“I’ll dust everything,” said Vanessa. That’s the one cleaning job she likes to do. She takes the big feather duster and waltzes around dreamily, dusting here and there. Sometimes she forgets to finish one room before she starts the next, but she does her best.
“I want to make a special surprise for Uncle Joe,” said Margo.
“That’s nice,” said Mom. “What kind of surprise?”
“It’s a secret,” said Margo. I could tell she was trying to sound mysterious.
“A secret?” asked Claire. She loves secrets. “Can I help?”
Margo started to shake her head, but Mom gave her a Look. “It would be a big help if you would let Claire work on the surprise with you,” she said.
“Oh, okay,” said Margo. “But you have to promise not to tell what it is until it’s done,” she said to Claire.
“I promise!” Claire and Margo headed off for their room.
The triplets were already busy in the rec room, where they keep their art supplies. Making “art” for Uncle Joe’s room would keep them occupied for hours. Finally, everybody had a job. The house buzzed with activity for the rest of the morning.
I helped Mom neaten the den, open out the couch, and make the bed. I helped Dad move his big desk out of the den and into a corner of the dining room. I sent Vanessa, who had finished dusting, to get a set of clean towels to put out for Uncle Joe. Once in a while, I checked up on the triplets and on Margo and Claire. And all day I wondered about what it would feel like to have another person living with us — an older person. I haven’t spent much time with old people, because my grandparents all live pretty far away, so I don’t really know how to act around them. I’d seen those shows on TV where the kindly grandfather teaches the kids lessons about life, but somehow I wasn’t convinced that those shows were always so realistic. I had a feeling that having Uncle Joe around might take some getting used to.
It wasn’t long before the room looked clean and homey. The bed was made up with fresh sheets, and the covers were turned back invitingly. We’d set a small reading lamp on top of Nicky’s toy chest, and Dad had hung a row of hooks along the wall. The triplets had made a big deal about putting up their artwork, and I had to admit that their pictures looked cheery and bright.
Margo and Claire were still hard at work on their project as I got ready to leave for my sitting job with our new clients, the Craines. I heard them giggling, and at one point a paint-splattered Claire wandered into my room and asked me to show her how to draw a tulip. I had no idea what they were up to, but I decided to let Margo keep her secret for the time being. Everything else was all set for Uncle Joe’s arrival. I was sure he was going to feel welcome at the Pike household.
“Thanks for your help, Mal,” said Dad. “I think Uncle Joe will be really pleased to find such a comfortable room waiting for him.”
“I hope so,” I said. I watched the windshield wipers glide back and forth. The day had turned gloomy, so Dad was driving me over to the Craines’. By the time we’d turned out of the driveway, the rain had begun. And now the wipers could barely keep up. Suddenly it was pouring. “Boy, I’m glad I didn’t ride my bike,” I said. “I’d be drenched by the time I got there.”
“Did I ever tell you about the time Uncle Joe and I got caught in the rain?” Dad asked.
I gave a little sigh. I’d been hearing an awful lot of Uncle Joe stories lately. But I didn’t want to hurt Dad’s feelings. “I don’t think so,” I said. “What happened?”
“We were walking to our favorite fishing hole,” Dad said, “and it started to pour, just like it is now. We got soaked. Most grown-ups would have turned around and gone home, but not Uncle Joe. Instead, we kept heading for the fishing hole, and when we got there, we both jumped in, clothes, fishing poles, and all — just for the heck of it!”
I laughed. “Your mom must have been pretty mad when you came home all wet,” I said.
“Nope!” Dad was grinning. “She never found out. The sun came out as soon as the storm was over, and we were bone dry by the time we returned home. We brought her a couple of beautiful trout for dinner, too.” Dad was getting that faraway look in his eyes again. If I didn’t stop him soon, I’d be in for five more stories about Uncle Joe. Luckily, we were almost at the Craines’ by then, so I started reading off house numbers, looking for number ninety-four.
“There it is!” I said, pointing to a big white house.
“I’ve noticed this house before,” said my dad. “I’ve always liked the way the porch wraps around the front and side of it.” He stopped the car and turned off the engine.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “You don’t need to park. I’m just going to jump out.”
