Tails of Spring Break (6 page)

“So, where is she?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Claire and I folded a blanket over the heat duct. After that, we could hardly hear China’s voice.

The rest of bedtime was the same. Claire nodded at me when she finished brushing her hair. I turned out the light and then knelt down beside my bed to talk to Mom’s poster.

“The week’s going by, Mom,” I whispered to the poster. “It’s Tuesday. Taking care of Muffin is fun.” I waited. Mom didn’t answer.

“Will we ever find China?” I asked.

No answer.

“Is Sierra going to hate me?”

No answer.

I sighed and climbed into bed.

W
EDNESDAY MORNING, A LITTLE
bit of sun peeked through the clouds. The wet leaves in the yard sparkled at us. “I forgot to work on Muffin’s boots,” I said as we slogged across the wet yard.

“She’s not barking,” Claire said. “That’s nicer.”

“Maybe this time, she won’t piddle,” I said. I pushed the door open. “Muffin,” I called. “Where are you?”

Silence.

“Claire,” I said.

She looked at me, her eyes scared. Then, we heard a strange wheezing. We tiptoed toward the sound.

Muffin lay under the kitchen table. Her feet and legs twitched. Her eyes were closed. The white fur around her mouth was green!

Beside her on the floor I saw a thick, green puddle. Another green puddle was by the chair. Claire knelt next to me. We stared at Muffin’s green lips.

I touched Muffin’s head and felt sticky fur. She pushed out her tongue. Her tongue was green. I swallowed, trying not to throw up.

Claire pointed at something. Then, she burst into tears.

The plant.

The plant she’d moved to the floor stood with naked stems. The green puddles on the floor held clumps of leaves. Claire grabbed my arm, her sharp nails sinking into my skin.

“Get Dad,” I told her.

She ran out the door.

Dad came fast, carrying Tyler. He set Tyler in Mrs. Anderson’s rocker, squatted down beside Muffin, and stroked her back. “Hey, little girl,” he said softly. “Got a belly ache?”

Muffin’s tail moved a tiny bit. That was all.

Dad’s forehead wrinkled up with worry. He went to the phone. “I’ll call the vet,” he said. “We’ll probably have to take her in.”

It took forever for him to dial. Then, he waited while someone talked to the vet. “I’m on hold,” he said. He blew out a long breath and pressed the phone hard against his ear.

I touched Muffin’s head with my finger. Would she ever give kisses again? Would she toss the ball in the air like a circus dog? I touched her again. Would she die?

At last, someone came back on the phone. We heard a voice, talking and talking. “Yes,” Dad kept saying, and then, “Yes, we will.”

Finally, he hung up and turned to us. “The vet said throwing up was good for her. She may throw up again if she needs to. She says Muffin should feel better in a few hours.” Dad stepped around a green puddle and looked at the stubby plant on the floor. “She said to keep her away from plants.”

Claire burst into tears again.

“Begonia gloriosa?” Dad set the plant on the table. “Not so gloriosa anymore.”

“You’re going to get in big trouble,” Tyler said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“That was her prize,” Tyler said. “At the County Fair. She told me.”

“Oh, dear,” Dad said. “It’s probably special then.” He pulled paper towels off the roll. “Right now, we have to clean this up.”

After we cleaned the kitchen, Dad held Muffin gently in his arms and washed her face and her paws under the faucet. I patted her dry while Claire made her a clean bed.

“We still have to do the fish,” I told Dad. “Is it okay to leave Muffin alone?”

“You should check on her every hour,” Dad said, “until she gets back to feeling perky.”

“I’ll do it,” Claire said.

“I’ll come too,” I said. Every hour, Muffin. Every other hour, China. This spring vacation was ruled by clocks. We might as well be at school! I pictured Sierra at the beach, running in and out of the waves. Eating ice cream bars in the warm sunshine.

Dad and Tyler went home. The sun was gone by then, and cold rain drizzled on us as Claire and I dragged ourselves to Ruby’s house. The fish swirled around, happy to see us. They trust us, I thought, even though we don’t really know how to take care of them. I wished Dad had come to Ruby’s with us.

After we fed the fish, we hunkered down to watch them. Harry Truman’s big lips kissed the wall of the tank and then he flipped his tail and wandered to the other side. All the other fish parted to let him through.

“Muffin trusted us,” I said.

Claire hiccupped and turned to me. “If she had died, it would be all my fault.” She gulped and swallowed hard.

