Dawn on the Coast

  “Kristy!” Vanessa said when she walked in. “Read my message. Can you, please? It’s invisible, like the seas.” (Vanessa is a budding poet. She loves to rhyme and doesn’t always care so much about making sense.)

  Kristy looked at the blank sheet of paper.

  “A polar bear in a snowstorm?” she guessed.

  “Silly-billy-goo-goo!” cried Claire.

  “No, it’s a message,” said Vanessa. She held the paper flat and blew on it so the milk would dry. “You can’t see it now,” she said, “but watch this.”

  She strode out of the bedroom and into her parents’ room, where there was an iron and an ironing board standing up in the corner.

  “Heat,” she said. “We’ll iron the messages and the heat will make the milk letters turn brown.”

  “Wait a minute. Wait a minute,” said Kristy. “I’ll be the one to do the ironing.”

  “But I iron all the time,” said Vanessa. “For Mom. I do practically a basket a week.”

  Kristy considered.

  “Well,” she said. “You can iron, but I’ll supervise. Claire and Margo, you sit over here and watch.”

  Kristy sat on the edge of the bed and patted places next to her for the two younger girls.

  Vanessa waited for the iron to heat up and then ran it lightly over the sheets of paper. As she predicted, the white letters darkened and the messages came clear.

  Vanessa’s message read:

  “Ships on the ocean,

  Ships at shore,

  Wipe your feet,

  And close the door.”

  Margo’s said, “My teacher is a big baboon.”

  Claire’s just said, “CAT HAT RAT FAT CLAIRE.” (Well, when you’re first learning to write, you don’t have a lot of words to choose from.)

  “Let’s write some for the boys!” Vanessa cried suddenly. She started out the door.

  “Hey! Iron off,” Kristy reminded her. (When you’re a baby-sitter you do have to be thinking about safety all the time.)

  Vanessa ran back and unplugged the iron, and the girls ran back to their room to write more secret messages.

  By the time lunch rolled around, the girls had a stack of paper a few inches high. Each of the pieces had a secret milk-message written on it. It had been a busy morning.

  Mallory was in the kitchen heating up the ravioli. (She had opened a giant-sized can. It looked like it was meant for an army platoon.) Kristy started dishing up the cole slaw.

  “Nicky’s in a little bit of a funk,” Mallory said, filling Kristy in on the backyard crew. “The triplets wouldn’t let him play with them.”

  “Again?” said Kristy. This was an ongoing problem.

  “Well, they were playing Frisbee and all they’d let him do was fetch it when it went out of the yard.”

  Nicky banged through the door and into the kitchen. He slumped into a chair and began to kick his feet back and forth.

  “Hi, Nicky,” said Kristy.

  “Hi,” Nicky said glumly.

  The triplets trooped in behind him.

  “Ravioli?” said Byron. “Cole slaw? Ugh!” But he sat right down at the table, and Kristy noticed that when she put his plate in front of him, he gobbled the food right up.

  “We’ve got secret messages for you,” Margo said to the boys. She handed Jordan the stack of papers.

  “Who cares?” he said. He pushed the papers aside.

  “Look at them,” Vanessa said. “They’ve got secret messages on them. Bet you can’t read them.”

  “Don’t want to,” said Jordan.

  Margo grabbed the papers up.

  “Well, don’t then,” she said. “We don’t care.”

  Adam had taken his spoon to his plate and was mixing the ravioli in with the cole slaw.

  “Ooh, gross,” he said. “Snake guts.”

  Nicky grinned.

  “Hey, that’s what it does look like,” he said. “The tomato sauce is the blood.”

  Unfortunately, when Nicky said that, he had a full mouth of ravioli himself, and some of it splurted out on the table.

  “Yuk!” Adam cried. “Ooh, Nicky! Say it, don’t spray it!”

  Nicky sat there quietly for a moment. Kristy thought he might be about to burst into tears. Instead, he looked at her and said, “May I please be excused? I want to go to the hideout.”

  Now, there’s an example of one of the few rules in the Pike house. Nicky is allowed to go to the hideout only if he tells whoever is in charge where he’s going.

