Staying Together

  The park was crowded, with people coming and going — carloads of them. Ruby scanned the people, and while she waited, she decided to come up with a spy name for herself. After a while, she settled on Madame Plush.

  Madame Plush stood, shifting from one foot to the other, and holding her nose. At 12:45, she saw a familiar car pull into the parking lot, and she jerked to attention. At the last moment, she remembered that she had stuck a pair of sunglasses in her pocket, and she put them on along with a purple baseball cap that was hanging off one of the belt loops on her jeans.

  Holding as still as she was able, she trained her eyes on the car. Aunt Allie stepped out of the driver’s seat, Mr. Barnes stepped out of the passenger’s seat, Aunt Allie lifted Janie from her seat in the back, and Mr. Barnes began to unload items from the trunk. A cooler, another cooler, two lawn chairs, Janie’s stroller, a blanket, Janie’s diaper bag …

  “What on earth?” murmured Madame Plush, before she remembered that Min was always saying that babies don’t travel light.

  No kidding, thought Madame Plush.

  It took quite a while, but finally Aunt Allie and Mr. Barnes managed to gather up Janie and all the other stuff and struggle along the path and through the entrance. They kept dropping things and laughing, and of course it was almost impossible to push the stroller over gravel, which only made them laugh harder.

  “Huh,” said Madame Plush, thinking that she would not have been so cheerful about the situation.

  A few moments later, the messy caravan passed several yards from Madame Plush’s hiding place and continued to the banks of Tyler Creek, which ran through the park from the north end to the south.

  “This looks like a good spot, doesn’t it?” said Aunt Allie, surveying the picnickers and waders and Frisbee players and stopping a little distance from a group of kids Ruby’s age who were clearly at a birthday party.

  “Perfect,” replied Mr. Barnes, and he stopped mid stride and unburdened himself of the chairs, the cooler, and the diaper bag.

  Before long, their camp was set up, the chairs arranged side by side in front of the blanket, which Allie and Mr. Barnes had spread out carefully, each holding an end and laughing (again) when the wind tossed it into the air before they could anchor the corners with the coolers and some of Janie’s many necessary articles.

  At first, Allie, Mr. Barnes, and Janie all sat on the blanket. Allie pulled packages out of the cooler, and Janie played with a spoon and some plastic cups.

  “Boring,” said Madame Plush aloud, until she realized that Allie and Mr. Barnes were talking — and she couldn’t make out a word they were saying.

  She edged closer to them, but now she was completely out in the open. If Aunt Allie so much as looked over her shoulder, she would see Ruby standing there plain as day. Ruby eyed the birthday party. Most of the kids were running back and forth between the creek and a large picnic table laden with food. Several were wading; some were walking barefoot along the banks, looking for tadpoles in the water; some were sitting at the table, eating hot dogs; and three were crowded in the shade of a tree, making friendship bracelets. Ruby noticed only four adults, and they were standing in a group, talking earnestly.

  She stepped carefully around the girls who were making the bracelets and crept to the banks of the creek. She smiled at another group of kids, then sat down a little apart from them. No one said a word. And Madame Plush, her sunglasses and cap in place, could now hear every word spoken by Allie and Mr. Barnes.

  “I’m just a kid at a party,” said Ruby to herself. She fiddled with the Velcro on her sneakers, pretended to be fascinated by whatever might be swimming around in Tyler Creek, and listened to the conversation behind her.

  “I applied to about a million adoption agencies,” Allie was saying to Mr. Barnes. “Paul and I had already applied to adopt a baby from China, and after he left, I investigated other agencies, too.”

  Uh-oh, thought Madame Plush. It was probably better not to mention past boyfriends when on a date with a new boyfriend.

  She strained to hear whatever uncomfortable reply Mr. Barnes might make, but all he said was, “Paul doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

  Madame Plush didn’t know if he was referring to Janie or Aunt Allie. She risked a quick peek over her shoulder. Allie was smiling broadly at Mr. Barnes and … holding his hand.

