“Get her before she knocks over the camera!” Cy shouts.
She’s headed right for the tripod, but Gary and I are ready. Gary lunges for his misbehaving pooch just as she runs right under the mounted camera. The entire thing, tripod and all, flies up in the air, and in the most athletic move of my entire life, I fall underneath them and catch the camera in my hands. Okay, it actually hits me in the shoulder, but then I get hold of it with my hands and it’s not broken into a million pieces. I also take a tripod pole to the stomach, but it’s a small price to pay. Gary lands on Buffy, and Cyrus runs over with the leash. Of course, by then Buffy’s lying down in the grass, munching on her bone, her brown spots no longer covered up, baby powder sprinkling the grass behind her.
I look over the camera. “It seems fine,” I say. “That was close, though.”
“Sorry, guys,” Cy says. “She’s hard to pin down when she wants to run.”
“I think we’re going to have to limit Hildegarde’s scenes,” I say. “She’s funny, but she’s dangerous.”
Gary nods and points to my white jeans. “Also, our clothes are grass-stained and we’ve sweated off most of our makeup.”
“We’ll have to bleach our costumes before we can shoot another scene,” I say.
Cy folds up the tripod. “Can we make this movie, or not? Maybe it’s too complicated.”
“It’s definitely harder than I thought it would be,” Gary says. “Buffy’s not much of an actor.”
I stare at them as they brush off their clothes. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how hard it was to make The African Queen?” We’re seeing it tomorrow at the Lincoln, and I’ve been reading up on it. “It rained so much that they couldn’t shoot for days, and there were wild animals and poisonous snakes and scorpions, and the water was so bad that Katharine Hepburn got dysentery, and—”
Gary laughs. “Okay, okay. When you put it that way—”
Cy looks horrified. “I’m never making a movie with you in the jungle, so don’t even ask me,” he says. “It’s one thing to wrestle Buffy, but no movie is worth dealing with snakes and scorpions.”
Gary is tying Buffy’s leash to the leg of the picnic table when we hear Mom’s car pull into the driveway.
“They’re home!” Cy yells, and we take off for the back door. Cyrus and Gary are as excited as I am about Grandma and Mr. Schmitz taking a trip to the county courthouse this afternoon. How often does one of your grandparents get married?
Inside, Mom is already kicking off her heels, while Dad pulls off his tie. Neither of them likes dressing up much. Grandma, who’s keeping all her clothes on, looks really pretty in a flowered pink dress.
“Where’s your new husband?” I ask her.
She doesn’t look the least bit confused by my question. “Hank stopped at the bakery to pick up our cake,” she says. “Wait till you see what we got. Chocolate cake with strawberry icing!” She looks as happy as a little kid at a birthday party.
“I have to change out of these duds,” Mom says. “It’s too hot for anything but shorts.”
I follow her into her bedroom, hoping to talk to her alone for a minute. “Is it okay if Cyrus and Gary stay for dinner?” I ask.
“Sure,” Mom says. “Cy’s parents are coming over too. Dad is grilling chicken, and I made potato salad and deviled eggs this morning. There should be plenty.”
I figured Mom would be okay with adding a few people to the celebration, since she started working again last week. She doesn’t like the job that much, but the hours are flexible and she works from home, which is good if she needs to be with Grandma when Mr. Schmitz is busy. She makes calls for a big roofing company in St. Louis, trying to talk people into getting an estimate on a new roof. Half the time they hang up on her, but she gets paid whether they buy a roof or not.
Mom steps into her closet to take off her dress and pull on shorts. “Did your uncle call while we were gone?” she asks.
“I don’t think so,” I say. “Is he supposed to?”
“We haven’t heard from him in weeks. I emailed him that his mother was getting married today. I assumed he’d call.” I hate that she always sounds so aggravated when she talks about Uncle Walt. Sometimes it seems like she knows a different person than I do.
“He’ll probably call. You just got back,” I say.
Mom laughs as she comes out of the closet. “I should know better than to complain about him to you.”
