I offered to make us all a snack and headed for the kitchen. I knew Kristy wanted to “observe” Erin. I had poured out some apple juice and was just cutting up a bar of cheese when Kristy burst into the kitchen.
“That’s it!” she said. “That woman is definitely involved.”
It took me awhile to calm her down. “What did she say?” I asked. “Did she confess to something?”
“Practically,” said Kristy. “She called him E. J.”
“E. J.?” I repeated. “What do you mean?”
“She called the baby E. J. — as if she knew him by another name.” Kristy’s eyes were bright. “It was like a slip of the tongue, but I caught her! And I didn’t let her off easily, either.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I asked her why she’d called him that.”
“And?”
“She gave me some lame excuse about having a nephew by that name who looks just like Eli,” Kristy said, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, come on!”
“She does have a nephew,” I said, remembering something she’d said the first night she came by.
“She says she has a nephew,” Kristy replied. She was convinced that Erin knew something, and she was determined to find out what it was.
Actually, I wasn’t so sure. I was more than a little discouraged.
Especially after I paid a visit to Sergeant Johnson, hoping to pry some information out of him, and left the police station feeling as clueless (literally) as ever. He was friendly, but obviously had nothing to tell me about his investigation.
I knew my fellow BSC members needed a pep talk, though, so I did my best to supply it. If we kept plugging away, we would solve the mystery soon enough.
“Sherry?”
“No, Sherry’s on vacation. This is Lucinda. Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Ms. Stevenson.” It felt funny to use that name. Usually when I call my mother at work, Sherry answers and I just ask if my mom’s there. Sherry knows me and always asks about my most recent soccer game, or about whether I’ve met any nice boys lately. Then she connects me with Mom.
“I’m sorry,” said Lucinda (though I have to say she didn’t sound sorry at all). “Ms. Stevenson is away from the office right now, on family business.”
Family business? What on earth was that supposed to mean? “Do you know exactly where she went?” I asked.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t,” answered Lucinda in her insincere way.
“Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“She didn’t leave that information with me.” Lucinda was beginning to sound annoyed.
“Okay, well — thanks,” I said. I hung up, feeling frustrated and a little suspicious. What was my mom up to? More and more often, lately, I’d been having this feeling that she was hiding something from me. I made up my mind to confront her when she arrived home.
I didn’t mind that I hadn’t been able to speak to her. I’d just wanted to ask if it was all right for me to pick up a few videos. It was Friday (soon after Kristy and Emily Michelle had left, and Erin had gone for the weekend), and I was preparing for the BSC sleepover I was throwing that night. I’d made a pan of brownies and checked on our supplies of ice cream, soda, and popcorn. I’d cleaned up the living room, which was where we were going to sleep, and set out some of my favorite CDs.
The only thing left to do was pick up the videos (I’d just have to go ahead and do it, without Mom’s permission) and order the pizza. I could grab the videos on the way back from our BSC meeting, if Charlie wouldn’t mind stopping for five minutes, and I could order the pizza as soon as I arrived home. Everything was set.
Two hours later, the meeting was over. We’d discussed the case, of course, and also nailed down final plans for the poetry slam. I was home again with videos in hand. I’d just called in an order for two large pizzas and was about to start putting out paper plates and napkins when my mom walked in, home from work (or wherever) and looking especially tired.
“Hi, sweetie,” she said, dumping her briefcase on the kitchen table and picking up the mail. “How was your day?” She leafed through the mail and then threw it back onto the table with a sigh.
I almost kept quiet. After all, she looked as if she’d had a hard day. But I had to know where she’d been when I called. “Where were you this afternoon?” I asked, folding my arms.
“What?” she asked. “I was at work, of course.”
“Not at four-thirty, you weren’t,” I said. “I called, and that Lucinda person said you were out on ‘family business.’ ”
My mother looked surprised. Then she rolled her eyes. “Oh, Lucinda. She’s a temp. She’s always making mistakes.”
