That was certainly true. I never would have guessed Charles would remember Mother’s Day. I thought about the gift Jess and I had bought for her—a subscription to Metropolitan Home. Mom’s always saying she needs to redo the living room, if only she could find the time. We hope this will encourage her.
I read the rest of the paper while Charles baked. I have to admit, when he pulled a scrumptious-looking coffee cake out of the oven forty-five minutes later, I was pretty amazed. He tested it with a toothpick, then set it on a cooling rack. The smell made my mouth water.
I watched as he prepared a steaming pot of coffee, poured a pitcher of orange juice, and arranged it all on a tray. At the last minute he plucked a flower from the bunch on the table and set it on top of his cake. Then he took the Sunday paper, including the section I was reading, folded it up and tucked it under his arm. Before he started out of the room, he looked at me. “Impressed?” he asked.
He knew I was, even though I didn’t say a word.
A minute later Jessica came into the kitchen, still in her nightshirt, her hair disheveled, her face covered with dark green goo that smelled faintly of seaweed. She yawned.
“What are you doing up so early?” I asked.
“Couldn’t sleep.” She opened the refrigerator and stuck her head inside. “I just met our nightmare on the stairs.”
“He was bringing Mom breakfast in bed …” I told her, “in honor of Mother’s Day!”
“Oh, God …” Jess said from inside the refrigerator. “He’s such a hypocrite!”
“Suppose they don’t find another school for him?” I asked. “What do you think will happen? I mean, he won’t finish ninth grade at Fox, will he?”
“Mom and Dad are smart. They’ll figure out something.”
“But I’ve got to know now!”
“There’s no way you can know, Rachel. And worrying about it isn’t going to help.” She backed out of the refrigerator and touched her face to see if the mask had hardened yet. It hadn’t.
“Does that mean you think he’s going to stay here?” I asked.
“It’s his home, isn’t it?” she said. “Mom and Dad are his parents, aren’t they? They can’t just give him away.”
“Maybe they could send him to live with someone else,” I suggested.
“Like who?”
“I don’t know … Aunt Joan? She took him when he was suspended.”
“That was for a week,” Jess said. “Don’t get your hopes up.” She stuck her face back inside the refrigerator.
Mom came downstairs, beaming. “Charles baked a fabulous coffee cake,” she said to me. “You’ve got to try it. It’s light and fluffy and the topping’s perfect.” Then she noticed Jess. “Jessica, please close the refrigerator. Everything will spoil.”
Jess touched her cheek. This time she was satisfied. The seaweed mask had set, leaving her with a hardened green face and white circles around her eyes. She looked like a green raccoon.
“Maybe I’ll get a job as a baker,” Charles said, following Mom into the kitchen.
“That could be a wonderful summer experience for you,” Mom said, “if you don’t have to go to summer school.”
“I wasn’t talking about a summer job.”
“We’ve already been through that,” Mom reminded him. “Let’s not spoil our day.”
“Oh, right!” He thumped his head with the back of his hand. “Today is Mother’s Day … a family holiday. I hope my sisters remember that.”
“Excuse me,” I said. “I’ll be in my room, practicing.”
“Practicing?” Charles sneered.
“The flute!” I shouted.
“Oh, the flute,” he said. “I thought you had something more exciting in mind.”
“Grow up, Charles!” Jessica said, following me out of the kitchen.
“I’m trying …” he said, “I’m trying ….”
“Maybe you need to try harder,” Mom told him.
“Push, push, push …” Charles said. “That’s our family motto.”
Mom ignored him and called after us, “Please be ready by eleven, girls. We’re going to see Gram then.”
Gram is Mom’s mother. Her name is Kate Carter Babcock and she’s seventy-six. She had a stroke a year ago and has lived at a nursing home ever since. I get very depressed when we go to visit. What’s the use? I think. What’s the use of going through a whole lifetime, then winding up like Gram?
