“Where were you?” she fired at me. “I get to the concert expecting to see you on that stage and …Is this about the dress, Addison?” She stared at my clothes—jeans and a sweatshirt. I felt surprisingly calm. “Where
is
the dress?” she spat.
The silence went long. Finally, Dwight stood up.
“Come on, Denise. Been a few twists and turns tonight,” he said in a low and gentle voice.
“Twists and turns— I’ll say,” I mumbled.
“The concert,” Mommers said, looking at me. “What happened?”
I shrugged.
“We had a little problem with the flute,” Dwight said. He touched my shoulder. “Didn’t we, Addie, girl?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well …what? Is it broken? We’ll get it fixed,” Mommers said. She combed her hair out of her face with her fingers.
“It’s not that simple,” I mumbled.
“What are you telling me, Addison? Can’t somebody just
tell
me?”
“Let’s get you a piece of pie, huh? Sit down.” Dwight offered Mommers a chair, his hand on her back. “By the way, this is Han—”
Mommers threw Dwight off. He moved away from her.
I looked around me. Hannah sat pulling her lips in between her teeth. Katie leaned close to Hannah, and Brynna sat twisting her napkin in her fingers while she stared into her lap.
This is going nicely, I thought.
I cleared my throat. “Mommers, I waited for you at the trailer,” I said, looking her in the eye. “I waited
forever
.”
M
ommers stared back at me, not speaking. Hannah was making tiny throat clearing noises. She wrapped Katie with one arm. Her other hand was open over Brynna’s knee. Dwight waited. He did that a lot—waited like a circus guy who has the job of
catching
but the net was never big enough.
Mommers and I stayed locked on each other. Then she did it—blinked, like a person waking. She dropped her head into her own hand, her thumb and finger pressing her temples. I knew that pose. That meant she was done with the angry stuff. I sat back in my chair, still watching her. She looked like a car out of gas on a hill.
“Denise? Everything all right?” Dwight asked. Mommers slowly let herself into a chair. Her purse hit the floor at her side.
“I’m just …just so …I don’t know …tired,” she said. “And I was worried. I couldn’t find you all.” She looked from person to person at the table. “None of you were at the school.”
“Well, here we are,” Hannah said softly. “You’ve found us now.” Mommers looked at her—no particular expression. Hannah forced a smile and I thought I should pull her aside and tell her—tell her what? Not to bother?
“You’re Hannah,” Mommers said, focusing now.
“Yes. Nice to meet you,” Hannah said. Gentle smile.
Mommers’ gaze seemed to trace the outline of Hannah and my little sisters as they leaned together. Katie’s pink fingers curled around a roll in Hannah’s sweater. Brynna rubbed her ear against Hannah like a cat passing a couch. I felt sorry for Mommers then. Those were
her
little girls.
Katie broke the silence. “Mommers, I gotted the clown head ice cream.” She turned her bowl around to show Mommers. “See?”
“Nice, sweetie.” Mommers’ voice was quiet. “And Brynna, honey, what did you get?”
“It’s just a sundae.” Brynna dropped her head, started messing with her napkin again. Her fudge sundae puddled around the spoon in the dish.
“You gonna finish? It looks like soup.” Mommers smiled. But Brynna wouldn’t look up. She just kept twisting that napkin.
“We seed Christmas lights,” Katie piped.
“Did you now? Any snowmen? Any reindeer?” Mommers asked.
And so it went for the rest of the night. Katie kept everything light and sweet. But I wondered what would happen when she grew up—like Brynna. We’d be this whole family of napkin twisters.
At home that night, I curled up in my bunk and felt terrible. I had
missed the concert
. I’d let everyone down. I wrapped my arms around my pillow and squeezed it hard. I’d been looking forward to December twelfth for weeks. Now it was over and there was no going back. No going back to the flute either, I decided.
It’ll just happen again, I thought. Tonight will happen again.
Not the concert, but something like it. Maybe there would not be a stolen flute again, but there could be another embarrassing dress. Or worse, a ride that never comes. I thought of how Ms. Rivera had waited for me, how the entire Stage Orchestra had waited—
my friends
! But I had run away when they were all counting on me. That was the thing that bothered me most: the
counting on
part.