Why wouldn’t my mother look me in the eyes? Why had she picked up the mail again, even though she’d already looked through it? Why was she acting so edgy? I felt more suspicious than ever — and a little angry. “Mom, what’s going on? Why won’t you tell me?”
I saw something change in my mother’s face. “Oh, Abby,” she said. She looked very uncomfortable. “It’s complicated. It’s —”
The doorbell rang. I waited for a second, hoping Anna would answer it. But she was upstairs practicing and probably hadn’t heard it. I looked at my mother. “What?” I asked. “Tell me!”
“Later,” said my mother. “It sounds as if your friends must be here. Go on and answer the door.” She seemed relieved, but I felt frustrated.
When I opened the door, Mary Anne and Claudia were standing on the porch. “Hey!” I said. “Come on in.” I opened the door wide, resolving to put the episode with my mom behind me and just enjoy the sleepover.
“Where’s Eli?” asked Mary Anne. “I brought him something.” She held up a colorful pillow that looked like a miniature quilt.
“He’s sleeping,” I said. “That is so cute. Did you make it?” I knew she had. Mary Anne loves to sew.
She started telling me where she’d found the pattern and the fabric, but just then the doorbell rang again, and Jessi and Mal came in. Soon after, Stacey showed up, and right behind her was Kristy. The BSC sleepover was in full swing.
Anna joined us as we gathered in the living room. My mom disappeared after saying a quick hello to my friends. I knew she’d check on Eli and then head into her study for a little more work. (Yup, even on a Friday night. She never knows when to stop.)
The pizza came, so we all moved into the kitchen. Since everybody in the club likes different toppings, I’d ordered it plain. But I’d also spent some time cutting up veggies, putting out oregano and parmesan, and slicing pepperoni. I laid everything out on the table, and we settled down to the very important business of pigging out.
Anna asked about BSC business, and we filled her in on BSC Writing Month. Before long, Mal was making us laugh with her rendition of the triplets’ latest epic poem: “The Prince of Puke Meets Lady Lost-Her-Lunch.”
For a little while, I forgot about my mother’s behavior and about the mystery of Eli.
Then the phone rang. I answered it, only to find that my mother had picked up at the same time. I stayed on the line for a second, hoping to find out who it was, but my mother told me to hang up. “Right now, Abby,” she said.
As if I had tried to listen in on her conversation or something. Man! I met Anna’s eyes as I hung up, and she smiled sympathetically. Maybe she knew something about what was up with my mom. I had to talk to her.
I hurried my friends back into the living room and popped a movie into the VCR. It was a new one, about a talking dog. As soon as everybody was settled in to watch, I nudged Anna. “Let’s go check on Eli,” I whispered.
She must have known I wanted to talk to her, because she didn’t hesitate. She followed me upstairs and into Mom’s room. Mom was down the hall in her study, with the door closed. I could hear her voice, so I knew she was still on the phone.
“What is going on with her?” I asked Anna.
“With Mom? I don’t know. She is so preoccupied, though
,” said Anna, looking puzzled. “I think it has to do with Eli.”
We both looked over at him. He was fast asleep in his crib, and he looked incredibly peaceful and sweet.
“Isn’t he the best?” I said. “I wish he was our baby brother.”
“Oh, I know,” cried Anna. “I love him. But we can’t keep him forever.”
“I can’t believe we’ve even been allowed to keep him this long,” I said. “I wonder how Mom arranged that.”
“We may never know,” Anna said, laughing.
We’re familiar with our mother’s habit of keeping things to herself. “She loves Eli, too,” I observed.
“She sure does,” said Anna. “Have you ever caught her when she thinks she’s alone with him? She makes goo-goo eyes and kissy noises, and she talks baby talk —”
“I know!” I said. “It’s amazing.” We were quiet for a moment, and I just knew — it was one of those twin things — that Anna was thinking the same thing I was. We felt a tiny bit jealous of Eli. Our mother is not normally a demonstrative person. Oh, we know she loves us. But hugging and all that? It’s not her thing.