I sit on her bed and watch her brush her hair. “Did you like Uncle Walt more when you were kids?”
She stops brushing and looks at me. “It was always a complicated thing, Maisie, because of the way Grandma worshipped him. I knew she loved me too, but not in the same way, and I couldn’t help feeling jealous. I did like Walt, though, more than I wanted to. And probably for the same reasons you do. He was smart and funny, and he made me laugh. But, Maisie, adults have to be responsible for more than just having a good time.”
“He’s trying to be more responsible, Mom,” I say quietly.
“I know you think so,” she says. “I hope you’re right.”
She gets down on her knees to look for her flip-flops under the bed.
“Mom? Will you be mad at me if I leave New Aztec when I grow up? If I move to Los Angeles to try to be a filmmaker?”
She leans back on her heels and looks at me. “You know you have to go to college first, right?”
“I know. I want to go to college.”
“You’d better. I put money aside for it every month.”
“You do?”
She nods. “Of course. I want you to have your chance, Maisie. Dad wants that too. Once you finish college, you can decide what you want to do with your life.”
“I think I’ll still want to go to Los Angeles, but I feel like I’ll be a bad person if I leave New Aztec. If I leave you and Dad.” Just saying it makes me tear up a little.
Mom sits next to me on the bed and puts her arm around me. “Leaving New Aztec doesn’t make you good or bad. Neither does staying here. Life is full of choices, Maisie, and all of them have a plus side and a minus side. You have to weigh it all out and then decide. And just because you make a decision doesn’t mean you can’t change your mind later.”
I lean into her side. “Okay.”
She gives me a squeeze. “You don’t have to decide today. You’ve got time.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Now hand me my flip-flops and let’s start celebrating,” she says. “And maybe you should film a little bit tonight. So we’ll have it…later.”
“Really? You want me to?”
She smiles. “Yes, Hitchcock, I really do.”
In the dining room Mr. Schmitz pours champagne for the grown-ups and sparkling cider for us kids. I get some footage of everybody toasting Grandma and Mr. Schmitz. Dad gets a little weepy and says, “May it last forever!” and then Mom kisses him, which I also get on film, more or less accidentally. I pan over to the table with the cake box.
“Can I see the cake, Mr. Schmitz?” I ask. “I want to get a shot of it before it gets cut.”
He gives me a long look. “Yes, you can, but I think you should stop calling me Mr. Schmitz.”
Does he want me to call him Grandpa now? I’m not sure I can do that.
“Call me Hank. That’s what my friends call me,” he says.
“Am I your friend now?” I’ve never had a friend as old as Mr….Hank.
“I’m afraid you are, Maisie. Whether you like it or not.”
I decide I like it. I put down the camera in order to sneak a fingerful of pink icing from the side of the cake, even though we haven’t had dinner yet. Hank doesn’t say a word.
Dad is getting out the chicken to put on the grill when the phone rings. I run to get it.
“Hey, Hitchcock!” Uncle Walt sings out my name.
“It’s Uncle Walt!” I yell, and the people who’ve wandered out to the kitchen come back into the dining room.
“Is everybody there??
?? he asks. “Your parents and Grandma and all?”
“Yeah, we’re all here. Hank too. And Cyrus and Gary.”
“Put me on speakerphone. I’ve got news!”
I hit the button and put the phone on the table. “Okay, we’re all listening,” I say.
“Hey, everybody!” The phone vibrates a little on the table, as if it’s excited too.
Most of us say hi back, but Grandma looks around, confused. “Walter? Where are you?”
“He’s on the phone, Ma,” Mom tells her. “There, on the table.”
“Ma!” Uncle Walt yells. “Did you take the plunge? Are you married?”
Grandma’s face turns as pink as her dress. “I’m a bride for the second time!” she says. Hank moves in next to her, and she loops her arm around his waist.
“Congratulations to you both,” Uncle Walt says. “Hank, you finally landed her.”
“It was worth the wait,” Hank says.
