“My dad will be out in a minute,” I say.
And in about three minutes Dad walks through the door, followed by Mom. Dad is dusting off his hands on his pants, and Mom is wiping her hands on her apron.
“I’m Jonathan Owen,” says Dad, “and this is my wife, Dorothy. Can we help you?”
The woman has stood up. She holds her hand out to Dad and says, “My name is Barbara Strowsky. This is my daughter, Catherine, and my son, Sam.” Mrs. Strowsky points to the two kids, who glance up but still don’t smile. “We … we need a place to stay for a while. We’re just …” Her eyes have filled with tears.
“Why don’t you come inside?” says Mom, reaching for her hand. “Hattie, you stay out here with Catherine and Sam. See if they’d like some lemonade.”
By that evening the Strowskys have moved in. They are staying in our guest room, all crowded together, Mrs. Strowsky and Catherine in the double bed, Sam on the roll-away cot that we keep in our attic.
And I am talking to Mom and Dad again. I had to talk to them if I wanted to hear the Strowskys’ story.
Which is a sad one. They lived down in Maryland until a couple of days ago. But Mr. Strowsky died suddenly this summer, and Mrs. Strowsky decided she couldn’t stay on in their old house, their old town. So she loaded up the car and drove north looking for a place where she and Catherine and Sam could start over.
“They don’t know a soul here,” Mom tells me. “And they hardly have two cents. Mrs. Strowsky is going to look for a job.”
“How come they came to Millerton?” I ask. “Are they going to stay here?”
Dad shrugs. “They’re not sure yet. I think they want to see how they like it. We told them they could live rent-free in the guest room for a month until they decide what they want to do.”
“Mrs. Strowsky is going to start job-hunting tomorrow,” Mom adds.
I think that means Catherine and Sam will be out and about in our house all day while their mother is gone, but I am wrong. I only see them at meals. They are the quietest kids I have ever met.
For the rest of that week they keep to themselves, and I keep to myself. I brood about Adam. For the first time since he arrived in Millerton I wonder what he does at his house all day long. I try to remember when I Love Lucy is on TV. I am sure Adam watches it. But what else does he do? And how does he behave when he’s at home? What do he and Nana and Papa talk about? Do they talk?
I realize I hardly know my uncle at all.
At the same time, I suddenly see that Adam and I are so alike, we could be brother and sister.
On Saturday, my parents’ punishment ends, so I’m allowed to leave our house. But Nana’s punishment doesn’t have an end, as far as I can tell, so I can’t go to the carnival.
That morning the weatherman says it’s going to be a hot one, the hottest day of the summer so far. By noon our backyard thermometer reads 102. It’s in the sun, though, so I figure that on our porch it is probably only 99 or 100 degrees. I take a Popsicle from our freezer and sit on the porch swing, trying to decide what to do. Adam’s box is in my pocket, rattling with change. I could walk downtown, but the heat is hanging heavy all around, and somehow I don’t feel like talking to the Finches or Mr. Shucard or Mrs. Moore.
Anyway, what I really want to do is see Adam, but I don’t know whether I’m allowed. And the only person who could tell me whether I’m allowed is Nana, and I am not about to call her.
Our house is awfully quiet. Mom and Dad are at the grocery store, Miss Hagerty is napping in her room, Mr. Penny is out somewhere, and I don’t know where Angel Valentine is. I am just wondering what the Strowskys are doing, when the screen door swings silently open and Catherine steps onto the porch.
“Hi,” I say. I lick dripping Popsicle juice from my hand.
“Hi,” she replies. For a moment she hesitates, and I think she might go back inside. Instead, she sits down, very carefully, on the edge of a chair.
Here is one of those times when I have absolutely no idea what to say, but I realize that Catherine doesn’t either. I think that maybe she is even shyer than I am.
“I’ve hardly seen you since Wednesday,” I say at last.
“I’ve been taking care of Sam when Mom’s out.”