“China is crazy now,” I said, “and that’s
my
fault.”

“If only I hadn’t moved that plant,” Claire said. Her blue eyes filled up with tears and overflowed.

“Mrs. Anderson probably didn’t know that plant is poison, either,” I said. But part of me knew Claire was right. At least, she was admitting she shouldn’t have moved it. I shifted my bottom on the floor and hugged my knees against my chest. “I hate being a pet sitter,” I said. “I’ll never, ever do it again.”

“Me, too,” she said.

We watched the fish until we had to go. Watching them was the only thing that made us feel better.

B
Y THURSDAY, THE ONLY
reminder of Muffin’s sickness was the green fur around her mouth. “Mrs. Anderson’s coming home tomorrow,” I told Claire. “I wish Muffin’s face wasn’t green.”

“Let’s try toothpaste,” Claire said. “It makes teeth whiter. Maybe it works on dog hair.”

I ran home to get our toothpaste. We held Muffin over the kitchen sink and rubbed the stuff into her fur. At first, she smacked her lips, then she twisted her head away. Then, she sneezed and shook her head until her ears almost flew off. “I give up,” I said. I set her down on the floor.

“Now look,” Claire said. “The window over the sink has toothpaste spattered all over it.” I sighed. “Everything we do turns out awful.”

Claire rubbed at the window while I tried to pat Muffin’s face with a towel. When I finally stopped, she zipped around the room in happy circles. Then she finished her face by rubbing it all over the rug.

“Mrs. Anderson is going to be so mad about the plant,” Claire said. “Her begonia gloriosa. Her prize.”

I stared at the plant. Only a few shredded leaves still hung from the ugly stalks. I could see Muffin’s tooth marks on them. “Let’s go,” I said.

As we started for Ruby’s house, I pulled my hood over my head. Raining again. Claire, of course, had her boots and her umbrella. “I’m worried about Tyler, too,” I said.

“He keeps talking cat talk into the heat ducts,” Claire said. “Creeping around with that flashlight. He’s really strange.”

My tennis shoes sank into a puddle and ice water seeped in the sides. “Dad says China must be drinking water from somewhere. Her dish never gets empty. He said maybe she comes to drink out of the toilet in the middle of the night.”

“Euw!” Claire stopped twirling the umbrella.

“If she drinks, at least she’s not dying!”

“I can’t believe Sierra loves that cat,” Claire said.

“She used to be sweet,” I said. “She used to wind herself around my legs and hold her head up for a pat.” I wasn’t making that up, but now, I could hardly believe it had ever happened.

At Ruby’s, Claire sorted the mail into Junk and Not Junk. “Ruby gets the strangest mail!” she said as she read from a flyer. “Talk again with your lost loved ones. Meet us in Paradise, Montana for a heavenly experience.”

“I wonder if Ruby will go to that,” I said. I swished through the bead curtain into the fish room. “If she does, I hope she doesn’t ask us to fish sit.”

We sprinkled exactly the right amount of food into the tanks and the bowls, and then hunkered down to watch the fish.

Claire opened the notebook and began to write. “At least, nothing bad has happened at Ruby’s house,” she said.

“Wait a minute,” I said. I leaped up to peer into the biggest tank. Harry Truman lay on the bottom. On his side.

Stiff as a board.

Dead.

T
HE PHONE AT HOME
rang and rang. Finally I remembered Dad wasn’t there. He’d made Tyler go with him. They were running errands.

“Call the fish store,” Claire said. She found the number in our notebook.

The fish store person said get Harry Truman out of the tank in case he had something infectious. We should dispose of him, the man said.

“Dispose?” I asked.

“Bury him or something.” The man sounded busy. He hung up.

“Can we get him out with this?” Claire stood on her tiptoes to reach a net Ruby had hung near the tanks.

I pulled a chair close to the tank and stood on it. When I dipped the net in, the fish darted about, splashing, practically leaping out. I pulled the net back. “What will we do?”

“They’re slowing down,” Claire said. “Go in again. Go a little at a time.”

I lowered the net little by little into the water. The handle was too short. I had to push my whole arm into the water. Slowly.

“Your sleeve’s getting wet.” Claire made a face.

“They’re bumping me,” I said, “with their heads.”

“They think you’re food,” Claire said. “Good thing they have little mouths.”

Finally, in slow motion, my net touched Harry. His body drifted away.

