Next, she dabbed some powder on her cheeks. I held up her air tubes while she applied some pink lipstick. Finally, I helped her into the wheelchair.
“Ready?” I said.
“Ready!” she answered. She smiled up at me. “Thank you, Dawn.”
I wheeled Mrs. Winslow onto the elevator and we took the short ride to the third floor.
We stopped at the nursery window. Baby Schafer-Olson was in the first row, asleep with her fists on her chest.
I pointed. “There she is.”
After a few seconds Mrs. Winslow whispered, “She’s perfect. Just perfect.”
“Isn’t she?” said a male voice. I looked up. It was my dad. He leaned over and kissed Mrs. Winslow on the cheek. “Isn’t this something, Betsy?” he asked.
Mrs. Winslow had tears in her eyes. Happy tears. “Yes it is,” she said. “Something very wonderful. Congratulations.”
“Carol’s sleeping,” he said. “That’s why they put the baby back here.”
While Dad and Mrs. Winslow talked, I signaled to the maternity nurse. I explained to her that Mrs. Winslow was a patient on the second floor and a close friend of our family. “Could she hold my sister?” I asked.
“I don’t see why not,” said the nurse. “Wheel your friend over here to the door and I’ll get the baby.”
After Dad left I told Mrs. Winslow, “You can hold her.”
“Really?”
I nodded.
“I’d love that,” she said.
I wheeled Mrs. Winslow to the doorway and the nurse handed me Elizabeth Grace. I put her in Mrs. Winslow’s arms. “Oh, look at her,” she said softly. “How precious.” She took Elizabeth Grace’s fist, gently opened it, and put her thin finger in the tiny palm of the baby’s hand. That one-day-old hand closed around Mrs. Winslow’s finger.
“Hello, my little namesake,” Mrs. Winslow said.
That’s when I realized it. Mrs. Winslow’s name—Betsy—was a nickname for Elizabeth. I don’t think my dad had named Elizabeth after Mrs. Winslow, not consciously anyway. But I was so glad that was the baby’s name. I felt incredibly happy and sad at the same time. Happy that my sister would go through her life with Elizabeth Winslow’s name. And sad that Elizabeth Winslow wouldn’t see her namesake and newest neighbor grow up. I squatted beside the wheelchair and whispered to Mrs. Winslow, “I love you.”
She smiled at me. “I love you, Dawn. You’re like a second daughter to me. Thank you so much for bringing me up here.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“I should go back to my room. I need to lie down.”
I took Elizabeth Grace from Elizabeth Winslow and gave the baby back to the nurse. Then I wheeled Mrs. Winslow to the elevator and to her room on the second floor.
Friday morning 6/19
I’m waiting for the biology exam to begin. English final this afternoon. I hope I can concentrate enough to finish.
I couldn’t believe what my friends did for me today.
It started when Jill met me outside school. She’d been waiting for me. “I heard about the baby!” she said excitedly. She said how glad she was that it was a girl and handed me a box wrapped in pink foil with a huge silver ribbon. “Open it,” she said. I did. Gracie’s present was a stuffed dog—a boxer. I thought it was sweet that Jill had gone to all this trouble when we barely saw each other anymore. I told her about Elizabeth Grace as we walked into school. Our lockers are in different halls, so we separated in the main lobby. But first Jill gave me a hug and congratulated me again.
When I reached my locker I had an even bigger surprise. My friends had posted a sign on the door that said, IT’S A LITTLE SISTER! A dozen pink helium balloons were tied to my locker handle with curly purple and silver ribbons.
Loads of people gathered around my locker and asked questions. I didn’t even care that the Cro Mags who walked by yelled out dumb things like, “She didn’t look pregnant to me.”
Ducky, Maggie, and Amalia had presents for Elizabeth Grace too. Ducky gave her the T-shirt we’d seen at Baby Boutique—the orange one that said “I’m here!” Maggie gave her a beautiful mobile of brightly colored fish. “I know she’ll be a water baby like you,” she explained.