“But you’re allowed to come out of your room, you know. There’s a television in the parlor. And if you go outside, there’s a swing set in the backyard. For Sam, I mean.”
“Really?” Catherine gives me a small smile.
“Sure.”
“Well … thanks.”
“It’s okay. I was wondering … maybe you’ll still be here when school starts.… What grade will you be in?”
“Seventh,” says Catherine.
“Me too! So we might be in the same class.”
I am studying Catherine’s red curls, which are actually bright, bright orange, when over her shoulder I see a jaunty figure come whistling up our front walk.
“Adam!” I exclaim.
“A great good afternoon to you, Hattie Owen!” he says.
Adam is in a fine mood, I can tell. And I’m surprised. I suppose because the last time I saw him he was kicking and hitting and being dragged away by policemen. He smiles and waves, and I see that he is carrying a bouquet of flowers. At the bottoms of the stems are roots and dirt, and I think he has pulled them directly out of Nana’s garden.
Adam bounces up the porch steps and stands in front of me. He is wearing a suit and a necktie, and he looks quite handsome, but he must be absolutely boiling, because he is wearing his woolen winter suit.
He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Catherine jumps to her feet, says, “I’d better go,” and disappears through the porch door.
Adam looks after her for a moment, then turns to me and grins. “Today is a tip-top, first-rate, one-of-a-kind, shining day, Hattie, and so I have come to call on Miss Angel Valentine. Is she at home?”
Oh, I think, the flowers are for Angel.
I give Adam a big smile, try to ignore the soil that is dropping from the roots of the flowers and onto his shined penny loafers.
“Gosh, Adam,” I say. “I’m not sure. Do you want to wait here while I go knock on her door?”
“Thank you very much, mademoiselle, but I will come with you,” Adam replies.
I pause with my hand on the door. I’m not sure Angel is at home, and if she is, she might still be asleep. I have seen her sleep awfully late on weekend mornings. I’m about to say this to Adam when he gives me a small shove to the side, pulls open the screen door, and marches into our hallway. “Come on, Hattie, but tread carefully, tread softly, you don’t want to waken Mrs. Trumbull, Little Ricky is noisy enough.” He puffs up the stairs, trailing dirt behind him.
I run after Adam, not quiet at all. When we reach Angel’s door, I put out my hand to knock on it. I have not even touched the door, though, when Adam thrusts his hand under my arm, turns the knob, and throws the door open.
“Adam!” I cry, and at the same time I hear a small shriek from inside the room and see Angel tumble from her bed to the floor.
She was still asleep after all, I think, but then I realize that Angel is dressed, or at least partly dressed, and that is when I see Henry lying on the bed, wearing pants but no shirt.
“Oh, my God,” I say under my breath.
Angel says nothing. She has scrambled to her feet and is trying to button her blouse.
I look at Adam. He is looking at Angel, his mouth open like a character in a cartoon, and I know exactly what he is thinking. We are so alike, Adam and I, our brains are so alike, that Adam’s thoughts are in my head now. Adam is thinking that at long last he has seen Angel’s actual chest without any clothing to cover it. He is fascinated by her fingers as they fumble with the buttons of the blouse. He feels about 10 percent satisfied at having caught her doing something she shouldn’t be doing in our house, 20 percent horrified by his own bad behavior, and 70 percent excited by what we have interrupted.
My
mouth grows dry, and my heart starts to pound. I can’t stop looking at Angel either, looking at this scene we have disturbed, this thing that boyfriends and girlfriends do in private.
Adam stares at Angel for so long that I begin to be afraid he might barge into the room. But he doesn’t. Instead, I see the flowers fall from his hands, and he lets out an animal wail. Then he runs down the hall toward the stairs.
I am right after him.
“Hey, hey,” I call.
Adam won’t stop. He has almost reached the bottom of the stairs.
I hesitate for a moment, then turn back to Angel’s room. I reach it as she is about to close the door, so I stick my foot in the crack.
“What —” Angel starts to say.