  Ruby’s eyes widened. She lost her balance and almost fell in the stream. She grabbed a fistful of tall grass, pulled herself upright, and risked another glance at her aunt. Now Allie was not only holding Mr. Barnes’s hand but stroking it.

  Ew, thought Madame Plush. Still, this was a good sign. A very good sign. She breathed deeply until her heartbeat had returned to normal. Then she slipped several feet back from the bank of the creek and listened again.

  “Are you hungry?” Aunt Allie was saying.

  “Starving.”

  “You watch Janie, then, and I’ll get the food ready.”

  The next time Ruby risked a peek over her shoulder she saw Mr. Barnes cradling a dozing Janie in his arms. “Is she always this good?” he was asking.

  Aunt Allie laughed. “Usually. But on the days when she’s not in a good mood, she’s …”

  “Horrid,” said Allie and Mr. Barnes at the same time, and then they laughed so hard that Ruby wondered what she had missed.

  But she didn’t care. Madame Plush had unearthed a wonderful secret. Her aunt and Mr. Barnes were becoming more than friends.

  Later, as the afternoon grew cool, the birthday party wound down, and Mr. Barnes and Allie loaded up the car. Then they returned to the bank of the creek, where they stood for a few moments, Mr. Barnes holding Janie in one arm, his other arm around Aunt Allie’s shoulder.

  Madame Plush smiled to herself and walked nonchalantly out of the park with the rest of the party guests.

  Ruby knew she was in trouble that night when Flora appeared in her bedroom doorway and just stood there, hand on hip.

  “What,” said Ruby. She was studying her music for the Children’s Chorus performance, which would take place on Monday.

  “Time’s up,” Flora announced.

  Ruby looked at her in alarm. “This second?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I —” Ruby began to say, panicking. But then she frowned. She grabbed a calendar from her desk and began counting squares. “Cheater!” she finally announced, feeling triumphant rather than annoyed. “I knew I had until next week. You said you would give me two weeks, and that was on a Wednesday, and this is Saturday, which is only ten days later. Anyway,” Ruby went on, inspired, “I’m going to tell Min on Monday. I planned it so that I would beat your deadline.”

  This was not true in the least. (Ruby had planned to tell Min on Monday but not in order to beat the deadline.) She looked meaningfully at Flora anyway. She hoped her sister wouldn’t ask her why she had settled on Monday, and she didn’t. Flora simply muttered, “Huh,” and marched across the hall into her own bedroom.

  Ruby sank onto her chair and considered her plan, which was this: to wait until the Children’s Chorus performance was over and then tell Min about the owl. Surely, thought Ruby, everyone would rush to her after the concert and congratulate her on her solo. They might even say, “Ruby, we haven’t heard your lovely voice in so long!” and, “My land, your voice is even more mature now than it was the last time we heard you.” Maybe someone would add, “I think you’re about ready for Broadway, Ruby.”

  If this happened on Monday night, surely Min wouldn’t be upset about something as trifling as the replacement (replacement) of a broken thing that Min hadn’t looked at in months. Ruby would say, “Min, I broke your owl, but I got you another one,” and Min would wave off the confession and reply, “Broadway, Ruby. Someone said you’re ready for Broadway!”

  Ruby wondered if perhaps she could figure out a way for that someone to be Ms. Angelo, the director of the chorus. She hopped out of her chair and grabbed her music again. If there were to be any
mention of Broadway, she needed to be at her very best on Monday night.

  The evening of the Children’s Chorus performance was fine and clear and warm.

  “Can we walk to the community center?” Ruby asked Min as they were finishing an early dinner.

  Min smiled but shook her head. “It’s a lovely night, Ruby, but it’ll be dark by the time the performance is over. And tomorrow is a school day. Are you ready? We should leave in about ten minutes.”

  “I’m ready.” Ruby paused. “I mean, I’m really ready. I’m ready to go, and I’m all prepared for my solo. No mistakes this time.”

  Min smiled. “Good for you.”

  “I hope the concert raises lots of money for the community center,” Flora spoke up.