  “Eat some more ravioli first,” said Mallory.

  Nicky did, and he was excused.

  The hideout that he disappeared to was the secret passage I told you about, the one that’s in my house. Nicky goes in through the trapdoor in our barn. He usually just sits in there, reads or whatever. It’s his special place.

  That day, a half hour passed, then forty-five minutes. Lunch was cleared and cleaned up and the kids all went outside together to play in the backyard. Kristy decided she’d go check on Nicky. He was right where he said he would be, sitting alone at the head of the tunnel. Kristy climbed down the ladder and joined him.

  “Hey, Nick,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  “Whatcha doin’?”

  “Nothin’.”

  It took Kristy awhile to get Nicky talking, but they did talk some about how hard it sometimes was to be a younger brother.

  “This feels like when Dawn talked to me,” Nicky said.

  I was the one who first discovered Nicky’s hiding place. And when I found him, we had had a pretty good heart-to-heart.

  “You miss Dawn?” Kristy asked.

  Nicky nodded. “Will she be back soon?”

  “At the end of the week,” Kristy said.

  Nicky heaved a big sigh.

  “I don’t know if I can last,” he said.

  Kristy laughed and gave him a hug.

  “Come on,” she said. “We better get going.”

  Back at the Pikes’ house, things were as hectic as before. The only difference was, Mrs. Pike had come home.

  “There’s my Nicholas,” she smiled.

  She gave her son a quick kiss on the cheek and kneaded his slumping shoulders.

  “You didn’t get a haircut,” Kristy noticed.

  “No time,” said Mrs. Pike. “Guess I’ll have to call you again.”

  She paid Kristy and Mallory and left to check the backyard.

  Hearing about the Pikes and reading Kristy’s postcard got me thinking about the Baby-sitters Club and all the other big jobs we take on. “No job too big, no job too crazy” — that should be our motto. A lot of times it even seems the more chaotic, the more fun. In a way, I’m kind of proud of that. Whenever a problem has cropped up, we’ve pulled a solution from somewhere, out of our hats if we had to.

  Listen to me. I sound like a testimonial.

  Of course, the P.S. on Kristy’s card helped. So Nicky Pike missed me, huh? Well, what do you know…. The truth was, I sort of missed him, too.

  A lecture on humor? Oh, give me a break. How could Mom be falling for Trip-Man? That was exactly the problem with him. He’d be just the type to go to a lecture about humor. That’s because he has no sense of it himself. Compare him with Dad. Dad is fun and funny. The Trip-Man is a bore.

  I got the postcard from Mom on Wednesday, and no, I still hadn’t made up my mind what to do. That wasn’t the only postcard that came for me in the mail. There was also one from Jessi.

  Well, what a haul in the mail. You can see why it was hard for me to make up my mind. My mom’s postcard got me all agitated, but that got me thinking. I certainly did feel involved in the whole Trip-Man thing. I wanted to run right back to Connecticut so I could keep my eye on the situation. Did I want the Trip-Man marrying my mother? Moving into our farmhouse? No way!

  Then, of course, Jessi’s postcard … I never thought of it before, but she and I really were in very similar situations. Of course, Jessi went back to a neighborhood where ever
yone is black, and I went back to one where everyone is … well, blond. I thought of all my friends in the Baby-sitters Club. We all were very different — our backgrounds, the way we look, our interests. There was something very nice about that. Maybe Mary Anne doesn’t read all the ghost stories that I happen to like, but what did that matter? And Claudia — she does eat a lot of junk food, all right, but she draws beautifully. I remembered the slumber party they had given me before I left. I pictured Claudia sitting on her sleeping bag, sketching Jessi, whose legs were stretched long, like a real ballerina’s. This sounds corny, but the scene was like an advertisement for the U.N. or something. Different kinds of people with different interests, all getting along beautifully. (Okay, getting along most of the time.)

  I headed over to Sunny’s to spend the afternoon. I decided to talk with her about my dilemma.

  “Dawn!” she squealed when I told her. “You’re going to stay in California!”