I had just opened Maggie’s present when Sunny sauntered by, arm in arm with some hunk from the senior class. When they passed my locker she didn’t even look at me. I tried to forget about Sunny and concentrate on the gift Amalia handed me. But I couldn’t. Sunny had just passed up the perfect opportunity to mend our friendship. All she had to do was give me a friendly look. I wasn’t expecting presents, just a smile. I would have smiled back. It could have been the beginning of the end of our fight.
Maggie tugged on my sleeve. “Open it,” she said. I pulled off the rest of the wrapping paper and saw Amalia’s gift—a cartoon she had drawn of me and a baby on surfboards. The baby is on a little surfboard and wearing nothing but a diaper. And the drawing of me actually looks like me. Amalia is so talented.
I wonder if I will surf with Elizabeth some day. When she’s fifteen, I’ll be twenty-eight. Will Elizabeth baby-sit for my children? Wow! That is a weird thought. No wonder I can’t concentrate on finals.
But I have two more to take, starting right now. Mrs. Barkley just came in the room.
Friday evening 6/19
Finals are finally over! I’m sure I passed everything, but I don’t think my marks will be as high as first semester. I can’t worry about it. I’m just glad tests are over and I can focus completely on all the other things that are on my mind—like getting organized to go to Stoneybrook. I can’t believe I’m leaving for the summer two days after Carol and Elizabeth come home.
Then there’s Maggie. I’m really worried about her—more than ever. Here’s what happened today.
After finals Amalia and Maggie met me at my highly decorated locker. Amalia suggested we go for pizza to celebrate the end of finals and the arrival of Gracie.
We practically ran to the pizza parlor. It was mobbed. We found a small table in the back that was meant for two and fit in an extra chair.
“I’m starving,” I announced. “I was too worried about the English final to eat much lunch.”
“Me too,” said Amalia.
Maggie didn’t say anything, but I knew she had to be hungry too. All she ate at lunch was a small pile of lettuce and cucumbers from the salad bar with no dressing and one slice of avocado.
When the waitress finally reached us, we ordered a big pie. Half olives—Amalia’s choice. And half artichoke hearts—which I know is a favorite of Maggie’s. Amalia and I ordered regular colas. Maggie ordered a diet cola. Of course.
“Could you make one of the artichoke slices without cheese, please?” Maggie asked the waitress.
The waitress made a notation on her pad and left.
Amalia and I exchanged a glance. Amalia’s expression showed me that she thought Maggie was being very weird about food too. “Maggie,” I said. “Pizza without cheese? You’ve never eaten it that way.”
“Cheese is very fattening,” Maggie said.
“And delicious,” added Amalia. “Plus, it belongs on pizza.”
“Is it a crime to want to lose a pound or two?” Maggie asked. She pointed across the room. “Hey, look, there’s Ducky and Alex.”
Ducky and Alex had just walked through the door. Alex was hanging behind Ducky. Ducky turned to him and said something. Alex shook his head no. Then he turned and walked out. Ducky followed him. Poor Ducky. The end of the school year is supposed to be fun.
Our pizza arrived. It was perfection. Amalia and I were on our second slices when I noticed that Maggie was only halfway through her cheeseless slice.
I had a flashback of four little girls sitting in this same pizza parlor. Sunny and I sat on one side of the booth. Maggie and Jill on the other. We thought we were so grown-up because we were there without any adults. We ordered an extra-large pizza, double cheese. We were carefree and happy and sure that we would be friends fo
rever.
“Maggie, remember the first time you, Jill, Sunny, and I were allowed to go for pizza alone?” I said. “We thought we were so grown-up.”
Maggie smiled faintly and nodded. But she was too busy taking a piece of cheese off the edge of her pizza slice to answer.
Amalia and I finished our slices and Maggie took two more small bites of hers. She stood up. “I’ll be right back.”
Amalia and I watched her head for the bathroom.
We didn’t say anything at first. But after a few seconds we broke the silence by both talking at once.
“You first,” I said.
“I was just going to say that Maggie looks thin. I mean, I don’t think she needs to lose any more weight.”
