It's Not the End of the World Read online

  When I met her at the bus stop this morning Debbie said, “I don’t need my allergy shots today.”

  “How come?” I asked. “It’s Friday.”

  “My doctor’s on vacation. If I start to wheeze my mother’s supposed to call some other doctor.”

  “Great!” I said. “What do you want to do after school?”

  “I guess I’ll come over to your house. Do you think Jeff will be home?”

  “No. He’s never home on Fridays. You know that. He goes to the Y to swim.”

  “Oh,” Debbie said. “I forgot. Well then … we might as well go to the library and get the books for our project.”

  Am I wrong to feel that lately Debbie is more interested in my brother than in me? Jeff can’t stand her anyway. He calls her Fat-and-Ugly right to her face. She acts like that’s some kind of compliment. Maybe because she knows she’s not fat or ugly. The truth is, she’s pretty. I think Gary Owens likes her. He’s always tugging at her hair. I wish he’d do that to me!

  Our bus came along then and we piled in. Debbie and I always sit in the same seats—the last row on the left. We’ve been sitting there since I can remember. It’s a twenty-minute ride to school, counting the three other stops. This morning Debbie did her math homework on the way.

  I do pretty good in school. I am also supposed to be mature, well adjusted and eager to learn. I saw this written on my permanent record card one day in the fall. Sometimes I don’t feel mature, well adjusted and eager to learn. In fact, I think my fifth-grade teacher may have mixed me up with somebody else when she wrote that.

  As soon as we got to school Mrs. Singer collected our milk money. I didn’t know I’d forgotten mine until then. We eat lunch right in our classrooms because there isn’t any cafeteria. If you don’t bring your milk money on Friday you don’t get any milk the following week. Sometimes, if you forget, your teacher will pay for you and you can pay her back on Monday. Mrs. Singer doesn’t do that. She says it is our responsibility to remember and if we don’t, we have to suffer the consequences.

  If Mrs. Singer hadn’t gotten married I’m sure she would still be nice. Last year whenever I went into her room with a message she was always smiling. But this year, on the very first day of school, she screamed at me in front of the whole class—just because I didn’t hear her say we should open our math books. Is that a reason to scream at a person, even if I wasn’t paying attention? I was just excited because it was the first day of school. Couldn’t Mrs. Singer see that?

  This is the first time I have ever forgotten my milk money. Now I will have to bring something from home to drink next week. Warm juice … ugh! I could already tell that this was not going to be an A+ day.

  Four

  My father didn’t come home for dinner tonight. But that’s not unusual. The store is open until nine on Fridays. It’s called Newman’s Modern Furniture and it’s out on the highway. Nothing in our house comes from the store though. That’s because my mother loves old stuff. She is an antique nut. Little china babies sleep on every table in our living room.

  We even have an old potbellied stove, which Mom painted blue. It stands in our front hall and holds fake geraniums.

  When Amy asked, “Where’s Daddy?” my mother said, “Working late.”

  On Saturday mornings my father leaves very early, same as during the week, but the rest of us sleep late. He doesn’t need an alarm clock to wake him. He gets up automatically. My mother is just the opposite.

  It wasn’t until Saturday night at about six that I began to wonder what was going on. My parents go out every single Saturday night, rain or shine, all year long. Sometimes they argue before they go—about what they’re going to do or who they’re going to see—but still they go out together. The only time they stay home is if one of us is really sick.

  “What time is Mrs. Hedley coming tonight?” I asked, stuffing my second cupcake into my mouth.

  “Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” Amy said.

  “Oh, shut up,” I told her. “What time, Mom?”

  Mrs. Hedley has been baby-sitting since I was born. Jeff is getting pretty mad about having her come every week. He thinks he’s old enough to stay alone. But my mother says if we stop using Mrs. Hedley some other family will grab her.

  So Jeff complains but Mrs. Hedley still comes. She smells like gingersnaps. I used to like her a lot when I was little. Now I am not too crazy for her. For one thing, I am sick of holding my arms out with her knitting wool stretched across them. She spends Saturday nights making wool balls that must last her the rest of the week.