Claire pushed her face against the glass side of the tank and I could see her nose squashed flat. The other fish gathered around her nose. Claire blinked and pulled back.

At last, I got the net under Harry. I pulled him to the top, but then, all at once, he weighed a ton. It took both hands to get him out of the water. “Quick,” I yelled. “Get something.”

Claire ran out of the room and slammed cupboard doors in Ruby’s kitchen. She came back with a plate. I slid Harry onto it. He lay there, looking like dinner.

“We have to save him for Ruby,” Claire said. She carried the plate to the dining room table.

“He might stink,” I said. “Dad forgot to put fish in the refrigerator once.”

“That’s it,” Claire said. “We’ll put Harry in the refrigerator.”

She picked up the plate. Too fast. Harry slid off, skated across the table, and smacked onto the floor. Claire screamed as the fishy body slid across the floor and bumped into Ruby’s stereo.

“Get him,” she screeched. “Oh, get him.”

“Lucky he didn’t break,” I said. It took two plates to get Harry scooped up again. I balanced him on one of the plates and made it back to the table. “Look at his mouth,” I said. “He doesn’t look happy.”

“I know exactly what to do,” Claire said. She grabbed her raincoat and pushed her arms into the sleeves. “Ruby would want us to have a real funeral. With flowers and singing. And we’ll say nice things about Harry. You don’t know about funerals, Katie. But I do.”

I stared at her. “This is a fish, Claire,” I said finally. “This is different from people.”

But she wouldn’t listen. She raced out the front door.

I touched Harry’s stiff tail. Why was he dead? Had we done something wrong?

A few minutes later, Claire came back in the house with bunches of red berries and leaves. We heaped them on the plate around Harry and even tucked some underneath to hold him in place.

I wedged more berries around his head as thoughts of Ruby kept coming. Ruby not smiling. Ruby yelling at us.

Claire stepped back and nodded at Harry. “Now, we say good things about this poor fish.” She pressed her hands together and her face got very sad. “Like . . . you were always kind to little fish.”

I swallowed. What could I say?

“Um, . . . you were a good swimmer,” I said.

Claire waited.

I shrugged and shook my head.

“Now, we sing,” Claire said.

“We need Tyler for this,” I said, but all at once, I knew the best song. “Row, row, row your boat,” I sang. Claire smiled at me and joined in. We sang it three times – slow, fast, and slow again. When we were done, we slid Harry into Ruby’s refrigerator between the yogurt and the carrot juice.

We stood a moment, cold air rushing out at us. Harry looked great!

“Life,” Claire said, “is but a dream.” She shut the refrigerator door.

“What about Ruby?” I asked.

“We could write her a note,” Claire said.

I opened my notebook. “Dear Ruby,” I wrote.

“Tell her we’re very sad,” Claire said. “Tell her he’s in the refrigerator.” She peered over my shoulder. “You’re spelling refrigerator wrong.”

“I think Harry Truman died because he was old,” I said, putting down the pencil. “But I’m not sure. Every one of the pets has had something awful happen.”

Claire stepped back and stared at me. “We did everything right. I never looked for her crystal ball. I didn’t move one plant.”

“But maybe there was something. . . .” I stopped as fear filled up my stomach.

“That settles it,” Claire said. “I’m
never
going to have pets. No fish. No nothing.”

I shook my head at her. “This doesn’t have anything to do with . . .”

“Things go wrong,” Claire said. “They die.”

“But . . . ,” I started to say, and then I looked at Claire’s face, tight and pale. We left Ruby’s note on the table and walked home.

My house was strangely quiet as we let ourselves in. Tyler poked his head out of his room.

“You’re back,” I said. “Did you help Dad run errands?”

“Meow,” Tyler answered.

“Don’t be silly, Tyler.”

“Meow,” he answered and backed into his room. Claire and I followed him in.

“What’s all over you?” I asked. “You’re filthy. You’ve got cobwebs in your hair.”

He didn’t answer. He wiggled under his bed, and we squatted down to look under there.

Tyler turned toward us. He opened his mouth. “YEEEOOOUUUUWL,” he said.

It sounded like China’s yowl. Coming out of Tyler.

I leaped back and bumped into Claire.

“YEEEOOOUUUUWL,” came a sound from all over the house. It echoed out of every heat duct – from the bathroom, the living room, the kitchen and Dad’s bedroom.