Gram can’t talk. The stroke affected the left side of her brain. She makes sounds, not anything we can understand, though. They tried therapy for a while, but when she didn’t respond they stopped. I don’t know if she understands what we say, or even if she recognizes us. I like to think she does.
Today, when we got there, Gram was dressed for company. The nurse had brushed blush on her cheeks, and it stood out against her pale skin in two uneven circles. She sat in her wheelchair, facing the window that overlooks the garden. She had a soft, pastel-colored blanket across her lap. I recognized it as one of Roddy’s baby blankets. When he was born, Tarren received so many she brought half a dozen to the nursing home.
I was glad Gram’s chair was turned to the window, because one time we came to visit and someone had left her facing the blank wall. Mom was furious. She’d gone straight to the director to complain.
Mom opened the white florist’s box we’d brought and took out a small orchid corsage. She slid it onto Gram’s wrist. “Happy Mother’s Day,” she said, kissing Gram’s cheek.
“Happy Mother’s Day,” Jess and I repeated in unison.
Then Charles stepped forward and kneeled beside Gram’s chair. “Hey, Gram … remember me … your one and only grandson?” He paused for a moment. “So, how’s it going?”
Gram turned her head toward Charles. Her eyes seemed to focus on his face. After that it was as if the rest of us didn’t exist.
We took Gram for a stroll around the grounds. The tulips and daffodils were in full bloom, and the dogwoods were about to flower. I guess if you have to be in a nursing home, it’s better to be in one with pretty gardens.
Mom pushed Gram’s wheelchair. Dad hung back. I think visiting Gram reminds him of his own parents, especially his father. After Grandpa Robinson died, when I was in fourth grade, Dad went to bed for six weeks. I was very scared at the time, thinking he was going to die, too. That’s when I started running through my what ifs at bedtime. My stomach was always tied up in knots. I went to the school nurse every day. Finally my teacher called Mom and asked her to come to school. The next day I was taken to Dr. Klaff for a complete medical checkup. Dr. Klaff said there was nothing physically wrong with me, except that I needed to learn to relax.
Then one day, just as I was getting used to the situation, Dad got out of bed and decided to change his life. He didn’t want to be a lawyer anymore. He wanted to be a teacher. So he went back to school to get a degree in education, then got the job teaching history at the high school. We never talk about that time in our lives.
As we walked with Gram, Charles kept up a steady one-way conversation with her. “Yeah, I’m doing really well at this school, Gram. Dorrance … that’s what it’s called. I’m probably going to be class president next year and I’ve already made the varsity track team. That’s how it is with us … we always have to be the best! But I guess you know that, Gram …. I mean, you’re the one who raised Mom, right?”
“Charles …” Mom said, warning him.
“Yeah, right …” Charles answered.
Gram seemed mesmerized, as if the sound of Charles’s voice were enough to make her day. I couldn’t help wondering what she was thinking. Did she understand he was feeding her a pack of lies?
An hour later, as we said good-bye to Gram, Charles turned away from her wheelchair with tears in his eyes. When he caught me watching, he walked off by himself.
Gram made a few sounds. Maybe she was calling to him. Who knows? But the nurse had a different interpretation. “We’re ready for our dinner, aren?
??t we?” she asked Gram in singsong.
“Will you please not address her in that tone of voice,” Mom said to the nurse. “Will you please talk to her as if she were a healthy person!”
“But she’s not, is she?” the nurse replied tartly.
Mom was about to pounce but Dad reminded her this is the best nursing home in the area. There’s a waiting list to get in and if Mom makes a fuss again, the director will call, threatening to expel Gram. Wouldn’t that be something … Charles and Gram expelled in the same week! Mom backed off and headed for the car.
The rest of us followed. Charles walked behind me, deliberately stepping on the backs of my shoes, pulling them off my feet. I thought about sticking out my foot and tripping him, but I didn’t feel like making a scene. So I moved away and walked closer to Mom. She put her arm around my shoulders and said, “Don’t be sad, honey. Gram’s had a long life. And she’s not suffering. We should all be grateful for that.”