  My mother sat at her kitchen desk reading the newspaper while the three of us had our supper. “Mrs. Hedley’s not coming,” she said.

  “She’s not?”

  “No.” Mom kept the newspaper in front of her face.

  “How come?” I asked.

  “We’re not going out tonight.”

  “You’re not?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How come?”

  “We’re just not, Karen.”

  “Goody,” Amy said. “Then we can all watch TV together.”

  My mother put the paper down and got up to clear away the dishes. “You can watch whatever you want. I just don’t feel like any TV tonight.”

  “Are you sick?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “It’s just that … well …” Mom stopped talking and looked at us. Then she shook her head and reached for a tissue. “I’ll be upstairs,” she practically whispered.

  Amy finished her milk and followed my mother. Jeff took an apple out of the refrigerator, polished it on his shirt and went upstairs too.

  I put the dishes in the dishwasher, then marched up to Jeff’s room. I knocked. I’m not allowed in without his permission.

  “What?” he called.

  I had to shout because his record player was on full blast. “It’s me.”

  “What?”

  “I want to come in.”

  “Just a minute,” he yelled. He switched off the music and opened the door.

  “I’m scared,” I told him.

  “Of what?”

  “I don’t know. I think something’s wrong between Daddy and Mom.”

  “Well, it took you long enough to figure that out.”

  “I mean really wrong, Jeff.”

  “Yeah … so do I.”

  “Do you know anything for sure?” I asked.

  “I know Dad didn’t come home to sleep last night,” Jeff said.

  “He didn’t?”

  “Nope. And I don’t think he’s coming back either.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “I can tell by the way Mom’s acting. Didn’t you hear her at supper? She could hardly get the words out.”

  “But that doesn’t mean Daddy isn’t coming back.”

  Jeff shrugged and walked over to his record player. He turned it on and opened a book. He was through talking to me. “I don’t believe you!” I told him. “You don’t know anything!”

  Jeff didn’t answer. He didn’t even look up.

  I went to my room and took out my Day Book. I marked Saturday, February 27 D−. I wish something would happen to make my mother and father happy again. On TV everything always turns out all right. Once I saw a show where the parents were separated. Then their little boy was kidnaped and they got together to help the FBI find him. And naturally, when they did, the kid was fine. The mother and father were so glad to see him they decided to make up and everyone lived happily ever after. It was a very nice show.

  I’m sure if one of us got kidnaped my mother and father would forget about their fights and everything would work out fine. I think it would be best if Amy was the one, since she’s the youngest. And everybody says she’s Daddy’s favorite. But who’d want to kidnap her? She’s such a funny-looking kid, with big rabbit teeth and snarly hair. She is supposed to have inherited her rabbit teeth from Aunt Ruth. My mother says she�
��ll look a lot better after she has had braces. Jeff is the good-looking one. He has a dimple in his chin and his eyes are very blue. Aunt Ruth says it’s a shame to waste that face on a boy!

  I am in between Amy and Jeff in looks. If I had to describe myself I would say Karen Newman is ordinary looking. I plan to do something about that in a few years. I might wear purple eye-shadow.

  My father is always home on Sundays. But I checked the garage early this morning and his car wasn’t there. At first I thought, maybe he’s been in an accident and he’s in the hospital. Maybe he’s even dead! Just thinking about it made me feel sick. But he couldn’t be dead. My mother would have told us. You can’t keep something like that a secret.

  So I went into the kitchen and mixed the pancake batter. I do that every Sunday morning. I love to crack the egg into the blender, then watch the tornado inside. Even the time I dropped the eggshell in by mistake Daddy said the pancakes were good. A little crunchy maybe, but very tasty.

  We eat Sunday breakfast at ten, but at quarter after there was only me and Jeff and Amy in the kitchen. Maybe the car is at the gas station for a check-up, I thought. And Daddy is upstairs with Mom. He took a taxi home late last night and I didn’t hear him come in because I was sound asleep. So naturally he and Mom are staying in bed a little later this morning. They probably were up half the night talking things over. Daddy will have his arm around Mom’s shoulder when they come down for breakfast and he’ll tell us we’re all going into New York for the day.