  Ruby had almost forgotten that the performance was a benefit for the community center. She tried to put thoughts of Broadway and owls out of her mind. “Yeah, I hope we’re sold out tonight,” she said hastily.

  Later, as Ruby and the other members of the Children’s Chorus gathered in a room near the back door of the center to get ready for the show, Ruby watched the audience arrive. She recalled other performances, the great hall decorated for holidays. Tonight there were no decorations, but the hall, which she had peeked into when she and Min and Flora and Mr. Pennington had arrived, was lit in such a way that the room glowed.

  “May I have your attention, please?” Ms. Angelo said to the choir members, clapping her hands. “I’m happy to tell you that we just sold the last ticket for the show, and people are still outside. They’re offering to pay for standing-room-only tickets.”

  Standing room only! SRO. A sold-out performance. This was more than Ruby could have hoped for.

  “Quiet now,” said Ms. Angelo. “We’re on in ten minutes. You need to settle down and start lining up for your entrance.”

  Later, years later, even, when Ruby remembered this particular evening at the community center, she recalled the faces of her family and her Row House neighbors in the audience, and the smile Ms. Angelo flashed to the chorus members at the end of the performance, and of course the round of applause that followed her solo. The applause went on for so long that Ms. Angelo had to put an end to it. Ruby couldn’t stop grinning.

  However, to her dismay, when the concert was over, not a single person (and certainly not Ms. Angelo) mentioned Broadway. All Ruby heard were comments about how much money had been raised and how the community center might be saved after all, blah, blah, blah. In the car on the way home, Min did say, “Ruby, you did a terrific job. I’m mighty proud of you.” But again, no mention of Broadway.

  Mr. Pennington had no sooner called good night to Min, Flora, and Ruby and was walking to his front door when Flora poked her sister and said, “Are you going to tell her now?”

  Ruby climbed out of the car. “I have until Wednesday, you know.” But even as she said the words she knew that Wednesday would be no better than tonight.

  “So you’re going to wait after all?” asked Flora.

  “No,” Ruby answered crossly. “I’m going to do it now.”

  And she did.

  The moment they were inside and Min was locking the door behind them, Ruby said, “Min? Can I talk to you?”

  “Sure, honey.”

  “We should probably go sit down.”

  Min glanced at her granddaughter. “This sounds serious.”

  “I guess it is.”

  Min sat on the couch in the living room, and Ruby sat opposite her in an armchair, King Comma in her lap for comfort. Ruby knew that Flora was lurking somewhere nearby but decided not to do anything about it.

  “Well?” said Min when Ruby had sat mutely in front of her for nearly a minute. She offered Ruby a smile.

  “It’s sort of a long story,” Ruby began.

  “I hope it isn’t too long. This is a school night,” Min reminded her.

  “Okay. Well, the thing is … one day I was looking through your drawers —”

  “Excuse me?” said Min. “You were snooping in my drawers?”

  Ruby rushed on, even though she thought she heard a snort from the direction of the dining room. “No, not snooping. Not technically. I was bored, so I was looking around, um, in your bedroom, and I found the box with Mom’s things in it and I just wanted to see them. I saw that glass owl and I took it out and then I dropped it and it broke.”

  Min was frowning now. Ruby had intended to barge ahead with the story, but she stopped to apologize. “I’m really sorry. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to break anything.”

  “Ruby —” Min started to say, a warning in her voice.

  “And you won’t believe all the good things that happened just because I broke the owl. But before I get to that part of the story, I have something to show you.” Ruby didn’t risk waiting for a response. She flew from the room, ran upstairs, and returned carrying the cardboard box from Min’s desk. She pulled the rubber band off, lifted the lid, and placed the box on the couch next to her grandmother.

  Min glanced in the box. Then she took a closer look. She lifted the owl out. “I thought you said you broke it.”

  Ruby realized that Flora was now standing in the doorway between the living room and the dining room, and she flashed her sister a triumphant smile.

  “I did. But I worked and worked and worked and saved all my money and bought you another owl. See? You didn’t notice any difference.”