Is there a word that means glad and sad at the same time? That’s the way I feel when I see how Hank looks at Grandma. I loved my grandpa, but I almost wish Grandma had married Hank fifty years ago, so he didn’t have to spend most of his life being such an unhappy grouch.
“You said you had news,” I remind Uncle Walt.
“Yes, I do. It’s not exactly the news I was hoping to be able to tell you, but it’s not bad. I didn’t get the part I wanted in that TV pilot, but—”
I cut him off. “What? How come? That’s not fair! You would have been perfect!”
He laughs. “I wish everybody had as much confidence in me as you do, Hitch. But listen, I got a different part. It’s not as big, but it’s okay. At this point it’s more of a recurring role, but if I do a good job, I could become a regular. And if the show is a hit—”
“The pilot has to get picked up first, doesn’t it?” Mom asks.
“Of course. And that’s not a done deal, but it’s looking good. We started filming the pilot this week, and there’s been a lot of interest in it. I wish I could tell you I had the lead, but hey, it’s a job, and I’m glad to have it.”
I know he wanted this show to be his big break. So did I. Even though he’s saying this is good news, I can hear the disappointment underneath the cheerfulness.
“I know they’ll make you a regular cast member, Uncle Walt,” I say, “once they see how great you are.”
“We’ll see, kiddo. Keep your fingers crossed.”
Grandma puts her face down near the phone. “What does it mean, honey?” she asks. “Are you coming home soon?”
“Well, no, Ma, I won’t be home for a while. I’m not sure when the next time will be.”
“I’m happy for you, sweetheart,” Grandma says. “I miss you, but I’m happy for you.”
“Me too,” Mom says finally. “I’m sorry it wasn’t the part you wanted, but we’ll hope for the best.”
“Thanks, Cindy,” Uncle Walt says. “You know, I wanted to be able to tell you I was finally getting a big paycheck. I was hoping I could send money so you could go back to school, to finish your music degree. I still want to do that. I hope someday I’ll be able to.”
Mom opens her mouth, but no words come out.
“Cin? Are you there?”
“She’s here,” Dad says, putting an arm around Mom’s shoulders. “She just can’t talk.”
Finally Mom sputters to life. “Walter, that’s very nice of you, but you don’t need to—”
“I do need to. I want to. And I promise you I’m not going to forget about it. I want you to have your big break too.”
Mom’s chin starts to quiver and a tear runs down her cheek, but I’m pretty sure that this time it’s happy crying.
“And the other thing I’ve been thinking is I want to get Maisie out here, to show her around LA. I should be able to come up with the plane fare by next summer. What do you think, Hitch? A week or two in LA, just you and me, taking in the sights.”
“Really? Yes, yes!” I can’t believe it. Me, in LA!
“We’ll go to some studios. I’ll get us onto a set. My apartment is small, but you wouldn’t mind a sleeping bag on the floor, would you?”
“Are you kidding? I’ll sleep outside in a tent if I have to!”
I’m jumping up and down and high-fiving Cyrus and Gary, but Mom manages to stop crying long enough to put a damper on my excitement. “Let’s not make too many plans too far ahead. We’ll see what next summer brings.”
The phone gets quiet for a minute, and then Uncle Walt says, “Cindy, let Maisie come. I want to show her it’s worth it to follow her dreams.”
“Is it, Walter?” Mom says, but she says it quietly, as if she’s really asking.
“I think it is, Cin.”
Mom doesn’t say anything else, but she nods.
Grandma bends near the phone again. “Walter, have you met Hank? You’d really like him.”
“I did meet Hank, Ma. Remember? When I was in New Aztec.”
“Now when was that, sweetheart?”
Hank interrupts her. “Walt, we sure wish you were here to eat some of this pink cake with us!”
“And drink the champagne too,” Grandma says.
“I’ll drink champagne here and raise a glass to the two of you,” Uncle Walt says.
“We’ll drink a toast to you too, Walter,” Mom says quietly. “A toast to following your dreams.”