  “Where’s Mommy?” Amy asked then.

  “Still asleep,” I said.

  “Where’s Daddy?”

  “Stop asking so many questions!” I shouted.

  “The one who asks the most questions learns the most,” Amy said.

  “Well, today you can just learn to keep your big mouth shut!” I told her. Why did she have to interrupt just when I was planning a perfect A+ day?

  I could tell Amy was going to cry. She doesn’t come right out and do it like other kids. She thinks about it for a while. You can see her face scrunch up before the tears start rolling.

  Jeff dug into the Sunday papers and came up with the funnies. I threw a few drops of water on the griddle to make sure it was hot enough. When they sizzle it’s ready for cooking. “Why don’t you put out the syrup, Amy?” I said. “Your pancakes will be ready in a minute.”

  “You’re mad,” Amy said, sniffling.

  “No I’m not.”

  “You yelled at me.”

  “I didn’t mean to. Honest.”

  “Well … okay then. I’ll put out the syrup.” She walked over to the pantry. “Karen …”

  “What?”

  “Do you know why the boy put his father in the refrigerator?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jeff … do you?”

  “Yeah,” Jeff mumbled.

  “Because he wanted cold pop! Get it?” Amy asked. “Cold pop, like soda.”

  “That’s a good riddle,” I said.

  “But you already heard it … right?”

  “Right.” I poured the batter onto the grill. I shaped it like a Mickey Mouse head. Amy loves it when I make her fancy pancakes. I shouldn’t have hollered at her. After all, what does she know?

  As soon as I gave Amy and Jeff their pancakes my mother came into the kitchen. “Good morning,” she said. Her eyes were red and swollen.

  “Look what Karen made me,” Amy said, holding up her Mickey Mouse pancake.

  Mom said, “That’s beautiful. Be sure to finish it.”

  Amy cut off one Mickey Mouse ear, dipped it into the syrup and ate it. “Where’s Daddy?” she asked.

  Jeff looked up from his funnies. I think he was just pretending to read them anyway because he didn’t laugh once.

  “Daddy’s busy,” Mom said.

  “Doing what?” I asked.

  “He’s got some things to take care of. Look, you kids finish your breakfast while I go up and get dressed. Aunt Ruth will be over soon.”

  She was gone before I had a chance to ask exactly what things Daddy was so busy doing.

  I am so afraid Jeff is right!

  Five

  Aunt Ruth is my mother’s older sister.

  She is also my mother’s only living relative besides us, unless you count Mark, my cousin. But we never see him any more. He lives in Atlanta. My mother is ten years younger than Aunt Ruth and if you ask me Aunt Ruth enjoys acting like her mother. She is married to Uncle Dan, who is six feet five inches tall. When I was little he would hold me up to touch the ceiling and I thought that was really exciting. Aunt Ruth and Uncle Dan live in Maplewood. It takes about ten minutes to get from their house to ours. I wondered why Aunt Ruth was coming over on a Sunday morning. She never does.

  I was in the bathroom rinsing out my toothbrush when Amy barged in. “You’re supposed to knock,” I told her.

  “Karen …”

  “What?”

  “Do you know where Daddy is?”

  “You heard Mom,” I said. “He’s busy doing something.”

  “I think I know what,” Amy said.

  “You do?”

  “Yes. I think he’s out getting us a puppy and it’s supposed to be a big surprise.”

  “Where’d you get that idea?”

  “In my head.”

  “Oh, Amy … I don’t think that’s it at all.” I felt sorry for her then.

  Amy sat down on the toilet.

  I went into my room and made the bed.

  When I finished I sat at my desk and opened my Day Book to Sunday, February 28. I wrote: Something is going on. I wish I knew what.

  I put the rubber bands back and took out my English homework. I nearly jumped right out of my chair when Aunt Ruth stuck her head in and called, “Good morning.…”

  She has her own key to our house, so she doesn’t have to ring the bell or knock. I never even heard her come in. She can be as sneaky as Mew. She should wear bells around her neck.