I look at her crooked blouse, her wild hair, glance through the crack, see Henry sitting half-naked on the bed, and no words will come. So I remove my foot, and pull her door shut with such force that the walls shake.
Then I go after Adam.
I look up and down the street in front of our house and I don’t see him, but I am pretty certain he has headed home, so I run all the way to Nana and Papa’s. As I round the corner to their street I see Adam charge through the front door.
I am panting and so sweaty, I feel slippery, but I don’t stop running. I ring Nana and Papa’s bell, then turn the knob before anyone answers. Nana is standing in the hallway, her hands on the banister, looking up the stairs to the second floor.
She turns around when I close the door behind me.
“Hattie, what’s going on?” she says, and I think she looks afraid.
I try to catch my breath. “Adam came over to see Angel Valentine, so we went upstairs, and he opened the door to her room without knocking, and Angel was in there with her boyfriend, and he’s really upset because he was going to give her flowers —”
“Why on earth did you take Adam upstairs, Hattie?”
“Well —”
“You know better.”
I stare at Nana. “You keep saying that,” I say finally. “Everyone keeps saying that. But why don’t you know better about Adam? He’s your son.”
“Harriet!”
What I don’t say is the awful thing that has just worked its way into my head. That I actually should know better. That Adam and I are so similar that half the time now I know what he’s thinking. I am like Adam and I do not want to be like Adam.
Nana has set her mouth in a firm line. She brushes at a lock of gray hair, and I see that her hand is shaking. “Hattie, you don’t understand him,” she says quietly.
But I do.
I open Nana’s front door.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“To the carnival,” I say. “You are not my mother. Or my father. And I don’t have to listen to you.”
I slam the door behind me and run across the lawn.
It is time to talk to Leila.
The first thing I notice when I arrive at Fred Carmel’s is that the parking lot is nearly empty. Well, I think, most everybody around here has already been to the carnival. Still, this is Saturday.… Then I see that a wooden sawhorse has been placed across the entrance. I stand at the sawhorse and peer ahead.
What a strange day this has been. My house was too quiet this morning, and now the carnival is way too quiet.
I shade my eyes with a sweaty hand. I don’t see much, but after a moment I hear some banging, like the sound of workmen. And then I see a couple of trucks driving around the carnival grounds. The only time I ever saw a vehicle inside the carnival was when the ambulance came for Adam last weekend.
The sawhorse has been put up as a barrier to keep people out of the carnival, but I climb over it anyway. I don’t think anyone will mind if I come in to look for Leila. I haven’t walked very far when I realize that the reason the carnival is so quiet is because it is closing down. The rides are still. The game booths are nearly empty, the last of the prizes that hung on the walls being packed away. And the only people walking around are Leila’s relatives and the other workers. They are so busy taking things down and packing things up that they don’t notice me.
With a tight feeling in my chest I make my way to the Cahns’ trailer. I walk and walk, but I can’t find it, and now I am sure I am standing exactly where the trailer should be parked. Maybe the trailers have been moved to another part of the carnival, I think. I am wondering where that might be when I hear someone call my name.
“Hattie!”
I see Leila’s uncle Jace striding toward me, a hammer in his hand.
“Hey!” I exclaim. “Hi. I was just looking for Leila. I hope it’s okay that I came in.”
“It’s all right,” says Jace, “but Leila isn’t here anymore.”
My chest tightens a little further. “What do you mean?”
“They’ve gone ahead. To Maryland.”
“Gone ahead?”
“The carnival’s going to be outside of Bethesda for the next few weeks. We’re closing here and we’ll be on our way tomorrow. But Leila and Lamar and their folks left yesterday. They’re going to visit Leila’s aunt for a day or two before we get set up again.”
I cannot think of a single word to say.
“Hattie?” says Jace.
I shake my head. I am not about to cry in front of him. I start to run.
“Hattie!” I hear Jace call.
I run and run and run. I run through the carnival, through the parking lot, and all the way to Marquand Park, where, if I am lucky, nobody will be sitting on the bench by the duck pond and I will have it to myself for a while.