“I thought I’d walk you to the door, as long as I’m here,” said Dad. “Since they’re new clients and all. I’d like to meet them, just so I know who you’re sitting for.”
Oh, my lord. I couldn’t believe it. How humiliating! Actually, I knew he was right, but I felt he was treating me like a baby. Would anybody else’s dad do it? Then I remembered something that Kristy had said at a meeting not too long ago. “It’s a good idea to have a parent or someone else with you when you meet a new client for the first time,” she’d said. “Just to be on the safe side.”
Oh, well. Whether Kristy and my dad were right or not, I had no choice. Dad had already climbed out of the car. He was getting ready to march up the walk, so I joined him on the sidewalk, and we headed toward the house.
I rang the bell and stood there waiting, with Dad beside me. I felt like I was going to die of embarrassment. The Craines would probably think I was just a kid myself. What if they decided that I was too young to watch their kids? But when Mr. Craine opened the door, I could see right away that everything was going to work out. He smiled at me and said, “Hi, Mallory! Glad to meet you. I’m Mr. Craine.” Then he turned to my dad. “You must be Mr. Pike. I’m sure I’ve seen you at PTA meetings, but we’ve never introduced ourselves. Would you like to come in for a minute? I don’t think Mrs. Craine is ready to leave yet.”
Well, at least he didn’t seem to think that it was weird for my dad to walk me to the door. But I sure didn’t want Dad to settle in for a visit. I mean, what if he started in on one of his Uncle Joe stories or something? I shot Dad a look, and he gave me a little nod to show that he understood.
“No, I’ve got to be on my way. It’s nice to meet you, though,” he said to Mr. Craine. “Have fun, honey,” he added, smiling at me. Then he left. Finally.
“Well, come on in, Mallory,” said Mr. Craine. “The girls are dying to meet you.” I followed him into the kitchen and saw three curly-headed girls sitting around a big table, coloring. They looked up at me shyly.
“Girls, this is Mallory,” said Mr. Craine. “Mallory, I’d like you to meet Margaret, Sophie, and Katie.”
“Hi!” I said. “What are you guys drawing pictures of?” I approached Margaret, the oldest, and peered over her shoulder. “Wow,” I said. “That’s a great picture of a horse. I love horses, but I can’t draw them nearly that well.”
Margaret beamed at me. “Know what? I’m six,” she said, “and Sophie’s four, and Katie’s two and a half. How old are you?”
“I’m eleven,” I answered.
“Wow,” she said, “You’re old. But you know what else?”
“What?” I asked.
“My mom’s even older than you. She’s thirty-four!”
Mr. Craine laughed. “I don’t know if Mommy would like you telling everybody how old she is,” he said.
“I only told Mallory,” said Margaret. “Anyway, Mommy doesn’t mind. She said so.”
“That’s right,” said Mrs. Craine, walking into the room. “I’m proud of my age!” She stuck out her hand. “Hi, Mallory, nice to meet you. The girls are getting over colds, so I think they’ll be pretty quiet today. But don’t be fooled. These little princesses can run you ragged when they’re feeling well.”
“That’s what Aunt Bud alw
ays says,” explained Margaret.
“Aunt Bud?” I asked.
“Margaret will tell you all about her, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Craine. “We have to get going. I left the number where we’ll be, plus some other information, on that pad by the phone. The girls should take a nap soon, since we want to make sure those colds are gone. Have fun, girls!” After a round of hugs and kisses, the Craines were out the door and I was alone with my three new charges.
The second the door closed, Katie began to cry. “Want Mommy,” she sobbed. “Want Mommy.”
“Mommy will be back soon,” Sophie told her, before I could even open my mouth to say the same thing. These girls were used to taking care of each other; I could see that right away.
“And maybe she’ll bring us a present,” said Margaret.
Katie stopped her sobbing for a second to think about that possibility, but then she started up again. I held out my arms to her and she climbed off her chair and into my lap. She must have needed a hug, and she didn’t seem to mind getting one from a stranger. She was still sobbing gently as I held her and stroked her back.