  “I didn’t say that,” I said defensively. “I said I was thinking about it.”

  “What’s there to think about?” said Sunny. She picked up the California/Connecticut list that I had brought along with me. “It’s all right here on paper. The vote is in.”

  “It’s not that simple,” I said. “Different things on the list have different weights.”

  “Okay,” she said, looking down the list. “Your dad and Jeff. They balance your mom.”

  Well, sort of. How could I ever rate something like that?

  “And the We Kids Club balances the Baby-sitters Club,” Sunny went on.

  “Maybe not,” I said carefully.

  “Dawn, you told me yourself that you love how relaxed the club is here.”

  “Yeah.”

  That’s what I said, but what I thought was the We Kids Club is not really as busy or as involved or active somehow as the Baby-sitters Club. Of course, I couldn’t say that to Sunny’s face. Instead, I just sort of shrugged my shoulders.

  “Okay, another item,” said Sunny. “Sunny (and others) versus Mary Anne (and others). I guess that balances, right?”

  “Right,” I said, halfheartedly. Was Sunny really as good a friend now as Mary Anne was? And really, I had five other friends in the Baby-sitters Club. Six, counting Stacey. I was much closer with all of them than I was with Jill and Maggie. Same with the kids I baby-sat for. Did Clover and Daffodil balance out all the kids in Stoneybrook? The Pikes, Jamie and Lucy Newton, the Perkins girls, Kristy’s brothers and sister …

  “Okay,” said Sunny. “Here we go. The sun. The beach. Healthy foods. An organized household.”

  One by one she ticked off all the pros for California.

  “Dawn, it’s obvious. You’re a California girl,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “And a California girl belongs in California.”

  I felt my face tighten. All of a sudden I didn’t feel like discussing the subject anymore.

  “You know what?” I said. “Let’s drop this. I think it’s better if I think about this whole thing myself.”

  “Okay,” said Sunny. She looked a little taken aback.

  That evening, when I went home for dinner, Dad was waiting to talk to me.

  “Well, Sunshine,” he said. “Is the verdict in?”

  “Oh, Dad, not yet,” I moaned.

  Dad wrinkled up his forehead in concern.

  “I know it’s a big decision,” he said, “but you’re scheduled to fly back on Saturday. If you’re really thinking about staying, I’ll have to talk with your mother, well, the latest by tomorrow. We’ll have to cancel the plane reservation, make other arrangements.”

  “Can I let you know tomorrow?” I asked. “Just one more day?”

  Dad paused a long time.

  “Oh, Sunshine,” he said. “I don’t want to influence your decision. You know what I would love, but there’re many considerations here. Take the night to decide, but I really do have to know by tomorrow.”

  “Oh, thanks, Daddy,” I said. I gave him the biggest hug ever.

  Dad threw his arm around me and we walked into the kitchen to sit down for yet another terrific meal. The sun was streaming in through the skylight and the terra cotta tiles were cool and sparkling under our feet. (Mrs. Bruen had just given them one of her good moppings.)

  After dinner Jeff and I helped with the dishes and then Dad brought a deck of cards out back. The three of us sat down at the picnic table for a game of Crazy Eights.

  From where I sat I could see Clover and Daffodil next door, running around their yard barefoot, playing tag. I could smell the smokey scent of grilled fish coming from the barbecue of our other neighbors. A soft breeze rustled the skirt of my sundress against my warm, bare legs.

  It’d be nice if Mom were here, I found myself thinking. If she were a part of things, playing cards with me, puttering around the patio. And wouldn’t it be great if the doorbell rang and it was Mary Anne, just dropping by for a visit. What I wanted was to be able to share all the things I loved with all the people I loved. I imagined Nicky Pike out here holing up in a new, California hiding place. Maybe in the crawl space between the bushes. Maybe in the cave down by the creek.

  That night, as I lay in bed, I made my decision. I knew what I had to do, where I had to be. I fell asleep hugging my pillow. I slept the whole night soundly, undisturbed.