By Monday morning I was seething. And all because of Charles!
So at the bus stop, when Dana Carpenter, a ninth grader who also lives at Palfrey’s Pond, said, “I hear your brother’s back,” I wasn’t exactly thrilled.
“Is he going to the high school next year?” she asked.
“I really don’t know.”
“I hope he does … he’s so cute … and I love his sense of humor.” Dana has been going with Jeremy Dragon since Christmas. They fight a lot and sometimes break up, but they always get back together. So why this sudden interest in my brother?
The bus came along then and I got on with Stephanie and Alison.
“Now I’m really curious,” Alison said, as we took our usual seats. “I’ve got to meet this brother of yours!”
“How can you be so cruel and hateful?” I spoke louder than I’d intended and some kids turned to look at me. So I lowered my voice to a whisper. “You’re supposed to be my friend.”
“I am your friend,” Alison said. “And I think it’s cruel and hateful of you to accuse me of being cruel and hateful, because I’m not!” She looked at Stephanie, who kind of shrugged at her.
“I just don’t think I can take any more of this!” I felt very weak and leaned back against my seat, closing my eyes for a minute.
“Any more of what?” Alison asked.
“I think she’s depressed about her brother,” Stephanie told Alison, as if I couldn’t hear.
“I know that,” Alison said. “I’m not stupid.” She fussed with her bag for a minute. She carries this huge canvas tote stuffed with all kinds of junk. She pulled out a roll of Life Savers and offered one to Steph, then to me. I shook my head. Steph popped one into her mouth.
At the next stop Jeremy Dragon got on the bus. “Hey, Macbeth …” he said as he passed us. Last Halloween the three of us went to his house dressed as the witches from Shakespeare’s play. When Jeremy came to the door, instead of saying trick or treat, we’d recited a poem.
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
And ever since, he’s called us Macbeth. Sometimes it means all three of us—sometimes, like in math class, it’s just me.
When we were moving again, Alison said, “I wonder what my brother’s going to be like?”
“Your brother’s going to be a baby,” Stephanie reminded her.
For some reason that made me laugh. But my laugh came out high-pitched, not at all like my regular laugh.
“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” Steph told me. “I was just making a point.”
“Are you saying that baby brothers aren’t as depressing as older ones?” Alison asked.
“Not all older brothers are depressing,” I said. “Just some.”
Stephanie sighed. “Maybe you should see Mrs. Balaban.”
“The school counselor?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Steph said. “I saw her once … when I found out …” She hesitated for a moment. “When I found out my parents were separating.”
“You went to Mrs. Balaban?” Alison said, as if she couldn’t believe it.
Stephanie nodded.
“So did I!” Alison told her.
“You?” Steph said to Alison, as if she couldn’t believe it. “Why did you go to Mrs. Balaban?”
“Because of the … when I found out about the …”
“Pregnancy?” I guessed.
“Right …. When I found out my mother was pregnant.”
“How come you didn’t say anything about seeing Mrs. Balaban?” Steph asked Alison.
“How come you didn’t?” Alison asked Steph.
“I thought we were talking about my problem,” I said, and they both looked at me.
The next morning Mrs. Balaban sent a note to my homeroom teacher, saying she wanted to see me. I was really angry. How could Alison and Stephanie betray me this way? If I want to see Mrs. Balaban, I will. But that’s my business and nobody else’s. I intended to tell them exactly that at lunch, which is our first and only period together except for gym, which we have twice a week but not today.
I stopped at Mrs. Balaban’s office on my way to the cafeteria. “I’m Rachel Robinson,” I said. “You wanted to see me?”
“Oh, Rachel … yes … I’m very glad to meet you,” she said. “Sit down.”
Mrs. Balaban is young and good-looking. The boys think it’s great to be called to her office. One time she brought her baby, Hilary, to school. The girls oohed and aahed over her, while the boys oohed and aahed over Mrs. Balaban.