I socked my pillow. Even before that night there were other things. I’d quit taking books out of the school library in second grade because they always got lost in the house, lost in the mess. I had fixed that. Every week, when my class went to the library, I made sure I took too long to make my selection. Then there wasn’t time for me to check out any more books.
“I used to be smarter!” I whispered in the dark. “I never should have taken that flute in the first place!” I made a plan before I went to sleep. The flute was going back where it belonged.
I
came out of the shower the next morning and heard Mommers talking on the phone. “Maybe, Dwight. I’ll think about it. I’m not going to give you an answer now. And next time, don’t call so early on a Saturday!” She banged the phone into the cradle.
“Sorry I wasn’t out to answer it,” I said, rubbing my hair with a towel.
Mommers said nothing. She lit a cigarette and pulled her robe around her.
“What did Dwight want?”
“You.”
“Really?”
Mommers nodded. “For part of Christmas break.”
“Oh.” I waited, then said, “Wouldn’t that be good? I mean if it’s just for part? Aren’t you and Pete going to be working?”
“Like I told Dwight, I’ll think about it.”
I dropped it there. She was in her “don’t press me” mood.
“Hey, Mommers? What are you doing today?” I asked.
“I’m leaving in an hour. I’ll be gone awhile. Why?”
“Just wondered,” I said.
As soon as Mommers drove away, I bundled into my winter coat, hat and mittens. I was in for a long, cold walk; the weather had turned. I knew I should have boots but I couldn’t squeeze into the pair I’d worn last year. My feet had grown into gunboats. I picked up the flute and started out the door. I guess it was about a mile—maybe a little more—to the bridge. The sidewalk was an obstacle course of brown, frozen snow and ice patches. At the crossings, I had to get pushy with the traffic. The flute case rattled at the handle and bumped on my hip as I trotted across the street. I was glad I hadn’t taken up the tuba.
I got onto Freeman’s Bridge—the footpath—and started across. Down below, the mighty, muddy Mohawk River had started to freeze. Islands of white ice pushed their way slowly through the water, bumping the banks and getting caught in the flow again. They seemed to try themselves out in empty spots like a giant puzzle wanting to be finished. But except for the ice there wasn’t much life on the river in December. Looking down made me dizzy, especially at the center of the bridge. I liked being even just a few steps closer to one side or the other. I set my gaze ahead and listened to my own feet scraping across the steel until I padded onto the packed snow on the other side of the river. I was a secret agent about to make a drop. I swung the flute case in my hand. Nobody would know anything until Monday morning. I hoped I’d never hear anything about it again.
I started to hum the music from the concert while I walked. I hummed all of “Around the World at Christmas Time.” Then I switched to the Russian folk piece called “Song of Winter.” On “Arrival of the Queen of Sheba,” I shimmied and slinked along, thinking of Helena and all our fun. I was going to miss being in the Stage Orchestra, but it was a relief to know that I’d be free of stolen property soon. I held the flute case out in front of me and let it lead me in a wavy pattern as I hummed. I danced past the turn that would’ve taken me up toward Grandio’s farm and kept on going. I did the entire holiday concert in humming, and then I started it again.
Finally, I reached the intersection at Route 50. I had only to cross there, go a short ways on Borden Road and then turn into the school driveway. Easy.
Right. Easy except for the road crew. Two yellow trucks were inching along the parking lot of my old school cleaning up the dirty snow.
“Jeepers,” I said right out loud. “Ever hear of taking Saturday off?” The plows pushed scoop after scoop of frozen, filthy snow around two lampposts. I don’t think they noticed me. Up near the front entrance, a woman chopped at the ice with a shovel. She never looked up from her work.
My plan was messed up. There was no way I could leave the flute at the front door now. I’d have to wait until they finished. So, I kept walking right onto the play yard. I sat on a swing that creaked in the cold air and kept watch on the driveway, waiting for the trucks to go.
I started to shiver and my toes felt stingy inside my sneakers. The morning had gotten no warmer. “Leave already!” I complained. “Just leave!” My fingers cramped from holding the flute case. I’ll bet an hour went by. Felt like two. Finally, the two trucks bumped away, the woman’s shovel rattling around in the back of one. I hiked myself up to the front door of Borden School and set the flute down gently on the rubber mat. I started away, then turned back to look at the slim black case.