  Min was turning the owl over in her hands. “It isn’t the same owl,” she finally murmured.

  “I wasn’t going to tell you, but Flora said I had to.”

  Ruby wasn’t sure what might happen next, but she didn’t expect to see Min’s eyes suddenly grow bright with tears. She stared, horrified, at her grandmother, whose chin quivered and whose finger shook as she ran it along the smooth glass.

  “Where’s the other owl?” Min asked.

  “The other owl?” Something else Ruby hadn’t expected. “It — it was in pieces so I threw it away. Actually, Flora vacuumed a chunk of it up —”

  “Before I knew what had happened!” exclaimed Flora. She ran into the living room and flung herself down next to Min. “See, Ruby?” she said furiously. “I told you Min would be upset.”

  “Which is exactly why I didn’t want to say anything.”

  “Ruby,” said Min. “I think you need to tell me the whole story, from start to finish. Without any excuses. Just the story.”

  So Ruby told her about the past few months — about the Self-Improvement Plan and the rude man in the jewelry store and her fight with Flora. When she reached the part about the fight, Min said, “Ah. So that explains things.”

  “Anyway,” said Ruby at last, “I’m very, very, very sorry, Min. Very sorry.” She lowered her eyes and then raised them to meet her grandmother’s. “Do you forgive me?”

  “Yes, Ruby, of course I forgive you.”

  “Oh, thank you!”

  “This isn’t the end of the subject, though.”

  “It isn’t? But it’s getting late,” said Ruby, pretending to yawn. (She had perfected fake yawning.)

  “No. You need to understand something.” Min handed the owl back to Ruby. “Thank you very much, but I don’t want to keep this.”

  “You don’t? But I worked so hard for it.”

  “That isn’t the point. Ruby, what you did was wrong.” (To her credit, Flora chose not to smirk at Ruby when Min uttered these words.) “You were snooping, you broke something of mine, and you didn’t tell me about it. I understand that you tried to fix things, but you knew that what you had done was wrong. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have tried to cover it up. And there’s more. The owl — the original one — was very special to me. It wasn’t that it was expensive. It wasn’t even that it was your mother’s. It was what the owl represented. It had been in our family for a long time. It was a gift to me from my parents when I left for college. The owl is a symbol of wisdom, after all. When your mother went away to college, I passed the owl down to her, since she was
the older of my daughters. And your mother was going to give it to Flora when she went to college.

  “Because of all this,” Min continued, “the owl was one of the few things that belonged to your mother that I decided to keep.” Min’s voice wobbled, and Ruby stared down at King Comma. “I think of her every day, you know. There are reminders of her everywhere, especially in your face, Ruby, and in yours, Flora. But sometimes I simply need to go to my room and be alone and hold on to something of hers. That’s why the box is in my desk.”

  For several moments, no one spoke. Ruby listened to King Comma’s rumbly purr. Finally, she said, “I’m sorry,” in a very small voice, and this time she actually meant it.

  “I know you are,” Min replied. “But there are going to be consequences, Ruby. I’ll have to think what they’ll be. We can discuss that subject tomorrow. For now, there’s something else.”

  Ruby nodded, and despite the hour, Min then delivered a very long talk (to both her and Flora, Ruby couldn’t help noticing) about privacy and trust. And then Min surprised Ruby once again. “I’m just wondering,” she said, “if there might have been another reason you took the owl out of the box.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe you thought you wanted to introduce the owl to your china animals, but what you really wanted was to have something else of your mother’s. I know you have a few things — you, too, Flora — but maybe the owl made you think of your mother and you wanted to have another reminder of her.”

  It was Ruby’s turn for a quivering chin, and she found that her throat felt so tight that she couldn’t speak. She merely nodded her head as hot tears began to fall.

  “Come here,” said Min, and Ruby set King Comma aside and flopped onto the couch with her head in Min’s lap. Flora leaned against Min’s shoulder. “You know that you girls can always talk to me about your parents, don’t you?” asked Min.