Dinner is exceptionally tasty, although we’re all in such a good mood that we probably wouldn’t care if the chicken was burned to cinders and the potato salad was moldy. Cy and Gary stay late, and we talk about how much fun I’m going to have in Los Angeles with Uncle Walt next summer. I wish they could come too, but they’re being good sports about it, which doesn’t surprise me. They’re the two best friends a girl could have.
So, I guess this is the end for now, or at least it’s a good stopping point. It might not be a perfect ending, but it’s a pretty happy one. Anyway, it’s as good as in Pretty in Pink, when Duckie doesn’t end up with Andie but you just know he’s not giving up on her that easily. Everybody deserves at least one happy ending. Grandma and Hank got one. And I think there are a few more out there for the rest of us.
THE END (FOR NOW)
(in the order they appear in the text)
The Martian (2015)
Inside Out (2015)
Casablanca (1942)
Frozen (2013)
Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969)
Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975)
Pirates of the Caribbean (2006)
Blade Runner (1982)
The Perks of Being a Wallflower (2012)
The NeverEnding Story (1984)
The Matrix (1999)
Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015)
The Princess Bride (1987)
The King and I (1956)
South Pacific (1958)
Roman Holiday (1953)
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1958)
2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
The Godfather (1972)
Back to the Future (1985)
The Breakfast Club (1985)
Adam’s Rib (1949)
His Girl Friday (1940)
The Jerk (1979)
Edward Scissorhands (1990)
Psycho (1960)
The Birds (1963)
Vertigo (1958)
Napoleon Dynamite (2004)
Harold and Maude (1971)
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (1986)
Harvey (1950)
The Sound of Music (1965)
Groundhog Day (1993)
To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)
Dirty Dancing (1987)
Dracula (1931)
Moonstruck (1987)
Doctor Zhivago (1965)
Lady and the Tramp (1955)
Mrs. Doubtfire (1993)
Dead Poets Society (1989)
The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)
East of Eden (1955)
E.T. (1982)
The Birdcage (1996)
The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (1994)
Philadelphia (1993)
Brokeback Mountain (2005)
Toy Story 3 (2010)
Rebel Without a Cause (1955)
Bringing Up Baby (1938)
Sixteen Candles (1984)
Tootsie (1982)
A League of Their Own (1992)
Frankenstein (1931)
Big (1988)
Rear Window (1954)
The African Queen (1951)
Pretty in Pink (1986)
When I was a kid, my uncle Walt was always on the road, playing his trombone with big bands in Chicago, New York, and Los Angeles, where he finally settled. Once or twice a year, he’d fly home to small-town Illinois—the only person we knew who’d actually been on an airplane—and my grandmother and I would rejoice. For my mother, her brother’s arrival was less of a celebration. She was the one who shouldered the responsibility of their increasingly needy parents while Walt was off following his dreams.
I see now that Walt wasn’t perfect, but at the time I idolized and adored him. His life was so large and so exciting, and when he was around, that excitement infected me. He was the only person I knew who had chosen a life in the arts, and I believe, without a doubt, that he is the reason I had the audacity to think I could do the same. This book is for him. Every kid needs an Uncle Walt to inspire them; for those who don’t have one, please feel free to borrow Maisie’s.
My writer-friends in two critique groups have been with me through success and struggle. Thank you always: Pat Lowery Collins, Liza Ketchum, Nancy Werlin, Lisa Papademetriou, Jane Yolen, Patricia MacLachlan, Lesléa Newman, Ann Turner, Barbara Diamond Goldin, and Corinne Demas. I also depend on the advice and support of Elise Broach, Chris Tebbetts, Heather Knight Richard, Jeannine Atkins, Jo Knowles, and Cindy Faughnan.
Two very different organizations have supported me over the years, one financially, both emotionally. The Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown, Massachusetts, has been home and family to me for more than forty years. I may well have given up on my dreams had I not washed up on their shore so long ago. And Kindling Words, the writing retreat for children’s book authors and illustrators, has been a lifeline for me for thirty years. The Fine Arts Work Center and Kindling Words laid the foundation on which I built a writing career.