  “You scared me!” I said.

  “I’m sorry,” Aunt Ruth told me. “Where are Jeff and Amy?”

  “Jeff’s up in his room and Amy’s probably in the den watching TV.” You can’t pull Amy away from those dumb Sunday-morning shows. She likes the one where the kids throw pies at each other.

  “Where’s your mother?” Aunt Ruth asked.

  “Getting dressed, I think.”

  “Well, suppose you tell Jeff and Amy to get ready and I’ll tell your mother I’m here.”

  “Get ready for what?”

  “Didn’t your mother tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Uncle Dan and I are taking you out to lunch.”

  “But we just had breakfast.”

  “We’re going for a ride in the country, Karen. By the time we get there it will be lunchtime. So get your coat and tell Jeff and Amy to hurry and get ready.”

  “Okay,” I said. We never go out to lunch on Sunday. Sometimes we go out for dinner, but never lunch. We don’t even eat lunch on Sunday. And Aunt Ruth knows it!

  “Aunt Ruth …” I called as she was leaving my room.

  “Yes?”

  “Is Mom coming too?”

  “Of course.”

  “And Daddy?”

  “No. He’s not coming.”

  “Where is he, anyway?”

  “He’s got some business to take care of,” Aunt Ruth said.

  Business? What kind of business would my father do on a Sunday morning? Unless he’s selling the store! I’ll bet that’s it. Didn’t he just tell us that sales are way down? So he’s going to sell now and get some other kind of job. Jeff is wrong! Mom was upset because this means we’ll be very poor. She might have to hock all her antiques. I’ll get a job after school, to help out. Maybe I can deliver newspapers.

  I ran downstairs and found Amy in the den. She was wearing her underwear. The rest of her clothes were spread out on the floor. I told her to hurry up and get dressed.

  Then I went into the
laundry room to check Mew’s litter box. It was clean and I was glad. I rinsed her bowl and gave her fresh water. I filled her dish up with dried food. I didn’t know how long we’d be gone and I wanted to make sure she wouldn’t get hungry. She prefers canned cat food but I’m not allowed to leave that in her dish all day.

  When I open a can of food for Mew I have to hold my nose. It really stinks. So does her litter box sometimes. But I have discovered that if you love someone the way I love Mew, you learn to overlook the disgusting things. And when I hold her close and she purrs at me it’s all worth it.

  When we were settled in the car Aunt Ruth drove down to her house to pick up Uncle Dan. Then they switched places so Uncle Dan could drive. We rode all the way to Basking Ridge with Jeff, Amy and me in the back of the car. And when Uncle Dan drives he moves the front seat as far back as it goes because of his long legs. Which means whoever is sitting in the back gets squashed.

  Aunt Ruth and Uncle Dan talked the whole time. About the weather and what a nice day it was and how it was just perfect for a drive and how all the snow melted since last week and that there is only one month to go until spring. When Aunt Ruth said that, she put her arm around my mother and added, “Everything will look brighter in the spring, Ellie.”

  Jeff leaned close and whispered, “You see … what did I tell you?”

  “It’s not what you think,” I whispered back. I couldn’t tell him in front of everyone that what Aunt Ruth meant was that then the store will be sold and Daddy will have a new job.

  By the time we got to the restaurant Amy was carsick and she threw up in the parking lot. We are used to that. She does it every time we go for a long ride. She is so experienced she never even messes herself up. And she can eat like a tiger afterward. She never gets sick on the way home—only going. I wonder why?

  The restaurant was called the Red Bull Inn and it had bare wooden floors and paper place mats that looked like lace on each table. I studied the menu. Our waitress recommended the curried shrimp. Jeff, Amy and I ordered hamburgers and french fries. My mother said she’d have an omelet and Aunt Ruth and Uncle Dan said they would try the curried shrimp. The waitress seemed really glad to hear that, as if she had been cooking all day and now at last somebody was going to eat her stuff.