The park is not deserted like the carnival is; still, not many people are around. Too hot, I think. I slide onto the empty bench and watch the ducks trail around in the murky water.
Two words slip into my head.
Damn Nana.
I have never thought such words before. But there they are.
Leila is gone, and I didn’t get to say good-bye to her, didn’t get to explain why I couldn’t see her all week. And it is Nana’s fault. Does Leila think I am mad at her? Does she think I blame her for what happened?
I feel tears prick at my eyes but I don’t let them fall until I am certain that no one is nearby, and that even the ducks have turned their backs.
I sit there and cry and cry as silently as possible, finally wiping my eyes and nose with the back of my hand like I am three years old.
The only thing that makes me feel a little better is realizing that Leila’s uncle and the others are still here in Millerton, will certainly be here until tomorrow at least. So I can write a letter to Leila, tell her everything, tell her good-bye, tell her I’ll miss her, tell her she was one of the few friends I ever made. And I can take the letter to Jace in the morning and he can give it to Leila in Maryland.
I sit there for a long time, writing the letter in my head. Dear Leila, My grandmother wouldn’t let me see you last week because you are a circus child. And I couldn’t call you because you don’t have a phone. And I never even invited you over, so you don’t know where I live.
What kind of friends were Leila and I anyway? What kind of friend was I?
I sigh, look around for something to toss to the ducks, and see a piece of bread they have overlooked. I throw it into the pond, but don’t stay to watch the ducks discover it. I walk home, taking the longest possible route, since I am absolutely positive Nana has called my parents by now to tell them what I have done, to say, “What was Hattie thinking?”
My long, long route eventually takes me down an avenue that intersects with Nana and Papa’s street. When I reach their corner I tell myself to stare straight ahead, not even to glance at their house. But a police cruiser turns the corner and I just have to see where it is going. I stand at the curb and watch. And it pulls into Nana and Papa’s driveway. Before its engine has even been turned off, a policeman jumps out of the passenger side, slams the door shut, and hurries along the front walk. Papa meets him at the door.
I do not know whe
ther I am welcome at Nana and Papa’s now, but I have to find out what is going on. I reach their front door just as the officer who had been driving the cruiser leaps up the porch steps in one bound.
“Papa?” I say.
Papa is standing in the open doorway talking to the officers. Nana is hovering behind him in the front hall.
“Hattie!” exclaims Nana. “Thank God.”
“What? What?” I say.
“Have you seen Adam?” Papa asks me.
“Adam? I thought he came home.”
“He did,” says Nana. “But he left not long after that, and he was so upset.… I called your parents. They haven’t seen him all day. I’ve called everywhere. I was hoping he was with you.”
“No. I haven’t seen him either. I mean, not since he ran back here.”
“Where have you been all afternoon?” Papa asks. He grips my shoulder so hard, it hurts, and I back away from him.
“I — I went to the carnival first, but it’s closed.” I shoot an angry look at Nana. “And then I went to Marquand Park, and then I walked around town.”
“And you didn’t see Adam anywhere?” says one of the officers.
“No.”
The policemen and Nana and Papa look at one another.
“I think we’d better come inside, Mr. Mercer,” says one of the officers. He pulls a notepad out of his pocket.
“Hattie, you go on home,” says Nana. “Go straight home.”
“Okay,” I say.
Adam is a grown-up, and technically he has not been gone long enough to be considered a missing person. On the other hand, Adam is Adam, and he is the son of Hayden and Harriet Mercer, so the search for him begins immediately. The police go off in their cruiser. Mom and Dad drive around in our Ford.
I am told to stay at home.
“Why couldn’t I go with them?” I ask Miss Hagerty as we have a cup of tea in her room. Miss Hagerty has made the tea this time, and she keeps telling me how soothing and relaxing tea can be in times of stress.
It is late evening. Cookie stayed past her quitting time in order to serve dinner to Mr. Penny and Miss Hagerty and the Strowskys and me.