“All right, what’s going on?” Kate was standing in the entryway, hands on hips. She looked from Muffin to me, then stooped to Muffin’s level and brushed her tears away.
“You should have seen what she was doing to Simon,” I whispered. “She was squeezing him and—and hitting him…”
“Oh,” my father started to say, “well—”
“Muffin, sweetheart,” Kate interrupted, “you have to be careful with the kitty. It’s just a baby. You have to pat him very, very softly.
“And you, young lady,” she went on, turning to me, “had better develop some patience. Muffin is about as much of a baby as Simon is—”
“Oh?” I said. “I thought her brother was the infant. He’s the one I’m not old enough to be trusted with, remember?”
“Apparently,” Kate said coldly, “you’re not to be trusted with Muffin, either.”
“Will everybody please quiet down?” Dad said suddenly, raising his voice for once. He looked like he surprised himself.
He lowered it quickly.
“Muffin, please be more careful with the cat. Kammy, please be more patient with Muffin. Is that clear? Yes? Then I don’t want to hear another word about it.” He turned and strode out of the room.
Kate and I exchanged astonished looks. “This is all your fault, you know,” I said at last.
Before she could answer, I fled to find Simon.
That afternoon Dad gathered everyone for unpacking. That is how he accomplishes most things. He puts off a job until he feels guilty about it; then he rushes in, tackles it, and sticks with it until it’s done. I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if we’d worked until midnight.
Everyone was given a job. Dad and Kate unpacked and sorted the contents of the boxes. I put away Kate’s kitchen stuff. Even Muffin put away her toys.
We had been working for a solid fifteen minutes when Baby Boy woke up from his fourth or fifth nap of the day and began crying.
“Ignore it,” Kate said. “He’ll drop back off.”
But he didn’t. The crying became yowling and the yowling became shrieking. It was pretty hard to ignore.
“The neighbors are going to have us arrested for child abuse,” I yelled from the kitchen.
Kate rose from her spot on the dining room floor and headed upstairs. Presently she returned carrying the squalling baby. “I hate to say this, everyone,” (I decided never to preface anything with that comment), “but I think his colic is starting again.”
Dad and I looked at each other blankly.
But Muffin actually groaned.
“What does that mean?” asked Dad warily.
“It means we better find what’s left of his old soybean formula and start him back on that.”
“That sounds simple enough,” Dad said.
“But first he has to get over this bout of colic. He’ll probably cry for several hours.”
I could see why Muffin had groaned.
So the afternoon was spent finding Baby Boy’s old formula, buying more of it, and walking him around.
I walked him until I got a headache.
I realized right then that back in the spring I should have come up with a Plan B for the summer, just in case living with my new family didn’t work out. A Plan B is an alternative, which is always a safe thing to have.
I hadn’t been able to come up with a Plan B, though. Dad and Kate had brought up the idea of camp several times, but I was pretty sure camp wasn’t for me. I’m not the camping type. Give me a nice soft bed and a library full of books and I’m a satisfied person. But sleeping bags and mess halls—no, thanks.
I hadn’t made too big a deal out of it, though. I had not, in fact, actually said I didn’t want to go. This was because I couldn’t dream up any Plan Bs of my own. Camp was not my idea of a hot Plan B. It was not even a warm Plan B. It was just a plain Plan B. I would have to be pretty desperate to use it. But you never knew. At the moment it did not sound too bad.
Baby Boy cried for four and a half hours. When he finished, the rest of us were more exhausted than he was. Muffin volunteered to take a nap at six o’clock, and slept until morning. Kate sat like a zombie in front of the TV set, which was unheard of. And Dad and I retired to the back porch.
We sat in silence for a while, listening to the crickets tune up and watching our yard turn gray with dusk. Simon got in Dad’s lap. He looked sort of tired himself.
“Whew,” I breathed finally.
“You can say that again.”
“Whew,” I repeated, and Dad grinned.
“That was quite an afternoon,” he said.
