Just Visiting (10 page)

Madison had to find something else to keep herself occupied.

Mark wasn’t around, so she couldn’t hang out with him.

And Phinnie was useless company. That dog just wanted to sleep next to Gramma’s dishwasher.

After trying in vain to get any reception on Gramma’s broken-down TV set, Madison attempted to piece together one of the thirty or so puzzles that had been collecting dust over the years on Gramma’s basement shelves. She found piles of puzzles featuring gum ball jars, cityscapes, and beach scenes, finally settling on a puzzle called Big Sky. But after only fifteen minutes, Madison even gave up on that. She was lost in all those blue clouds. Ultimately, Madison turned to her laptop for companionship. She curled into the big, upholstered living room chair and settled in to work on her files.

Rain


How could yesterday be so perfect and today is like massive cloud cover—over my whole LIFE? Okay, I’m exaggerating a little. But because of the stupid rain, I sat here all morning inside with Gramma going crazy playing crazy eights. And I didn’t meet up with Mark, who I really, REALLY wanted to see today. And now I’m just alone.


Rude awakening:
Is there an umbrella to keep people from raining on my parade?


Bigwheels says that rain is the best thing in the whole world. She told me once that she loves raindrops on her face and her hair. But I don’t get it. Rain makes ME grumpier than grumpy.


I wonder if Mark likes the rain?


Mark, Mark, Mark.


Why can’t I get him out of my mind?


As she sat there writing, Madison had to admit that the sound of raindrops on windows was rather comforting. Warm, summer rainfall plinking on the house was like a kind of music all around. And there was no lightning or thunder that raged with this storm, just a steady stream of gray and wet running down the glass, down the street, and down the downspout.

Just thinking about Mark in the rain made Madison smile. She secretly wished he were around so she could run away to the beach with him (even if they got drenched) or play some kind of rain-splashing game together. But Mark and Mabel probably wouldn’t be returning to Winnetka Village until late.

As the afternoon—and Gramma’s nap—went on, Madison alternated between writing and reading in the big chair. Two more file updates and four more chapters into her book later, she finally moved—because she had to move.

Phin needed a walk.

“ROWRROOOOO!”

If she hated rain, her dog hated it
twice
as much. Phinnie howled and scowled and pulled backward on his leash so Madison couldn’t even get him out the door at first. And even when he did make it outdoors, the pug protested by not peeing. He sat his little bottom right down in the mud and refused to budge.

“Phinnie!” Madison shrieked at the dog. “Get UP!”

“Rowrorooooo!” Phin barked again. He wasn’t moving anywhere.

When she realized the dog was being more stubborn than she was, Madison started to drag Phin across the lawn. He yelped a little but finally followed her obediently. Madison leaned over a few times to rub his wet paws and check to make sure that he wasn’t getting too cold and damp. Phin snorted in continued protest but finally did what he was supposed to do and then scrambled for the porch at Gramma’s house. Madison opened the door and he wiggled inside, curly tail going as fast as it could.

Gramma was finally up from her nap by the time the pair returned.

“You two are soaked to the skin!” she said.

Madison shrugged her wet shoulders. “I guess so. Why does it have to rain so much, Gramma?”

Throwing a towel around Madison’s back, Gramma squeezed. “It’s good, all this rain. Good for the flowers. Good for the skin. Good for
you
…”

Madison sighed. Gramma
was
good at saying wise things, but even those words didn’t soothe Madison’s grumpy disposition.

“I have an idea,” Gramma suggested, trying to change the mood. “Why don’t you go out to the backyard? In the shed out there, I’ve got some watercolor paint kits. We could paint and make some art together. Maybe you could even make one of those collages you’re so good at doing.”

It sounded way better than any ideas Madison had, so she obliged.

“Don’t get all drenched again!” Gramma warned, but of course it was too late. Once again, Madison faced the spitting rain. She was soaked in seconds.

Inside the shed was a row of shelves piled high with junk, junk, and more junk. Lots of stuff was left over from the days of Grandpa Joe. This shed had been his special place, with special objects shoved into every available space: motors that didn’t work, rusted tools, coffee tins of bolts and screws, buckets of fishhooks and wire, three old rods and reels, and even a tacked-up calendar with a red racing car on the front.

Madison’s eyes pored over the calendar, open to the month that Grandpa had died. He’d marked something in almost every little square. Madison focused on one square in particular, reading Grandpa’s scribbled handwriting:

Maddie’s birthday—send birdhouse

She remembered that day clearly. He’d sent a yellow-painted house that still hung in the largest tree in her Far Hills backyard.

Her eyes searched the wall for other memories.