“Tell me about your Aunt Bud,” I said to the girls. I figured a little conversation might distract Katie.
“She’s our regular baby-sitter,” said Sophie.
“She’s really, really fun,” said Margaret. “She likes to be silly.”
“Vroom, vroom,” said Katie.
“What?” I asked.
“She said vroom vroom,” explained Margaret. “That’s because Aunt Bud usually rides over here on her motorcycle!”
“Wow,” I said. “Neat. A motorcycle-riding aunt.” I imagined a kind of tough-looking woman with a leather jacket and big black boots. “Is that how she broke her leg? Riding her motorcycle?”
“Nope,” said Margaret. “Her dog broke her leg! He was so happy to see her one day that he ran right into her and knocked her over. But she wasn’t mad at him. She says it wasn’t his fault.”
I had to ask one more question about Aunt Bud. “How did she get that funny name?”
“It’s not her real name,” said Sophie.
“Her real name is Ellen. But my daddy always calls her Bud,” said Margaret. “She calls him Bud, too. They’re Buds. That’s a special kind of friend. We’re all Buds, too!” She held out one pinky finger to Sophie and one to Katie. “This is the special Bud shake,” she explained as they linked pinkies.
I smiled. “Cool,” I said. By then, Katie had stopped crying. “How about if you Buds finish up your drawings, and then it’ll be time for a nap?” I asked.
“Yucko,” said Margaret. “I hate naps.”
“Yucko,” echoed Sophie.
“Uck,” said Katie.
“Hmmm,” I said. “I used to hate naps, too. But you know what’s fun? Having a slumber party! Did you ever do that?”
Margaret shook her head. She looked perplexed, but interested. “How do you do that?” she asked.
“Do you guys have sleeping bags?” I asked. If they didn’t we could just use blankets, but I knew that sleeping bags made the game even more fun.
Sophie nodded. “We got them for Christmas this year,” she said. “Mine has Barbie on it.”
“Mine has the Simpsons,” added Margaret. “And Katie’s has Muppet Babies.”
“Great,” I said. “Let’s go get them and bring them into the living room.” I followed the girls to their rooms and helped carry the sleeping bags downstairs. Then we arranged them on the living room floor. “Okay,” I said. “We’re almost ready to start our slumber party. We just need one more thing. Can you guess what it is?”
“Pillows!” yelled Sophie.
“That wasn’t what I was thinking of,” I said, “but pillows are a good idea. I’ll go get them for you in a minute. The thing I was thinking of was a snack. When my friends and I have slumber parties, we always have snacks before we go to sleep.”
“Yeah, snacks!” said Margaret.
“Cheez-Its!” said Katie, leading the way back to the kitchen. She pointed to one of the cabinets. I filled a bowl with crackers and herded the girls to their sleeping bags.
“Okay,” I said, “everybody get cozy, have some crackers, and then I’ll read you a story.” As the girls snuggled into their bags, I found their pillows and then checked the bookshelf for a story they’d all like. I found a copy of Rapunzel, which seemed perfect. And it was. Before I’d even finished the book, Margaret, Sophie, and Katie were fast asleep.
I had brought my book, A Wrinkle in Time, with me just in case I had time to read. It was in my jacket pocket, and my jacket was in the hall closet. I went to find it. I hadn’t really expected to have a chance to read, and I was happy to be able to spend a few minutes with my book. The characters were beginning to seem so real to me. I couldn’t wait to get back to it.
Just as I reached into my jacket pocket and grabbed the book, I heard a strange noise. At first I couldn’t figure out what it was. A bird? Katie crying? I listened again, but all I could hear was the rain pounding on the roof. Then, as I turned to go back to the living room, I heard it again. Finally I realized that it was a cat, but its voice was very weak and small.
I thought it was kind of funny that the Craines hadn’t mentioned that they owned a cat — usually new clients let us know about whatever pets they have. But it didn’t really matter. I listened once more, but when I didn’t hear anything, I took my book and headed for the living room couch.
