The Summer Before

  My parents exchanged a glance. "Finish your nap," said Mom.

  I sat in the backseat with my arms folded across my chest.

  "The seat belt is too tight," I complained.

  "Are you hungry?" asked my father, looking at me in the rearview mirror.

  "No. I said the seat belt is too tight."

  "And I asked if you're hungry."

  I sighed. "Yes."

  We pulled off the highway, found an enormous grocery store, much larger than any grocery store in the city, which surprised me, considering we were practically in the middle of nowhere, and Mom and I bought food for lunch while Dad stocked up on things to put in the cupboards and the refrigerator in our house.

  We climbed back in the car and ate our lunch as we rode along, pine trees flying by outside the windows. (They were pretty much the only kind of tree I could identify.)

  I was finishing my sandwich when I saw a green sign that read NEXT EXIT STONEYBROOK.

  "We're almost there," said Mom.

  My heart began to pound.

  A minute later, Dad had tumed off the highway and onto a smaller road. It was dotted with gas stations and car-parts stores. I saw a sign for a taxidermist. "Can we get a dog?" I asked.

  "Maybe," said l/Iom.

  "I don't know," said Dad.

  I didn't really want a dog. I just wanted to see what my parents would say, now that we were in the country.

  I was thinking that the road we were on wasn't terribly picturesque when Dad tumed left and left again and then right, and finally I saw, for the first time, the sign that read WELCOME TO STONEYBROOK. The street we had tumed onto was the opposite of the ugly one we'd been on just a few minutes before. It was as picturesque as a street in a book about picturesque New England towns.

  "This is where we're going to live?" I couldn't help asking.

  "This is it," replied Dad.

  "Like it? " asked Mom.

  I nodded. "Is this our street?" On either side of the road were trim houses with wide front lawns and gravel drives and trees, trees everywhere. Sweeping pines and reaching oaks (at least, I think they were oaks - they really could have been any kind of tree at all and I wouldn't have known the difference). It was a lovely, shady street. When I opened my window, I found that the air smelled good, a little like the air in the middle of Central Park.

  "It's not our street," said Mom, "but it looks like ours. We thought we'd drive through town first."

  Dad tumed another comer and I got my first taste of downtown Stoneybrook. The street was much bigger than I had imagined any street in town would be. It was lined with shops and restaurants and businesses, and was crisscrossed by side streets, down which were more shops and restaurants and businesses. I saw a library and a doctor's office and a synagogue, a bank and a church and, yes, a diner.

  "Hey, there's a department store!" I cried as we passed a brick building bearing the name BELLAIR'S.

  "See? It's not so different from New York," said Mom.

  "Except that I don't see buses or subway entrances or cabs -"

  "There's a cab," said Dad.

  "There's a bus," said Mom.

  "Only one of each," I pointed out. But I was sitting up very straight, straining to look out the window and feeling happy about everything I saw. "I don't want this to be like New York. I want something different."

  "We're all ready for a change," agreed my father.

  Dad stayed on what I guessed was the main street in Stoneybrook until the stores and businesses came to an end and were replaced by small houses. Dad made another tum and then a few more, and at last he said, "Here it is. Fawcett Avenue."

  The houses here were set closer to the road than the ones we had seen on our way into town, but they were just as tidy and Fawcett was just as shady. Almost everyone had a flower garden or two in the front yard, and I saw a few kids here and there and evidence of many more - bicycles and plastic riding toys and scooters and helmets.

  "Which is our house?" I asked.

  "Number six-twelve," Mom replied.

  I watched the house numbers on the right side of the street climb slowly. "There it is," I said, and again I could feel my heart begin to pound. My first glimpse of our new home.

  My father tumed into the driveway of an empty-looking house. (Duh, of course it looked empty - it was empty.) I climbed out of the car and stretched my legs. I stepped onto our lawn. "It's weird to have grass right outside our door," I commented. "We don't even have to go to the park. It's kind of like we live in a park."

  Mom and Dad smiled at me.

  Our house was white with black shutters and a blue door. A winding brick path led from the driveway to the front stoop. I walked along it, feeling a little like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz.

  "Look at our front porch," I said, amazed.

  "Don't forget the back porch," said Dad. "It's even bigger."

  "Would you like to see your room?" asked Mom. She unlocked the front door and I stepped into our house for the first time. The foyer was musty-smelling but clean. I walked through a living room, a dining room, a den, and a kitchen. I peeked into a little bathroom and stepped onto the back porch. "I can't believe there are more rooms upstairs!" I exclaimed. I felt as though I were in a palace.

  I followed my parents to the second floor. "Here's your room," said Mom. "Picture it with curtains and a rug and of course all of your things."

  I tried to. Then I walked to my window and looked outside. Trees, grass, a squirrel in a garden, a girl riding her bicycle along the sidewalk, a cat sitting on a driveway.