“Oh, well.” Anna sighed. “It’s still been wonderful to have Eli here.”
“Speaking of whom,” I said, nodding toward the crib. Eli was stretching and yawning. “Let’s bring him downstairs and show him off.” I smiled at Anna, glad we’d had a chance to talk, even if she didn’t know any more about what was up with our mom than I did.
When we brought Eli downstairs, Kristy jumped up and hit the “pause” button on the VCR. “Forget about the movie,” she said. “Here’s the main attraction right now.” She held out her arms for him, and everybody gathered around to coo over Eli.
Have you ever seen that movie Three Men and a Baby? Well, this was Seven Sitters and a Baby, and all eight of us were very, very happy. We fed him. We fought over who should change his diaper. (We all wanted to, believe it or not!) Mary Anne swore he smiled a special smile at her because she’d made him the pillow. Stacey played peek-a-boo with him. Jessi did pliés for him, and Mal told him a story she’d made up on the spot. Claudia let him play with one of her dangly earrings, and Kristy started explaining the rules of baseball to him.
It was as if Eli were the official mascot of the BSC.
He just sat there, loving it all. He gurgled and smiled and burped on cue. Then, suddenly, he decided it was time to go back to sleep. That’s how babies are. I carried him upstairs and, after one last kiss, I laid him in his crib.
When I returned to the living room, I found my friends gathered around Anna, who was showing them the photo album from our Bat Mitzvah. I squeezed in next to her on the couch as we paged through.
“Check out Kristy in a dress!” said Stacey. She nudged Kristy. “You looked terrific that day.”
Kristy blushed.
“Who’s that cute guy?” asked Claudia. “I don’t remember seeing him.”
“That’s Danny. His mom is our mom’s best friend from college. He’s totally obnoxious,” I answered. “Going out with him would be like going out with one of the Pike triplets. No offense, Mal.”
“None taken,” said Mal. “I wouldn’t want to go out with my brothers, either.”
“Did all your relatives come to the party?” asked Mary Anne.
“Most of them,” said Anna.
“All the ones we’re speaking to, anyway,” I said. Everybody laughed. Then Kristy started in on a story about her aunt Colleen, who has a bit of a wild streak and sometimes drives Kristy’s mom nuts. Claudia topped that story with one about something her aunt Peaches had done as a kid, and soon we were all laughing uncontrollably.
There’s nothing like a sleepover with good friends to take your mind off anything that’s bothering you. I mean, how can you worry when you’re gorging on brownies and ice cream, laughing at dumb jokes, giggling at some silly movie, and shrieking over the wacky hairstyles in the latest issue of your favorite magazine? Trust me, you can’t. I just laughed the night away.
Claudia wasn’t offended by Stacey’s kidding. She knows she can’t spell, and she doesn’t much care. To her, it’s a mystery that anybody would want to be a writer, especially after she saw the torture (all right, maybe that’s a little melodramatic, but you’ll see what I mean) some of the kids were going through.
Claudia showed up at the Arnold house on Saturday afternoon just in time to find Marilyn and Carolyn, the identical twins (they’re eight years old), in the middle of a huge quarrel. Claudia could hear their angry voices the second she walked in the door.
“I’m sorry, but we have to run,” said Mrs. Arnold apologetically, before Claudia had even taken off her jacket.
Mr. Arnold looked a little sheepish, too, but he pointed to his watch. “We have a train to catch,” he said. The Arnolds were going to Manhattan for the afternoon and evening.
“They’ll make up any minute, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Arnold brightly.
“It’s all right,” Claudia said, shooing them out the door. “It’s all part of being a babysitter. I’m used to sibling squabbles. Don’t worry about a thing.” The Arnolds looked relieved as they left. Claudia shut the door behind them and turned toward the sound of the twins’ voices.
She found the girls in the living room. Marilyn was twirling around on the piano stool, making nasty faces at her sister. Carolyn was making identical nasty faces in return.
