Keeping Secrets (15 page)

“Boy,” said Flora, gazing around Willow's living room, “this is like a museum or something. What I mean,” she added hastily, “is that our living room is kind of messy. And Mr. Willet left magazines and books everywhere.”

“Want to see my room?” Willow asked.

“Sure,” Flora replied, craning her neck to look into the Hamiltons' dining room, which, as far as she could tell, was every bit as tidy and spotless as the living room. If she hadn't known that Willow and Cole lived here, she would have assumed this was a house without children.

Willow led the way upstairs, and it was while Flora was following her down the hallway that the doors attracted her attention. In all the tidiness, she now realized that every single door in the house — closet doors, bathroom doors — stood open, each at an exact ninety-degree angle to the wall. It was the one thing that made the house look not so tidy. What better way to hide a mess than to close it into a closet? As they passed the linen closet (which immediately made Flora think about the closet in Aunt Allie's house), she reached out and shut the door.

Willow opened it again, carefully adjusting it to its previous position. Flora wouldn't have been surprised if she'd pulled a protractor out of her pocket to get the angle just right.

A strange feeling was coming over Flora, and she stopped trying to memorize rooms for Mr. Willet, focusing instead on everything about the house that seemed somehow wrong to her. The uneasy feeling inched down her body on whispery spider's feet.

She peeked into closets (how could she not peek, when all their doors stood wide open?) and noticed that every pair of shoes was lined up not side by side but heel to heel, as Willow had positioned Flora's sneakers on the front stoop. Willow's bedroom, Flora then noticed, had all the personality of a hotel room. Cole's, too. Flora would never have guessed that either room belonged to a kid. She was trying to convince herself that this was just because the Hamiltons had so recently moved in, when Willow led the way back downstairs and into the kitchen, and Flora saw the table. It was already set (for supper, she supposed), but every single plate and glass, every fork and spoon, was turned facedown.

Flora could contain herself no longer. “Um, Willow? How come …” She thought about how to phrase her question without sounding rude and started over. “I noticed that in your closets,” she said, “your shoes are lined up … differently than I line mine up. And” (she glanced at the table) “when we set —”

Willow interrupted her. “These are just my mother's rules, okay?” she said quietly. “Nobody understands the rules any better than they understand my mother.”

Flora felt heat creeping up her face. “I'm sorry,” she said. She couldn't think of anything to add to that and miserably repeated, “I'm sorry.” But why, she wondered, had Willow allowed her to come inside and look around if everything was so strange? Flora tried to imagine never letting anyone inside her own house. Impossible. And then another thought occurred to her. Perhaps Willow
wanted
someone to see all the strange things. Perhaps she was asking for help.

The front door opened then and Willow let out a yelp. “That must be Mom! She's home early.”

“Willow!” called Mrs. Hamilton from the hallway.

“Come on,” said Willow grimly. She took Flora by the wrist and led her out of the kitchen and into the front hall. “Hi, Mom,” she said.

Mrs. Hamilton, shoeless, was hanging her coat in the closet. Cole, also shoeless, was disappearing upstairs.

“Willow!” exclaimed her mother. “I didn't know you were going to have a friend over.”

“I was just leaving,” said Flora, making a dash for the door.

Mrs. Hamilton stepped in front of her. “Did you tap the vase?” she asked Flora. She turned to Willow. “Did she?”

Flora glanced nervously around the hall and her eyes fell on a large and probably very expensive porcelain vase standing guard by the front door. “No!” exclaimed Flora. “I didn't touch anything.”

Mrs. Hamilton now leveled her gaze on Flora. “You
didn't
tap it,” she said flatly.

“No …” said Flora. She felt behind her back for the doorknob.

“So Willow didn't tell you the rule.”

Flora raised her eyebrows at Willow.

“No, I didn't tell her the rule.” Willow sounded tired.

“But … but the rule is that anyone who comes in the house —
any
 
one —
has
to tap the vase five times!” Mrs. Hamilton sounded panicked. “Did Willow tap the vase?” she asked Flora. “Did she? Were you the only one who didn't tap it? Tell me Willow tapped it.”

By this time, Willow had crossed the hall and was standing next to Flora. Before Flora could answer the question, Willow said, “I tapped it, Mom. Don't worry.”

Flora, who was certain that Willow had done no such thing, added, “I'll tap it now.”

“Now is too late!” cried Mrs. Hamilton.

Flora hesitated no longer. She twisted the knob, pulled the door open, and escaped onto the stoop. As she leaned over to pick up her shoes, she whispered to Willow, “You have to tell someone. If you don't, I'm going to tell Min.”

Willow slumped against the door. “I'll talk to my father tonight,” she said.

Flora had seen very little of Willow's father since the Hamiltons moved in. She didn't know whether Willow would talk to him, and if she did talk to him, Flora had no idea whether he'd listen. So she vowed to tell Min everything that had happened, and to do it the moment Min walked through the door after work.

Those were the thoughts tumbling through Flora's head as she pelted across the Malones' yard and up the steps to her own front door. She thrust herself inside, realizing as she did so that Ruby must already be at home, since the door wasn't locked.

And if that was the case, Flora shouldn't be smelling what she smelled as she slammed the door shut behind her.

Something was cooking on the stove, and Ruby wasn't allowed to use the stove when she was at home alone.

“Ruby?” Flora called.

“In the kitchen!”

Flora made her way through the living room and came to a halt as she entered the dining room. “What on earth?” she said softly.

Ruby emerged triumphantly from the kitchen. She was wearing a chef's hat and holding a wooden spoon in one hand. “What do you think?” she asked.

“I —”

“Are you speechless?”