“Yeah. Did I have colic when I was a baby?” I asked.
“You most certainly did not, and thank heavens for it.”
I smiled.
Dad cleared his throat. There are only two occasions on which he does this—when he has a cold, and when he wants to discuss something. He did not have a cold now.
“Kams,” he said rather stiffly, “I know this past year has not been easy for you—getting a stepmother, changing the special relationship you and I have, learning to live with a baby brother and sister—”
“Stepbrother and stepsister,” I corrected him.
“Whatever. The point is they’ve moved in. You’re living with them. And suddenly you have to cope with things like colic and diapers and lost toys…Muffin not knowing how to treat Simon….I told you yesterday that our old life isn’t over. And it isn’t, but there’s no doubt it has changed. Tell me honestly, honey,” he said suddenly, “how do you feel about all this?”
From the way he sort of blurted out the question, I could tell he had been deciding for a long time whether he should ask it. I thought awhile so I could give him my best, most honest answer.
“Well,” I said slowly, “it’s an awful lot to get used to. And mostly I wish it could be just you and me and Mrs. Meade like it used to be. Then sometimes Muffin does something funny, or the baby smiles at me, and I think that’s kind of nice, too….Do you remember that time I slept over at Jana’s house, Dad? A couple of years ago?”
He nodded.
“Well, she has four brothers and a sister and two dogs. And everything at her house was so bustling and busy and happy with all the kids. It was a lot of fun. I sort of wished I had a big family. And now I have one, but it’s not what I expected. If Kate could just get herself organized…oh, I don’t know.”
“I think I understand what you’re saying,” said Dad. “It will be better when we’ve settled into a routine. It’s this getting-used-to-each-other business that’s tough.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“You know, I was thinking again about camp for you. Even at this late date, we could get you into Camp Arrowhead. Remember Uncle Paul’s sister-in-law’s camp? If you wanted to go for the summer, you could avoid the settling down here. By the time you got back, things would be much calmer. Besides, camp would be a lot of fun. You could use some fun. What do you think?”
Plan B again. The only Plan B.
If I had to suffer through another weekend like this one with Baby Boy screaming and Muffin puking and Simon getting tortured and Kate yelling, I’d go crazy.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Well, then, think it over. But not for too long. Camp will start in about two weeks.”
“O.K.,” I said. I really was going to think it over. It was a big decision.
I slept much later than usual the next morning and woke to see a bright June sun streaming in through the cracks between my window shades. I hopped out of bed and ran to the kitchen because I knew Mrs. Meade would be there. Dad, too, maybe, unless he had slept as late as I had. Summer session at the university didn’t get under way until the beginning of July. He and Kate had a break until then.
Dad and Kate and Mrs. Meade were all there. “Morning, everybody,” I cried, and gave Mrs. Meade a hug around her waist, which is big and very good for hugging.
I plopped into my chair, smiling. I could see M
uffin playing in our backyard. Baby Boy was not around, but I didn’t care where he was as long as he was quiet.
“Morning, chipper,” said Kate. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“The best!” I said. “And you know what else kind of a day it is?”
“What kind?” asked Kate.
“I bet I know,” said Dad. His eyes were twinkling.
“What?” I challenged him.
“A Marquand Park Day.”
“Right! Can we go, Dad? Please?”
“I don’t see why not. Maybe you and I could go by ourselves like we used to.” He stared hard across the table at Kate. Whatever this was, they had discussed it before. I mean, I am not a dim person. And Dad was not being subtle.
“Why, that’s a lovely idea,” cried Kate, a little too enthusiastically.
“You can take a picnic,” put in Mrs. Meade. “I’ll pack you a lunch. Salad, pickles, brownies, lemonade. You can grill corn on the cob there.”
I got so caught up in their excitement that I ran to my room to change, and before I knew it, Dad and I were on our bicycles, pedaling to the park. The breeze was in our faces and the sun filtered down through the trees, dappling our bodies with moving spots. With Muffin and Baby Boy out of the way, I felt so happy and free I thought I’d burst.