The Arnold girls really do look an awful lot alike. In fact, I’ve heard that when the BSC first started to sit for them, nobody could tell them apart, partly because they used to dress alike, too. Sitters used to have to rely on the fact that Marilyn has a tiny mole under her right eye, while Carolyn has one under her left. But, over time, the twins made it clear to their mom that they wanted to express their individual personalities more, and now it’s easier to tell at a glance which one is which.
Marilyn is the more outgoing twin. She wears her brown hair longer now and dresses in simple, comfortable outfits. She takes piano lessons and plays very well.
Carolyn, who has a trendier haircut and is a lot more fashion conscious, couldn’t be less interested in music. Her passion is science. She wants to be a scientist when she grows up. Not long ago, she “invented” a time machine and charged kids money to take a ride in it! (The kids all got their money back in the end.)
“Those are too my socks,” Carolyn was saying, as Claudia entered the room. She was glaring at Marilyn, who stuck out her feet as if to show off the lace-trimmed anklets she was wearing.
“Are not,” said Marilyn. “You had a pair like them, but you lost one, remember? And Mom bought me these. They’re mine!”
“You stole them!”
“Did not.”
“Did too! And now you’re lying about it.”
“Whoa, time out!” said Claudia. “Do you two realize that you’re fighting about a pair of socks? What’s it going to be next, who has the best toothbrush?”
The girls giggled in spite of themselves.
“Actually, Marilyn does have a really cool toothbrush,” Carolyn said thoughtfully.
“It’s just like yours!” said Marilyn.
“No, yours is purple,” said Carolyn. “Mine’s that stupid green color. I hate it. Why do you always get the better stuff? Mom always buys you exactly what you want.”
“That’s not true!” cried Marilyn. “Don’t you remember when we were in the supermarket yesterday and she let you choose the cookies?”
They were off and running all over again. Claudia rolled her eyes. The twins would probably argue all day unless she came up with something better to do. That’s when she remembered BSC Writing Month.
“Hey, you guys,” she said, after she’d whistled loudly enough to grab their attention and stop their bickering. “I have a great idea. You know about Writing Month, right?”
The twins nodded.
“Well, how about if we have a writing workshop today?” asked Claudia. “We can even have some other kids over. I know St
acey is sitting at the Johanssens’, and Charlotte would probably love to come.”
“I’ll call her!” said Marilyn.
“I’ll put out all our supplies and stuff!” said Carolyn.
Claudia smiled to herself. Her idea had worked. Little did she know that her troubles had just begun.
It turned out that Becca Ramsey was visiting Charlotte, and both of them agreed that a writing workshop sounded like fun. Stacey brought the girls over, and everybody gathered around the table in the kitchen.
Claudia and Stacey told me later that they thought poetry writing would make a perfect activity. After all, those four girls like to write. But it turned out, as Claudia and Stacey discovered, that there can be a big difference between liking to write and being a Writer. And because of the upcoming prose party/poetry slam, the girls were feeling a certain amount of pressure. This wasn’t just writing for fun anymore.
This was the big time.
Everything was set up for a great afternoon of writing. Carolyn had rounded up a bunch of pads and had set out handfuls of pens and newly sharpened pencils. She’d also found a dictionary, a thesaurus, and a book of baby names. “In case people need names for their characters,” she explained.
“Good thinking,” Claudia said, impressed.
“So, we’re all set,” declared Stacey. “Let the writing begin!” She was trying to sound cheerful, because she could already see that the girls weren’t altogether happy. Something wasn’t right. Not one of them even reached to pick up a pen.
“What’s the matter?” asked Claudia.
At that, all four girls started to talk at once.
“I have writer’s block,” wailed Marilyn.
“I don’t know how to decide what to read,” said Charlotte, holding up a huge pile of papers she’d brought along.
“How can I read these poems out loud?” Becca asked. “I’ll die. I’ll just die.”
“Nobody’s going to understand mine,” Carolyn said, shaking her head sadly.
Claudia and Stacey exchanged glances.