“I was going to say the same thing.”
“Maybe she has a favorite dress or something that she wants to fit into,” suggested Amalia.
“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe.”
I was thinking of Maggie always checking out her reflection in windows and mirrors. And how she used to love food and not worry about every little thing she put in her mouth. But all I said was, “I’m glad Maggie is hanging out with you and the guys in the band.”
“Me too. I really like her.” Amalia lowered her voice. “Here she comes.” We watched Maggie head toward our table.
I wonder if I should say something to Maggie about her weird eating habits. I’m realizing that Maggie is an intense person, always wanting everything to be perfect—perfect grades, perfect music, perfect looks. Now she has this idea that to look perfect she should be thinner, which is totally crazy. Poor Maggie. Why can’t she just enjoy life? She has so much going for her. Maybe I should try to talk to her about all this sometime when we’re alone. But how can I do that and then disappear on her for the summer?
I just remembered, Maggie never finished that slice of cheeseless pizza.
I’m leaving for Stoneybrook in three days. What am I going to pack? It would be so much easier if I could just bring my whole room with me!
I’ll make a list:
Rollerblades
Paper making kit
Book to read on plane
Three pairs of jeans (blue, black, white)
Jean shorts
A zillion T-shirts—long-sleeved and short-sleeved. No, that’s silly. I have clothes in Stoneybrook, after all.
I can’t do this anymore. I keep thinking about what I can’t take to Stoneybrook. Mainly people. Here’s who I’ll miss most this summer.
Maggie
Sunny
Elizabeth Grace
The strange thing is that none of them will miss me.
Maggie won’t talk to me about what’s really important.
Sunny doesn’t talk to me at all.
Gracie can’t talk and is too young to know who I am anyway.
I’m going to miss watching Gracie’s first two months on this planet. I already like her a lot better than I thought I would. And how can I make up with Sunny when she’s three thousand miles away? This is so unfair.
Doorbell ringing—gotta go.
Later Friday 6/19
What just happened is so weird I have to write about it immediately.
I didn’t have any idea who could be ringing the bell. Since I was alone in the house I said, “Who is it?” before opening the door.
“Me,” a familiar voice answered. “Sunny.”
Sunny ringing our front doorbell? The same Sunny who always came around to the kitchen door and walked right in?
I opened the door. Sunny was standing there holding a bouquet of flowers.
“I—uh—brought these for Carol,” she stammered. “From my mother and me. From Mom’s garden.”
I looked down at the bouquet. White daisies, pink and purple cosmos, and yellow lilies. I remembered when Sunny and I had helped Mrs. Winslow plant those flowers after she was diagnosed with lung cancer.
“Come in,” I said.
I backed up and Sunny took a few steps into the house.
My heart was pounding and my mouth felt dry. Just being near Sunny was making me nervous. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to act. Sunny seemed like a stranger to me. The expression on her face, her posture, the way she was dressed … even the tone of her voice was unfamiliar.
“So … like … is Carol here? And the baby?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “They have to stay in the hospital an extra day. Because of Carol.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Sunny asked with alarm.
I told her it was nothing serious, that Carol would be okay and that she and the baby would be coming home the next day. What I wanted to ask Sunny was what had gone wrong with us? How had best friends become strangers?
“Hey, well … great,” said Sunny. “Tell her I said hi. And congratulations.”
I thought, What do you have to say to me, Sunny?
Sunny pulled on her ear the way she does when she’s nervous. She looked around. She hadn’t looked at me, really looked me in the eye. But I was avoiding eye contact too.
“You could come back tomorrow,” I said. “With the flowers. Or you could bring them to the hospital. Carol would love to see you.”
“Okay, I’ll do that,” said Sunny.
She turned and left. I wanted to say, Wait. Don’t go. We have to talk. But I didn’t have the courage. I stood in the doorway and watched her walk across the lawn. I thought, If she turns around and looks at me I’ll say something. But what?
I forgive you. I want to be your friend.
No!