“I only have a minute,” I said, standing in front of her desk. “I have to go to lunch.”
“Well, let’s see how fast I can explain this to you.” She poured some sparkling water into a mug decorated with Beatrix Potter rabbits. “Want some?”
“No thanks.”
She took a long drink. When she finished, she burped softly, her hand covering her mouth. “Sorry,” she said. “Have you heard anything about Natural Helpers, Rachel?”
“I’ve heard of Natural Lime Spritzers,” I answered.
She laughed. “This isn’t a drink. It’s a program we’re going to try next fall. It’s called Natural Helpers.”
I felt my face turn hot. That’s the kind of mistake Stephanie would make, not me. And it happened because I was worrying instead of listening.
“It’s a kind of outreach program,” Mrs. Balaban continued. “You know … kids helping other kids.”
I waited to hear what this program had to do with Charles.
Mrs. Balaban took another swig from her cup. “I asked the teachers to recommend a group of mature seventh and eighth graders … people other kids would relate to … and you were one of them.”
“So this doesn’t have anything to do with …” I began.
“With …” Mrs. Balaban repeated, looking at me.
“Never mind. I was confused for a minute. I thought you wanted to see me because …”
“Because …”
I was so relieved this didn’t have anything to do with Charles, I started to laugh.
“What?” she asked, curious.
“Nothing,” I said, trying to keep a straight face.
She twirled her wedding band around on her finger. “Do you think you’d be interested in participating in this kind of program, Rachel?”
When I didn’t respond right away, she said, “Of course I want you to take your time and think about it. Because the training will be fairly intense. And I know you’re already involved in other school activities, not to mention your schoolwork.”
“Schoolwork is no problem,” I said.
She shuffled some papers on her desk. “Straight A’s,” she said, smiling up at me. She must have had my transcript in front of her. “Very impressive. But you know, Rachel, there’s nothing wrong with a B now and then.”
“I prefer A’s,” I said.
She laughed. “Remember, I don’t want you to feel pressured to take this on, unless it’s something you really want to do … okay
?”
“Okay.”
“We’re having an introductory meeting next week, and Rachel …”
“Yes?”
“There’s no rule that says Natural Helpers can’t have their own problems … so if there’s something on your mind that you’d like to talk about …”
“No,” I said, “there’s nothing.”
“But if there ever is …”
“I have to go now,” I told her. “This is my lunch period.”
When I got to the cafeteria, Stephanie and Alison were already eating.
“Where were you?” Steph asked.
“Mrs. Balaban,” I said.
“You actually took my advice?” she asked.
“Not exactly …”
Steph turned to Alison. “I knew she’d never admit she took my advice!”
My life at home is falling apart and Mrs. Balaban wants me to help other kids. What an incredible joke! What makes her think kids would come to me with their problems? I’m not very popular, except right before a test when everyone suddenly needs extra help. And when Steph’s parents were separating, she didn’t even tell me and I’m supposed to be her best friend! We had a huge fight when I found out she’d been lying to me. We didn’t speak for seven weeks. And did Alison come to me when she found out her mother was pregnant? No. She went directly to Stephanie. So, it seems to me Mrs. Balaban doesn’t know much about finding Natural Helpers!
That night I had too many what ifs. I knew I’d never get to sleep if I couldn’t clear my head. So I went down to the kitchen to make myself a cup of herbal tea.
Charles was at the table, stuffing his face with cold mashed potatoes and leftover salmon with a big glob of mayonnaise on top. He’d refused to have dinner with us earlier. The thought of all that mayonnaise at ten o’clock at night was enough to gag me. I looked away and thought about going back upstairs. But then I changed my mind. Just because he’s in the kitchen doesn’t mean I can’t have my tea. I took a few deep breaths and put the kettle on. While I was waiting for the water to boil, I opened the cupboard where we keep the teas and chose Grandma’s Tummy Mint. Burt and Harry were sniffing around the table, begging for salmon.