“It’s been awesome,” I said. I raised a hand and waved good-bye to music.
“
M
ove, move, move!” I huffed into the air. I was talking to my own body. I shook my hands “ and pumped my elbows. All my hinges ached from the cold. “Exercise warms you,” I insisted. My breath came out in white clouds. So why wasn’t this working? I jogged along the school driveway out to the street begging my body to heat up. I thought of lunch for some crazy reason, maybe because it was lunchtime. Was there still turkey soup at the trailer? That would be good right now. I jogged up to Route 50. There I had to fight the traffic again. One thing about the city is that the drivers watch for pedestrians. But cross the bridge and you’re just a speck. There are no crossing lights even where the intersections are busy. I waited and waited while cars buzzed by me. I looked for a clearing and darted across the road. Someone laid on their horn and nearly honked me out of my shoes. I ignored that and jogged on.
Again I heard the horn—same one, for sure. Okay, so whoever he was, he was heading the same way as me and got
two
chances to be rude. “Think I
want
to be walking out here in the freezing cold, buddy?” I was talking to myself again. I tried to pick up speed just to get closer to home. A big car pulled to the side of the road in front of me. It rolled into a narrow parking lot beyond me. I looked at the glowing taillights and squinted. There was something familiar about that car—
“Addie! Come on, Addie!”
I blinked. “Grandio! Hey, Grandio!” I waved, ran on my numb feet to the passenger’s door and pulled it open.
“What the heck, girl? Didn’t you know it was me? Where you been?” he grumbled.
I plunked myself down on the seat of the warm, warm, wonderful car. “Oh,” I sighed. “I just wasn’t expecting you. I’ve been walking, Grandio. Boy, have I been walking.”
“Walking? It’s twenty two degrees out this afternoon, kiddo. And no boots! You must get all your sense from your mother.”
I sighed. I tugged off my mittens and put my hands to the blower. It was good to be warm.
I had lunch with Grandio that afternoon. He took me down to his favorite diner, where his friend Jimmy threw the burgers and sandwiches high off the grill when he flipped them. From the booths you could watch the wall behind the big brick chimney and see the food go twirling in the air every once in a while. Back when Mommers and Dwight were still married, Grandio treated us to lunch there almost every Saturday. Jimmy liked to call out silly sayings and all the regulars at the diner would answer him back. He’d call, “Shiver me timbers!” and the diners would call back, “Thar she blows!” The burger would shoot a second later.
“Hey, Grandio,” I said, taking off my jacket. “Here we are back at Jimmy’s and it’s Saturday.” I grinned.
“Guess so,” Grandio answered. He opened his menu.
“Addie? That you?” Jimmy shot me a bug eyed look from his place at the grill. “You going to college next year or what?”
I blushed. “Hi, Jimmy. Not quite yet,” I said. He went back to his work.
“I wish Brynna and Katie were here today,” I told Grandio. “Coming here was always fun.” When things were normal, I thought to myself.
Grandio browsed the menu. “Them were better days, girl. Better days,” he mumbled. “Over and gone now.” He was right, I guess. When our family broke up, all of our patterns broke too, including trips to the diner, including time with Grandio. He couldn’t get along with Mommers, not without Dwight there keeping everyone calm.
Jimmy howled from behind the bricks. “Catch it if you can!”
“And feed it to the dogs if ya miss!” I hooted back. I smiled. It felt good to know what was coming next, even if it was just lunch.
When Grandio dropped me off at the trailer, he gave me a twenty dollar bill.
“What’s this for?” I asked.
“For something you want but don’t really need,” Grandio said, which was pretty sweet of him when I thought of it.
First I checked on the Hamster Pantry—a little shelf in my closet where I kept Piccolo’s food. Things looked good there. Soula and Elliot had bagged up the spilled birdseed for her. Mommers had picked up a good sized box of alfalfa feed last time she’d gone to the grocery store.
I rolled the twenty dollar bill around my index finger. I could save it all; I knew that. But if Mommers had to borrow it, she might forget to give it back. What did I want?
Hot soup! That’s what. And not turkey this time.
Just like Grandio had said, it was something I didn’t really need—I’d already had lunch. But I did want it.