It was very peaceful, sitting there with the three girls sleeping on the floor nearby. The rain beat against the windows, and the trees outside were tossing in the wind, but I felt warm and cozy on the couch. I opened my book and started to read.
Then I heard it again. That cat. It kept meowing, in a pathetic little voice. I put my book down, reluctantly, and listened carefully. The cat meowed again, and this time I had a feeling that something was wrong. Was the cat sick, or hurt? I wasn’t sure what to do. “Here, kittykittykitty!” I called softly. “Come here, little kitty!” I heard another meow, but no cat appeared.
I got up and started to walk around the house, checking under chairs and couches, and opening closets in hopes of finding the cat. I whistled now and then, and called a few times. By the time I’d walked around the first floor, the meowing had finally stopped. I still hadn’t found the cat, but I decided it was time to give up. I headed back to the couch and picked up my book, but before I could read even a sentence, Margaret sat up, rubbing her eyes.
“Hi,” she said. “Can I get up now?”
“Sure,” I replied. I helped her roll up her sleeping bag, and by the time we were done, Sophie and Katie were also awake. The three of them wanted to do some more drawing, so we went back to the kitchen table. I picked up a crayon and doodled a cat on a piece of construction paper.
“Hey, you guys,” I said, “where does your cat usually hide, anyway? I looked all over for him this afternoon.”
Margaret glanced at me with a blank look on her face. “We don’t have a cat,” she said. Then she went back to her drawing.
No cat, huh? I shrugged. I had no idea what else could have been making that meowing sound, but it didn’t really matter. I was enjoying sitting for the Craine girls, and I had a lot more time with them to look forward to. I crumpled up my cat doodle and started drawing a picture of Uncle Joe and Dad (as a boy), walking down the road with fishing poles over their shoulders. I couldn’t fill in Uncle Joe’s face yet, but I knew that by the next day I’d be able to. I couldn’t wait to meet him.
Sunday did not dawn bright and sunny. It dawned gloomy and gray and drizzly. In books exciting days usually start off beautifully, but in real life, it’s just as likely to rain. Still, I felt cheerful as I got up and got dressed. Mom and Dad were going to pick up Uncle Joe when breakfast was over, and I could hardly wait.
Everybody else was pretty excited, too. Breakfast was a wild scene. Dad hadn’t had time to make waffles again, so it was every man (or woman, or boy, or girl) for himself (o
r herself, or — oh, forget it). There were about four boxes of different kinds of cereal on the table, plus a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a big bowl of fruit.
Breakfast isn’t usually an especially quiet time in the Pike house, but that morning it was especially noisy. Even when I lifted my cereal bowl right to my ear, I couldn’t hear that snap, crackle, and pop. The sounds were drowned out by what was going on around me.
The triplets and Nicky were practicing this rap song they’d written:
“We’re the rappin’ Pikes, and we’re here to say
We’re hip, we’re def, we’re cool in every way
I’m Byron
I’m Adam
I’m Jordan
I’m Nick
For a real happenin’ dude, just take your pick!”
Meanwhile, Vanessa, Claire, and Margo were playing a three-way game of “Miss Mary Mack” on the other side of the table. They clapped hands and then smacked them together patty-cake style, singing:
“Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack
All dressed in black, black, black
With silver buttons, buttons, buttons
All down her back, back, back.”
Claire lagged behind on the words, since she was unsure of them, but she clapped hard and chimed in loudly on the last words of each line.
The noise was incredible. I looked at Mom and Dad, who would have ordinarily put a stop to the din long before it reached such an outrageous level. They seemed oblivious to the clamor. They were concentrating on their own conversation. In front of Mom was a piece of paper, and it looked like she was making a list. I strained to hear what my parents were saying.
“I think plain, bland foods would be best,” said Dad. “You know, like chicken or fish.”
“Right,” said Mom. “Nothing too spicy or rich.” She added to her list. “I’m sure I can come up with some menus he’ll like.”
Hmmm. I didn’t think we’d be having tacos for dinner too often, not while Uncle Joe was with us. But I didn’t mind. I knew that Mom was right about our having to make adjustments.