  "What's that sound?" I asked.

  "What sound?" said Dad.

  "That. That weird buzzing-chirping-singing sound."

  "I think it's a cricket," said Mom.

  "I hope it's outside."

  My parents and I walked through the house again and then explored our yard and walked up and down the street. Finally, Dad said, "Here come the movers."

  We hurried back to our house to greet them.

  We had an interesting aftemoon. The movers unloaded their van and lugged our things inside. My parents ran around, saying, "That couch goes in here," or "Those boxes go upstairs."

  A group of children gathered on the sidewalk in front of our house to watch the activity. Baby-sitting prospects, I thought. And then realized that there were probably other kids my age in the neighborhood who already sat for them. I wondered who they were and how long it would take to meet them.

  Late in the day, just as the movers were loading their empty handcarts back into the van and I was standing with Mom and Dad in the mess that would someday be a tidy kitchen, our doorbell rang. My parents and I looked at one another. Who on earth could that be? The only people we knew in Stoneybrook were ourselves.

  "Is it okay to answer the door?" I asked. In horror movies it was never a good idea.

  My mother smiled. "I think so."

  The three of us answered the door together and found a man and a woman and a little girl who looked about two.

  "Welcome to the neighborhood!" said the woman. "I'm Stephanie Berk, and this is my husband, Tim, and our daughter, Lana."

  The man held out a bakery box. "A little something for your first night in your new home."

  "Thank you!" my parents and I said at the same time.

  How interesting. People were as nice in the country as they were in the city.

  We had more visitors that aftemoon. My favorites were the Hansons, who supplied us with takeout menus.

  "You can get takeout here?" I asked incredulously. I tumed to Mom. "Let's get takeout tonight."

  To my surprise, when we phoned the restaurant, we found out that it delivered.

  "Just like in New York," I marveled.

  When the food arrived, Mom and Dad and I carried it to our back porch and ate our first meal in our new home on our new lawn chairs.

  "I feel like we're eating in the woods," I said, then paused. "Do you think there are any bears around here?"


  My father coughed. "That's one worry you can cross off your list."

  That night I climbed wearily into my old bed in my new room, ready for the first night in our new house. There were no curtains at the windows yet, and moonlight fell across the foot of the bed. I lay very still and listened. I had expected silence, but I found out that the country was noisy. I heard chirpings and rustlings and chitterings and buzzings (all coming from things that I desperately hoped were not in my room), and then I heard something that even I could recognize. It was the hoot of an owl. I recognized it because it sounded just like owls on television or in the movies: Who, who-who, who-who. Who-who, who. Pause. Who, who-who, who-who. Who-who, who.

  I would hear that gentle who-who-ing on many, many more nights, and in time it would become as soothing and as familiar to me as car homs or the grinding gears of garbage trucks. lt was my Stoneybrook lullaby.

  One moming in July, when my birthday was still several weeks away my mother and I had the following conversation:

  Mom: Have you given any more thought to your birthday?

  Me: You mean, do I want a party?

  (Not long after Claudia's birthday, I had told Mom I didn't want to have a party of my own that summer.)

  Mom nodded.

  Me: No.

  Mom: But you want some sort of family celebration, don't you?

  Me: Yes, definitely.

  Mom: Do you want to go out? What do you want to do?

  Me: I want to have dinner at home. Just us. And Mary Anne. And maybe Claudia.

  Mom: Nothing more than that? We could go to the beach for the day, or -

  Me: No. Here is good. ,

  If Dad was going to surprise me on my birthday, I wanted him to be able to find me. I didn't want the plans to be too complicated. Simpler was better where Dad was concemed.

  Mom: Okay, so dinner here at home. On your actual birthday?

  Me: Yup.

  Mom: Great. I'll call Watson and make sure he's free. Maybe Karen and Andrew can come, too.

  I don't know what kind of look crossed my face then, but whatever it was caused. Mom's next words to come out more harshly than I think she had intended.

  Mom: What? Watson isn't invited?

  Well, no. I didn't want him at the party, especially not if Dad was going to show up.

  Me (very uncomfortably): I just wanted, you know, a family party.

  Mom: But you're inviting Mary Anne and Claudia.

  Me: Yeah...

  My mother tumed away from me for a few moments. We were in the kitchen, sitting at the table together after a lazy Saturday breakfast, Louie patiently waiting for something to fall to the floor. Mom stood, gathered up our plates, and carried them to the sink. When she sat down again, she looked less strained.

  Mom: It's your party, honey. You should do whatever you want... and invite whomever you want.

