throat. Poor B and C are in the hospital getting their stomachs pumped. I can't imagine how awful that must feel.
Please, God, let them be okay.

I stick Dooley and Eddie in front of the TV to watch a soap opera. I call Maizey. No answer. I take down the campsite and remake all the beds. I finish another load of laundry and hang the towels and sheets out on the line to dry. The flowers in Nana's garden are drooping. I haul out the green snake hose, turn the faucet on, and spray them. Oh, Nana, I wish you were here.

Back inside, I think about starting dinner, but I don't know how long they are going to be gone and Beck and Callie probably won't be able to eat anyway.

The phone rings.
Please be Maizey.

“Hi, A.” It's Mike. I gulp, my heart caught in my throat. He sounds so nice. I want to tell him what's happening here and so I do.

“I'm sure they'll be fine,” he says. “Don't worry, A. My little brother had to get his stomach pumped one time when my mom thought he ate some holly berries. Pete kept swearing he didn't eat them but my mother, she's a nurse, doesn't take chances with stuff like that. It wasn't any big deal. I'm sure they'll be okay.”

This makes me feel better. “Thanks, Mike.”

“Can I do something to help? I'll come over if you want….”

“No!” I shout.

“Whoa,” Mike says. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say. “I'm sorry. It's just my father's really strict about boys.”

“Oh, you mean you can't have me over when your parents aren't home?”

“Yes,” I say, not telling him the whole truth.
No
,
I mean you can't come over, ever, period. My father would kill me.
That's after he kills me for Beck and Callie eating the pills. I don't want Mike to know about my father. He might get scared and stop liking me. I'll have to find ways to sneak out and see him, keep him a secret. “I've got to go now, Mike.”

I need to talk to Maizey. Sitting on the armrest of the telephone bench, perched in the window like a bird where I have a good view of the driveway so I can see when my father gets home, I dial Maizey's number again, starting to cry at the hope of hearing my best friend's voice.

Mrs. Hogan answers the phone. “No, sorry, Aislinn. She's out.”

“Do you know where?” I ask.

There's a pause. “She went shopping,” Mrs. Hogan says.

“With who?” I ask.

Mrs. Hogan hesitates. “Sue-Ellen,” she says. I hear pity in her voice, like she doesn't want to hurt my feelings. “But I'm sure she'll be back soon, sweetie.”

“Oh, okay. Just tell her I called and it's important.”

Hanging up the receiver, the tears come like Niagara Falls. Who else can I talk to? Nobody. Maizey's the only friend who knows about Dad. The only one who knows the truth. I wrap my arms around myself and stare out of the prison tower window, the old familiar feeling raining over me.

All alone again.

After a bit, the phone rings. Mom is calling from a pay phone at the hospital. “They're going to be fine,” she says.

“Thank God,” I say, and start to cry.

“It's okay, A,” she says. “Accidents happen.”

“But it's all my fault,” I say.

“It's going to be all right,” Mom says. “I've been telling your father we're putting too big a burden on you. Watching four little children all day long is way too much responsibility for a twelve-year-old. We need to hire a babysitter.”

Mom's best friend, Ginny, drives Mom home from the hospital with Beck and Callie. B and C look shaken-up, but excited from all the attention, each holding three lollipops from Ginny in their fists. I hug them tight. “Welcome home.”

Mom snuggles B and C together on the couch to watch TV, giving them each a Popsicle to soothe their throats, which are sore from the tubes slid down them to pump the pills out of their tummies.

I hug Beck again. “I love you, B.”

“Love you, too, A,” he says.

I hug Callie again, looping loose strands of her wispy thin blond hair behind her ear. “I love you, Cal.”

“Love you, too, A,” she says.

“We're sorry, A,” Beck whispers. “You told us to stay in the tent.”

“It's okay. It's not your fault. Just don't ever eat pills again. Do you hear me?”

“Yes,”
they say, nodding their heads as sincerely as if they just put their hands on a Bible and took the oath to testify in a courtroom.

Mom is in the kitchen filling a pan with water. “Macaroni and cheese, tonight,” she says. “It's soft and will be light on their throats.”

She looks up at the clock. “Did he say what time he'd be home?”

“No,” I say. “Mom … I'm sorry.” My voice cracks. “I'm so,
so sorry
. I don't know how they got that bottle.”

“It's my fault,” she says.

“What? How?”

“I didn't put the top on tight enough, and besides, we ought to have a real medicine cabinet.”

“But …”

Mom swings around from the stove, comes up close to me. “Listen, Aislinn. You do as I say. I am going to explain what happened to your father. All he needs to know is that B and C snitched the bottle, thinking it was candy, and I called an ambulance….”

“But you weren't home when it happened. I was in charge.”

“Stop,” Mom says firmly. “I will handle this my way, A. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Mom. I hear you.”

I go to my room and unlock my diary and pour it, pour it all in … all the worries, all the fears, all the tears, tears, tears, until I finally feel calmer, more hopeful.

Frisky is feeling pretty frisky today, standing on his back feet, tippy-toes. He looks like he could climb right over that wall today. I pick him up, hold him in my palm. “No, Frisky. Bad turtle. You need to stay in your house.” I place him on the bridge, roll a few marbles around the bottom for a little excitement, and off he goes swimming again.

There's a soft knock at the door, a little-hand knock.

I quick hide my diary. “Yes?”

Beck pushes the door in, then restuffs the sock down lower where he can reach and pulls the door closed. He must not want Callie to hear.

Beck sits on my bed. He's holding one of the name labels and a pen.

“Don't be mad, A, but I wrecked two of them already. I tried to sound out the words and I got some but then they all wouldn't fit.”

“I'm not mad at you, Beck. I'm proud you tried. Let me help.” I put the label on my desk so we'll have a hard surface for writing. “Okay, now. What's your dream?”

“Go see a baseball game, just me and Dad.”

I gulp and swallow. In that second it occurs to me that Beck and Dad never go anywhere together just the two of them. At least Dad takes me to Hoffman's and confession and the liquor store, but Beck just gets lumped in with “the little ones.” Of course he wants some time to have Dad to himself.

“Okay. Let's start with ‘go.' What's the first letter? Gu, gu …”

“
G
,” Beck says, “that's easy. I know ‘go'…
G
…
O
.”

“That's right.” I hand him the pen. “Print small so all the words will fit.”

The door pushes in. It's Callie.

“Can you please wait a few minutes, Cal?” I say. “This is something I just need to do with Beck.”

“O …
kay
,” she says, “but hurry.” She props the sock back and pulls the door shut.

“All right,” I say. “Next word. ‘See.'”

“
S
!” Beck shouts, “then double
E
, you taught me that, A.”

“You're so smart. Are you sure you're not in second grade already?”

Beck laughs. “I'm sure, A. You're a good teacher.”