At the park Dad and I staked out our old table. We usually take a picnic to Marquand two or three times a summer. It’s a big, grassy, shady park with a playground and tables and fireplaces and a dark wood to walk through. I named it Witches’ Wood when I was six and still believed in such things.
Dad had his fancy camera along and kept yelling, “Say cheese, sweetie!” He caught me upside-down on the monkey bars, dripping wet after a round with the trick water fountain, perched on Old Brown’s Pine Tree, which happens to have a branch shaped like a seat, sitting on a swing with my hair flying behind me, and holding up a thoroughly charred ear of corn.
“Oh,” he groaned later as we polished off Mrs. Meade’s huge lunch. “I feel like stuffed pork.”
“Me, too. I can’t move.”
“Let’s digest and then take a walk through Witches’ Wood.”
“O.K.,” I said, and reached for the book I’d brought along.
Dad stood up. “I’m just going to make a quick phone call,” he said. “I want to call Kate and make sure the baby’s O.K.”
Swell, I thought. It’s impossible to escape them. But I was reading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and soon forgot—until I looked up and saw Dad pounding across the grass toward me. He almost never runs.
Oh, no, I thought. What now?
“Pumpkin,” said Dad, looking both frantic and apologetic. “I’m afraid we’ve got to go back. The baby’s colic seems to be worse instead of better, Muffin is missing and Mrs. Meade’s out looking for her, and any minute the slipcover man is going to show up to measure the couches.”
I slammed my book shut. Then I crammed all our stuff in the picnic basket.
“Kammy, these things can’t be helped.”
“’Course not.”
It is hard to speak when you are gritting your teeth.
We got our bikes and rode home.
By the time we got there, things were already better. Baby Boy was crying—I could hear him from the garage—but it wasn’t as bad as yesterday, when he could have waked the dead. The slipcover man had arrived and was measuring the couches all by himself. And Mrs. Meade was in the kitchen having a cup of tea, which must have meant Muffin was found. I sat down to talk to her while Dad went off to relieve Kate.
“Where was she?” I asked.
“Muffin? Oh, just down the street. She found a little boy about her age, and they were playing in his sandbox. She gave me a good scare, though. She’s up taking a nap now, poor thing. All worn out.”
If I had ever run off, Mrs. Meade would have tanned my hide, not called me “poor thing.”
I left the kitchen and stomped upstairs. I stomped right into the bathroom, where I planned to drown my sorrows in a bubble bath.
But I stopped in horror.
Muffin, “poor thing,” was not taking a nap. She was not even lying on her bed. What she was doing was kneeling in front of the toilet, pouring my poster paint powder in the bowl, and flushing repeatedly, watching the colors swirl away.
This time I did not shake her or yell at her. I merely tiptoed out of the bathroom and let out a shout that could have deafened Goliath.
“Dad! Kate!”
Not until Baby Boy started crying did I realize that somebody had probably just managed to get him to sleep.
Anyway, I scared Muffin and she started bawling, too. Then Dad and Kate and Mrs. Meade all ran into the hall. Mrs. Meade looked frightened, Dad looked worried, and Kate looked angry. Her face was a thundercloud.
But I didn’t stop screaming. “Look at this! Look at her!” I yelled. “I can’t stand it. I can’t stand it.”
Kate grabbed my wrist and jerked it. “What’s wrong with you?” She wasn’t yelling, but I’d never heard anybody sound quite so angry. “Do you always feel you’ve got to create a scene? Do you ever think of anyone beside yourself? I should have thought you, of all people, would have noticed the peace and quiet; the baby finally fell asleep.”
“That’s just it,” I answered right back. “I didn’t notice anything because I’m not used to having a baby around. Just like I’m not used to having my paints flushed down the toilet or my cat tortured, or being barfed on in the car, or sitting by the baby pool with two-year-olds. Talk about thinking of other people, did you two think about me or Muffin when you decided to get married? Did you ask us if we wanted this? No. Well, I’ll tell you something. I’m not putting up with it. I can’t stand it. And somebody better do something about it.”