“I —” said Flora again. “Yes, I'm speechless.”

“Cool. I made you speechless.”

“But, Ruby, what are you
doing
?” Flora looked around at the dining room. Ruby had set the table with Min's best china, crystal, and silver. The fanciest (and whitest) of Min's lace cloths rested gracefully on the table, and by each plate lay a lace napkin. In the center of the table was a vase full of straggly autumn flowers that Flora had a suspicion Ruby might have cut from Mr. Pennington's garden. The vase was flanked by candlesticks, each holding a brand-new white candle.

The table was set for two people.

“Ruby, what is this?” asked Flora. “What's going on?”

“It's for Min and Mr. Pennington. I planned a surprise for them. See, what I did was, I phoned Mr. Pennington this afternoon and asked him if he could come over at six o'clock for dinner, and he said yes. But I didn't tell him it was dinner for two, so he's going to be really surprised. And Min doesn't know anything about it at all. She's going to be even more surprised.”

“I'll say,” murmured Flora. She sniffed the air. “Ruby, I smell stuff cooking, and you know you're not supposed to use the stove when I'm not here.”

“Well, where
were
you?” said Ruby accusingly. “You were supposed to be home by now.”

“I know, but I —”

“But you were sup
posed
to be. I can't help it if you're late. You need to be more dependable, Flora.”

Flora sighed. “The house didn't burn down, so that's good. What are you serving tonight?”

Ruby disappeared into the kitchen and returned holding a piece of paper. “Here's the menu,” she said. “Read it out loud, okay?”

“Okay. Let's see. ‘Friday, November Thirteenth.'”

“That's the only bad part,” interrupted Ruby. “That today is Friday the thirteenth. It sort of casts a spell, or whatever you call it, over dinner. I hope it doesn't mean that something terrible is going to happen.”

“Oh, I'm sure it doesn't. And by the way, your menu looks very fancy.”

“I chose a different font for every single line of the menu,” announced Ruby. “Okay. Keep reading.”

Flora cleared her throat. “‘Special dinner for two for Mindy Read and Rudy Pennington.' Ruby?”

“What?”

“How come you're doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“
This
. Fixing a romantic dinner for Min and Mr. Pennington.”

“I just thought it would be nice.”

“Ruby …”

“Okay. And I wanted to hurry things along.”

“Hurry them along toward what exactly?” asked Flora.

Ruby looked at the kitchen floor. “I don't know. A wedding?”

“Ruby!”

“Well, everything is going too slowly. It's taking forever, and I want to be the flower girl. But pretty soon I'll be too old to be a flower girl.”

“If you're too old, you can be a junior bridesmaid.”

Ruby stamped her foot. “You don't understand! I want to be a flower girl! I've never been one. Opportunities are starting to pass me by. I'm too old to be the littlest orphan in
Annie
. I'm too old to be Gretl and probably even Marta in
The Sound of Music
. And if the community theatre doesn't put on
Mary Poppins
in the next year, I'll be too old to be Jane Banks. It's all slipping past me — and I'm only ten. Min
has
to get married soon. I don't want to miss my shot at flower girl.”

“Are you planning this dinner for Min and Mr. Pennington or for yourself?” asked Flora.

“I — it's — never mind. Just finish reading the menu.”

Flora looked back at the piece of paper. “All right. ‘First course — Campbell's Tomato Soup. Second course — olives. Main course — fish sticks and SpaghettiOs.'” She paused. “Fish sticks. Is that what I smell cooking?”

Ruby nodded. “I guess I started them a little early.”

“No kidding,” said Flora. “Okay. ‘Dessert — Pop-Tarts.' Wow. Ruby, this is really something. I'm … stunned.”

Ruby grinned. “Good.”

“I have just one suggestion. Don't you think Min and Mr. Pennington might want something green with their meal?”

“The olives are green.”

“I mean lettuce or a vegetable. Most grown-ups like vegetables with their dinner.”

“Well …”

“And also, maybe we could come up with something different for dessert. Mr. Pennington might not like Pop-Tarts.”

“Might not like Pop-Tarts! Who doesn't like Pop-Tarts?”

“Well, again, grown-ups.”

“But I don't have time to redo the menu!” Ruby said explosively. “It took me an hour to do that one.”

“We could just make additions — surprise additions — to the meal,” said Flora diplomatically. “We'll give Min and Mr. Pennington some things that aren't on the menu. I'll help you make a salad and you can serve it with the olive course, okay? And maybe we could serve ice cream with the Pop-Tarts.”

Ruby narrowed her eyes at Flora. “How come you're being so nice? I know you don't want Min and Mr. Pennington to get married. Not yet, anyway.”

Flora sighed. “You're right. But I do want Mr. Pennington to have a nice meal. So let's embellish things, okay?”

Ruby sat down on the dining room floor with a plop. “This is not how I wanted things to go!”

Flora looked at her watch. “Stand up,” she commanded. “You don't have a whole lot of time to finish getting ready. Let's take the fish sticks out of the oven and put them in the fridge. You can stick them in the microwave just before you're ready to serve them.” She sniffed thoughtfully. “You didn't heat up the soup already, too, did you?”

“Yes,” said Ruby.

“All right. We'll put the pot in the fridge with the fish sticks. Now, what do you want me to wear? You're going to wear your chef's outfit, aren't you?”

“Yes. And I want you to wear your velvet dress. The one from last Christmas.”

“Fine. Let me go change. I'll be back downstairs in a minute.”

Ruby thought of all the hopeful, optimistic songs she knew, and finally admonished herself that she was never fully dressed without a smile. Another song, one from
Bye Bye Birdie
, came to her, too, and she said out loud, “So put on a happy face.”