  Thursday I woke up after Dad had already gone to work. I spent the day riding bikes with Jeff and came home to Nicky’s funny note. Of course, I knew what I was going to do and by that point I was bursting to tell.

  When Dad came home from work I sat him down to prepare him for my decision.

  “I’ve decided to leave California and go back to Connecticut,” I said.

  Phew! Was that ever a hard thing to get out.

  “I like both places,” I continued. “I like them a lot. But I’ve made my home at Mom’s now. It’s time for me to go back.”

  Dad’s eyes were all misty as I was explaining.

  “I know,” he said. “I guess I knew it all along.”

  Jeff, who had been standing in the doorway, turned around and stomped down the hall. It would take him another day or two to adjust to the disappointment.

  “Well,” said Dad, “for such a young girl you’ve had a big decision to make. You’ve got two homes. Just remember — this is always your home, too. We’ll always be in touch, you can always visit. Your room here is reserved. And so is your place in our hearts.”

  Oh, Dad! What a cornball. By the time he finished his speech, my eyes were all misty, too. Okay, they were more than misty. Tears were streaming down my cheeks like rain.

  “Dad,” I blubbered. “Can I call Mom?”

  “Sure, Sunshine,” he said.

  He left the room so I could be alone.

  I think Mom was surprised to hear my voice all shaken up.

  “I was wondering,” I asked her. “Could you bring Mary Anne along to the airport with you?”

  “Of course,” said Mom. “I’ll call her up as soon as we hang up.”

  Mom stopped talking. So did I.

  “Dawn, honey,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

  Well, I hadn’t meant to tell Mom that I had been thinking about staying in California, but somehow it all came flooding out.

  “You know how it is, Mom,” I said. “Avocados, the beach …”

  “Oh, Dawn,” she said, “I knew when you went out there you’d start thinking about moving back.”

  How come everybody seemed to know more about me than I knew? Dad had known I was going to decide to go back to Stoneybrook. Mom knew I was going to think about staying in California in the first place. Parents!

  “You know, Dawn,” Mom continued, “if you do want to stay in California, we could give it some thought. I know it’s been difficult for you. I know you love it out there.”

  “I made my decision,” I said. My voice was cracking. “I’m going to come home.”

  “Dawn,” Mom blubbered. “I would’ve
missed you so much.”

  We certainly were a weepy family that night. Yup, the four of us were a family, even though we were split up in two different houses and separated by thousands of miles. And as far as understanding goes, I sure got a lot of that from my parents. From both of them. My dad might be on one coast and my mom on the other but, parent-wise, I guess I’m pretty lucky.

  Friday, my last full day in California, was a pretty busy day. That morning I baby-sat one last time for Clover and Daffodil. Daffodil asked if she could write me. And Clover (always Clover) told me she might come visit me by spaceship. When Mrs. Austin came home, she slipped a thin package into my hand along with my pay.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Open it and see,” she smiled.

  Inside was a hand-woven purse that Mrs. Austin had made and lined in silk. The threads were red and a deep golden color.

  “Like sunshine,” she said. I blushed. Had Dad told her my nickname?

  After the job, I ran over to Sunny’s house for one last meeting of the We Kids Club. Actually, it was more like a party, a good-bye party for me. Sunny, Jill, and Maggie had made all kinds of treats — fresh pineapple wedges, zucchini bread, carrot cake. They had a big tray of food that they set down in the center of our circle.

  Sunny banged her hand on the floor, like a gavel.

  “This party will now come to order,” she teased.

  Believe me, there was no need to call us to the food.

  The party was interrupted only twice by job calls. Maggie took one and Jill took the other.

  There really wasn’t enough work here to go around, I thought. In a way, it was good I was leaving.

  When the “meeting” adjourned, Sunny pulled two packages out from under her bed.

  “Surprise!” she said. “You can’t go without your presents.”

  I knew it. I knew Sunny couldn’t say good-bye to me without some sort of surprise.

  One package, the first, was a book, I could feel it. I tore open the wrapping paper. Kids Can Cook … Naturally.

  “Thanks, you guys,” I said enthusiastically. “This is great!”

  “Open the other,” said Sunny.