With as much dignity as I could possibly muster, I turned, walked to my room, closed the door, and locked it.
The house was quiet except for Baby Boy.
Chapter 4
Plan B
ABOUT TEN MINUTES AFTER I had exploded in the hall, I heard a soft knock at my door. It was so soft I couldn’t even tell if it was a real knock, and thought it might be Simon scratching. I slid off my bed and opened the door.
Muffin stood there, tear-stained and miserable. “I’m sorry about your paints,” she said. She turned and started to run off down the hall, but I grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and pulled her into my room.
She looked terrified. I didn’t blame her, considering.
“It’s O.K., Muffin.” I felt sorry for her, looking so scared, and I was pretty sure apologizing was her own idea, since she’d come alone. Besides, ever since Baby Boy was born, and especially since his colic had kicked up, Kate spent about as much time with Muffin as Dad did with me. I hadn’t thought about it until now. Maybe she was lonely. Not that I wanted to get stuck with her or anything.
“Listen,” I said, “I’ll make a deal with you. You know what a deal is?”
Muffin nodded solemnly.
She really was smart. Thank goodness, because I don’t know how I would have explained the meaning of “deal” to her.
“O.K., here’s the deal. You promise not to touch my things without asking me first, and I promise not to yell at you anymore. Is that a deal?”
Muffin thought this over for several seconds. “Any of your things?” she asked.
“Without asking first,” I repeated. “I might let you use them. Just ask, that’s all.”
“O.K.,” she said, nodding her head.
“Thanks, Muffin.” I grinned at her, and she smiled back tentatively. Then she disappeared down the hall.
I closed my door again, but did not bother to lock it.
About ten minutes after that, another knock came at the door. It was louder and higher up. Not Muffin.
“Come in,” I called anyway.
Dad and Kate entered together, looking grim. The last time my father looked this grim was when our phone service was cut off because I made
so many goof calls, the operator caught up with me.
Considering their grimness, I pulled an old trick and apologized before either one could say anything.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry I was thoughtless and woke the baby and scared Muffin.”
Dad looked like I had lifted a ten-ton weight from his back. He even smiled. Then he sat down on my bed, with Kate hovering anxiously behind him.
“I’m sorry, too,” she said. “I guess we both said things we didn’t really mean.”
I thought back over what I had said and decided she was wrong. I meant every word.
“And I guess I haven’t been very patient with you, Kammy,” she continued. “Look at me.” She gave a disgusted little laugh. “Yesterday I scolded you for not being patient with Muffin, and all along I wasn’t practicing what I was preaching. I really am sorry.”
“That’s O.K.,” I said.
“Things certainly don’t seem to be getting off to a very smooth start.” Kate sat down on the bed looking dangerously close to tears. Dad reached for her hand and held it tight, but spoke to me.
“Well, I think some of our problems are solved, anyway,” he said. “I just called the camp. They can make room for you. And it starts even sooner than we thought. We’ll drive up this Sunday. You can stay for eight weeks, almost the whole summer. It’s the only way I can think of to get you out of this situation. And I do think everything will be better, much better, by the time you get back. We’ll have unpacked, settled into a routine…”
I didn’t know quite what to say. I couldn’t say I wanted to stay home now, not after my scene in the hall.
On the other hand, I had pretty much decided camp was not for me.
I took the plunge.
“Dad,” I said, carefully keeping the shakiness out of my voice. “I’ve been thinking about camp, and I’ve decided I don’t really want to go.”
“What? But we’ve been talking about it all spring. You never said you didn’t want to go. And now, today, you seemed so unhappy….I thought you wanted to get away.”
“I do,” I said, with a lot less conviction than when I had yelled at Kate, “but I don’t want to go to a place where I don’t know anybody. I don’t want to sleep in a strange bed and have to do things I’m no good at like volleyball and baseball and tennis.”