Near the calendar, Madison noticed a faded photograph thumbtacked onto the wall. In the picture, Grandpa Joe and Gramma Helen and Mom and Aunt Angie were posing together at the beach—it looked like Tower Head Beach—when they were much younger. Mom had curly hair. Angie was pulling on her hand. Everyone was smiling.

Way up in a corner, near some rafters, Madison caught a glimmer of something else, too. Words had been carved into the wood on the side of the shed. Intrigued, she looked around everywhere for a light to read the words by.

She finally found a neon-colored flashlight—on a set of metal shelves across the room—and it worked! Madison grabbed it, crawled up onto a worktable, and tried to get a closer look at the carving.

FRAN
ETHAN

Madison gulped and looked closer.

Had Mom really written this?

In smaller letters nearby, Madison also saw yet another jagged carving. This one was harder to read, but Madison recognized that it had been scrawled by the same person.

F + E 4-EVER

Madison grinned. Mom
had
written both of these.

All at once, it was like her mother was right there in the shed, too. Madison could hear Mom’s voice, laughing, like she had on the airplane, telling the story about her own childhood loves. Mom had been in love right here in this very spot.

Between the old photos and objects and the sound of rain still beating on the shed roof, Madison got a case of the shivers. All her feelings were stuck in her throat. Mom had been so right. The past was sleeping everywhere inside the shed. This place
was
magical.

Madison crawled back down off the rickety table and replaced the flashlight on one of the metal shelves. There she also saw the watercolor paint sets Gramma asked about and grabbed them along with a box with paper, brushes, and cups. Carting the paints back inside the main house, Madison suddenly felt her entire mood shift.

Phinnie was jumping up and down and in circles when Madison came back into the dry living room. He barked and sniffed her all over.

“You found everything okay?” Gramma asked when her granddaughter reappeared.

Madison nodded and heaved the box of paints onto the kitchen table. They pored over the materials together for several minutes and set up a mini-studio right there in the kitchen.

“I think I’m going to make a card for Mark,” Madison said coyly. She smiled as she pulled on one of Gramma’s funny painting smocks.

“Ooooooh!” Gramma said. “What a fine idea.”

Gramma helped Madison find some old magazines and scissors and glue, too. This would be one of her fine collage masterpieces, Madison decided. She flipped through magazines for all the right words and phrases.

Summer in the City

Go for a swim!

What a blast…

“You don’t think this is dumb, do you?” Madison asked Gramma. “I mean, I only just met him. Do you think he’ll think I’m a weirdo for making him a card? Do boys even like cards?”

Gramma nodded. “He’ll appreciate it, Maddie, I know it. Mark is a fine young man. And I’m sure he likes you, too.”

“I never said I LIKED him,” Madison squealed.

“Oh,” Gramma corrected herself. “I guess I misunderstood.”

“Yeah,” Madison said. “We’re just friends, and not even good ones. We only just met, right?”

Gramma kept right on nodding. “Right. Of course.”

They painted and pasted for almost two hours, without saying much more about Mark. When Madison showed Gramma the card, she said it looked perfect. Collage words covered the front. Inside, Madison had painted a picture of the beach with the words
Summer Vacation
and signed it,
Thanks for showing me around, Madison Finn.

While the card was sitting out on the table drying, Madison peered through the living room curtains to see if anyone had come back home from Winnetka Village yet. She was surprised to see lights on next door—and shadows, too.

Mark and Mabel were home.

But by now, it was dinnertime and too late to go knocking on Mark’s door and bring over the card. She’d have to hand-deliver it some other time.

Gramma whipped up some macaroni for dinner while Madison got distracted once again by her laptop computer files. As usual, her brain was buzzing with ideas and emotions. She had to write them all down.

Drowning


When I asked the Ask the Blowfish back home (on TweenBlurt.com) about what would happen on this part of my summer vacation, the fortune-teller fish told me I would be drowning in a sea of love.


HA HA HA. That’s a joke.


Rude awakening:
With all this rain, I sure am drowning—but in the “we’ll see” of love.


Mark has been gone all day. Was that for the best? The Fourth of July is only 2 days away and I doubt that I’ll go with him. I shouldn’t get my hopes up, right? Plus I think that I should spend the holiday with Gramma Helen instead. She would be sooo sad if I didn’t.


And I can’t forget about Hart, either. How can I like two people at once? It’s hard to figure all this out, especially when I’m so far from home.


“Maddie!” Gramma Helen’s voice echoed throughout the house. “Telepho-o-o-one!”

Madison stopped typing at the keyboard and held her breath.

It couldn’t be Mark on the phone … could it?

She trotted off to pick up the line, head swimming with thoughts about what she would say if Mark were on the other end.

What if he was calling to say that he missed seeing Madison that afternoon and could they do something else together tomorrow?

What if he was calling at that exact moment to talk about the Fourth of July?