  Mom was studying my face then, so I studied hers and got the unsettling feeling that there was something she wasn't saying. Did she know I had tried to write to Dad? I hadn't mentioned the letter to her, but maybe she'd seen it. After all, she was the one who had mailed the stack of envelopes that had been sitting on the hall table. Or maybe my father had called her and asked her something about my birthday.

  Me (after a pause): Well, okay. Thanks. I'll talk to Mary Anne and Claudia and let you know if they can come.

  As you can see, my birthday was a touchy subject.

  It became an even touchier subject later on when I asked Claudia if she'd be able to come to dinner. I ran into her on the playground one afternoon while I was sitting for Claire and Margo, and she was sitting for Jamie Newton.

  "Thanks, I'd love to come!" Claudia said, looking genuinely happy to have been invited. Then she added, "What night is your party?"

  "The twentieth. It's a Friday."

  Claudia's face fell. "Oh. I -" (she made a big show of suddenly having to hold on to Jamie, even though he was riding on a kiddie swing and was strapped in tightly) "I can't. I'm busy that night. Frankie's family invited me to a barbecue and I already said I'd go. I'm really sorry."

  "No problem," I replied, and hauled Claire and Margo off the jungle gym and walked them away, over their loud protests.

  Claudia had seen Frankie about a thousand times since her birthday party. She had spent about five minutes with Mary Anne and me. And while it was true that I had absolutely no idea what was involved in having a boyfriend, it seemed to me that not alienating your existing girlfriends would be part of the deal. Claudia couldn't even come to my birthday dinner? I felt snubbed. I felt second best. But I wasn't going to say anything about it.

  Loyal Mary Anne would be at the dinner, though. I'd invited her the very aftemoon I'd spoken with Mom, and she had said she wouldn't miss it. "Miss one of your birthdays? I've never missed any of yours and you've never missed any of mine."

  "You've been to more of my birthdays than my father has," I couldn't help remarking.

  "That's weird, isn't it?... Kristy? Isn't it?... Yoo-hoo. Kristy."

  "What? Oh, sorry."

  "What were you thinking just now?"

  I could feel myself begin to blush. "I know it's silly. In fact, it's totally ridiculous. But I was just hoping that maybe Dad would remember my birthday this year."

  "Remember it how?"

  "You know, send a card or a gift. Or... show up as a surprise."

  "Kristy."

  "I said it was totally ridiculous."

  "All right. I hope you believe that."

  "I do! I definitely, definitely do."

  But I didn't really.

  The summer had rolled along, with baby-sitting and swimming and softball and no word from my father. But I wasn't concemed. Well, not very. If he wanted to surprise me on my birthday, what better way to pull it off than to be completely out of touch beforehand?

  Before I knew it, August 20th had arrived.

  "Happy birthday! Happy birthday!" I was awakened by David Michael, who'd flung open my door (I didn't know whether he had knocked because I'd been soundly asleep) and jumped on my bed. "Happy birthday! " he cried again.

  Soon Mom and Sam and Charlie were sitting on my bed with David Michael.

  "One more year and you'll be a teenager," noted Charlie.

  "Heaven help us. I'll have three teenagers," said Mom, but she was smiling.

  "Girls make worse teenagers than boys do," commented Sam.

  I punched him. "You made that up."

  Sam grinned and shrugged.

  "Come on downstairs," said Mom. "We have something special for you."

  "Something special right now?" What could possibly happen at (I leaned over and peered at my alarm clock) 7:42? Could my father have arrived overnight?

  Mom and my brothers cleared out of my room and I got dressed quickly. I stood at the top of the stairs. "Can I come down now?" I called.

  From below I heard David Michael say, "Yes!" and then, "Make way for the Birthday Queen!"

  I hurtled down the stairs and ran into the kitchen.

  "Happy birthday!" said my family again. I skidded to a stop. The table had been covered with a lime green cloth and set with blue and green paper plates, cups, and napkins. Glittery confetti in the shape of the number 12 and of teeny cakes and candles had been strewn along the center of the table, at one end of which were a little stack of cards and presents. Standing around the table were four people, the exact same people who had just been in my bedroom: Mom, Charlie, Sam, and David Michael. The table was set for five.

  Okay. So Dad hadn't arrived overnight. But maybe one of those gifts...

  "Here she is! The Birthday Queen!" David Michael announced, standing on tiptoe to place a paper crown with plastic jewels on my head.

  I laughed. "Thanks!" I said. "l thought my party was tonight."

  "It is," Mom replied. "But we thought we'd surprise you with a special breakfast. I called work and said I'd be a couple of hours late this moming. Come sit down."

  So I sat. Mom carrie
d plates of eggs and sausage and coffee cake to the table. She'd diced fruit, too, and we stuffed ourselves until Sam caught me eyeing the gifts. "Those are just decorations," he said.

  "They are not!" exclaimed David Michael. "They're real. Open them, Kristy. Open them."