How about, Sunny, do you want to come in for a soda or something? Or How did exams go? Or Do you like working at your father’s store?
All lame.
But it didn’t matter.
Sunny didn’t turn around.
Now, as I’m writing this, I think I should have said, Did you hear what they named the baby? Or Guess what? They named the baby Elizabeth Grace. She has the same first name as your mother.
But maybe that wouldn’t have been the right thing to say either.
Maybe Sunny and I aren’t speaking because we don’t know what to say to each other anymore. Or maybe we just don’t have anything to say to each other anymore.
I can’t believe I’ve lost my best friend. I feel like I’m lost.
Saturday evening 6/20
Elizabeth Grace is home. We’ve had loads of visitors and presents today. Carol is so thrilled not to be bedridden that Dad and Mrs. Bruen are afraid she’s overdoing it. All her friends squeal when they see the baby. It’s a good thing Gracie is already used to a noisy household!
I’m pretty used to babies from babysitting so much. I know more about taking care of an infant than Carol does, so I’ve been helping out. I don’t mind, especially now that school is over.
Lots of people besides Dad and Carol say Gracie looks like I did when I was a baby, which means she must look more like Dad’s side of the family than Carol’s. Whatever. She’s here. And she’s part of my life. But the fact is, I’m not going to be here for more than two months.
Jeff and I fly to the East Coast Monday at ten in the morning. I better do my laundry and start packing.
Nine weeks is a long time to be gone. I told Dad I was going to miss the baby. He said, “And we’ll miss you. But Gracie will be here when you come home. She’s not going anywhere.” I wonder if he will miss me now that he has two daughters. I think babies take up a lot more love than grown-up daughters. The fact is, babies need their fathers more than grown-up daughters do.
I was thinking about this when Carol came into the kitchen with Gracie on her shoulder.
Carol looked at Dad and me, burst out laughing, and whispered, “You have to go to the baby’s room. Jeff just hung a present on her wall.”
Jeff yelled from down the hall, “I hear you laughing, Carol. It’s not funny! It’s not a funny present.”
Dad and I ran to the baby’s room and Carol followed at a slower pace with Gracie. On
the pale yellow wall was a brightly colored NBA poster of Michael Jordan making a slam dunk.
Dad and I exchanged a glance. I covered my mouth so I wouldn’t laugh. Dad turned a hoot into a cough.
Even so, Jeff could tell that we were all amused by his gift.
“It’s an excellent poster,” Jeff wailed. “I saved my money for it. I sent away for it and I didn’t tell anybody because I wanted it to be a surprise for my baby brother.” He gave my father an angry look. “Dad, you said I could treat a sister just the way I’d treat a brother. That she’d play ball with me and everything. So I’m giving her the poster even though she’s not a brother.” He finished his speech by mumbling, “But I don’t think she’s ever going to be big enough to do anything.”
I love my brother. He’s an original.
“Jeff,” I said. “You did the best thing. It’s a great present.”
“And it looks terrific in Gracie’s room,” said Carol. She looked from Dad to me. “It really does. I love all the colors. And Gracie will too.”
“This room was looking a little wimpy,” Dad said.
Carol held Gracie out to Jeff. He took her very carefully, held her in the crook of his arm, and faced her toward the poster. “Gracie, that’s Michael Jordan,” he said. “He’s our hero.”
Gracie raised her little fist and punched the air as if to say, “All right!”
I better pack.
Sunday / Monday (midnight)
I’m all packed and ready for my summer in Stoneybrook.
I was putting the last things in my suitcase when I heard a soft cry from Gracie’s room. I ran down the hall to check on her. Carol and my dad were trying to sleep between feedings. I wanted to quiet Gracie before she woke them up. I lifted her out of her crib and sat in the rocker with her cradled in my arms.
“Did you have a bad dream, little sister?” I whispered. “It happens. But I’m here. I’ll make it better.” She stopped crying. “I have to go away. But you have a mother and father who adore you.” I gently stroked her wisps of soft blonde hair. “I’ll be back. We’re going to have a wonderful time being sisters. I promise you.”