“Moo goo gai pan.” Mom giggled. “We can go to a place called The Imperial Palace. It’s in the heart of Chinatown.”
“Okay,” I said. “Sounds good to me.”
“I don’t feel like it,” Jeff said, flopping on the bed. “We’ve been running around all day and I’m tired. Let’s just stay at the hotel and order room service.”
We all stared at Jeff for several moments before anyone spoke. Finally Mom asked, “Jeff? Are you really that tired?”
“I’m beat,” Jeff murmured. “Please, Mom? Let’s just stay here.”
Mom pursed her lips and turned to Richard, who looked awfully tense. I could see a small muscle twitching in his jaw.
“Richard,” Mom said. “I’m sorry. I better stay with Jeff. You take the girls and have fun.”
I would much rather have gone to Chinatown, but I felt I should stay with Mom. So I said, “I guess I’m a little tired, too. I’ll just stay here.”
After Richard and Mary Anne left, Jeff got the room service menu that stood on the dressing table and made a big show of making up his mind about what to order.
“I think I’ll have the shrimp cocktail,” he said, putting on a British accent. “A small dinner salad. A large soup. A twice baked potato and broccoli florets.” Then he turned to me and said, “That’s just the appetizer. Now for the main course …”
I hit him with a nearby pillow and he retaliated by swatting at me with the menu. As we were goofing around I caught sight of Mom’s reflection in the mirror. She was sitting on the edge of the other bed staring straight ahead, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She looked as if she were about to cry. I felt terrible.
Mom and Richard had woken up early, eaten breakfast together, and talked. When Jeff and Mary Anne and I woke up, they called us into their room.
“We have an announcement to make,” Richard said in his most formal voice. He paused dramatically. “We’re not going to take it anymore.”
“What’s it?” Jeff asked, knowing full well what Richard was talking about.
“It,” Mom said, giving Jeff a steely stare, “is all of the bickering and whining and pouting that has been going on. As of right now, that has to change. Dawn and Mary Anne, I want you two to make up. Jeff, I want you to stop acting like a spoiled brat.”
“But —” Jeff started to protest.
“No buts about it.” Richard cut him off. “You will start behaving in a civilized manner and that’s all there is to it.”
Mom and Richard were standing side by side with their hands on their hips. They looked like drill sergeants. “Is that message clear?” Mom asked.
“Yes,” we muttered. I didn’t have to look at Mary Anne to know she was probably about to cry. She hates being yelled at. I guess everyone does.
“Now.” Mom let her arms drop to her sides. “Richard and I have decided that we will spend this last day in Boston together. The three of you said you wanted to see Boston Common and the Public Garden, so that is what we are going to do. But first Richard and I would like to visit the John Hancock Observatory.”
After visiting the John Hancock Tower, we strolled up Columbus Avenue to Boston Common. It reminded me a lot of Central Park in New York. It’s this huge park area with statues, memorials, and fountains. I saw a bandstand and lots of big old trees and grassy areas for playing Frisbee in.
“Hey, look at that guy,” Jeff said, pointing at a man who was wearing a drum, a harmonica, and cymbals.
“He’s a one-man band,” Richard explained. “Let’s give him a dollar and see if he’ll play us a tune.”
“How about ‘The Happy Wanderer’?” Jeff asked. I think he was joking, but no one laughed. We were still feeling a little tense.
We listened to the one-man band play “Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight” (the only song the man knew), and then we visited Frog Pond, which was the site of the first water pumped into the city. But no way would I ever drink it. It was brown and covered in a green slime.
The Public Garden was much more fun.
“Oh, look,” Mary Anne cried as we neared the Beacon Street entrance. “It’s the ducklings from Make Way for Ducklings. Aren’t they adorable?”
Mary Anne was talking about the eight bronze ducks from the classic children’s story. The book is about the Mallard family and their search for a home through the streets of Boston. Jeff had never heard of it. “It’s just a bunch of dumb ducks,” he commented as we entered the garden.
“Jeff!” Mom said, warningly under her breath. “You be nice.”
“I want to ride the Swan Boats,” Mary Anne said, skipping ahead of us to the pond that sits in the center of the garden.
We followed a tulip-lined path to the water’s edge just as one of the boats came into view. It was an old-fashioned flat boat with benches on it. In the back, the captain sat behind a beautiful white swan, pedaling the boat like a bicycle.
“It’s adorable!” I cried. “Please, Mom! Can we ride it?”
Jeff didn’t want to ride, but our parents insisted. He sat sulking on one bench with Mom and Richard while Mary Anne and I sat behind him, smiling stiffly at each other and at the scenery. If we’d been in better moods, it could have been a lot of fun. Mary Anne and I would have been “oohing” and “ahhing” as the captain pedaled us around the pond, under huge weeping willows, and past a beautiful Victorian footbridge.
We bought lunch from a corner deli and ate it on benches near the park. When we’d finished, Richard said, “Well, kids, it’s two o’clock. What do you say we get an early start on the trip home?”
Normally, I would have begged to stay longer, but I didn’t say a word. Neither did Mary Anne or Jeff. We walked back to the hotel, climbed in the car, and instantly got into a fight.
“Dawn, move!” Jeff said, tugging on my arm. “I get the window.”
“No, you don’t,” I said, yanking my arm out of his grasp. “You got the window coming here. I get it going back.”
Jeff glared at Mary Anne. “Take her window. She can sit in the middle.”
I threw my hands up in frustration. “Jeff, don’t be a jerk!”
Mary Anne, who had been watching us coolly from her side of the seat, said, “I’ll sit in the middle if it means that much to you two.”
That made me angry. Mary Anne was acting as if I was being as childish as Jeff. I wasn’t.
“No,” I shot back. “He’s my brother. I’ll sit in the middle.”
I started to move but Jeff grumbled. “Forget it. Just forget it.”
Richard, who had been listening to us argue, looked in the rearview mirror and asked, “Are you three quite finished?”
“Yes,” I said, slumping down with my head against the window.
“Yes,” Mary Anne said, slumping against her window.
“I’m finished,” Jeff snapped. “With everything. I want to go back to California tonight.”
Mom looked at Richard and sighed. Then she turned around and said, “I’m sorry you feel that way, Jeff, but your plane ticket is for Sunday and that’s when you’ll leave.”
“Maybe we can change it.”
“We cannot. Besides, you have to be in the family portrait tomorrow morning.”
Suddenly Jeff was all arms and legs. He climbed over our seat and hurled himself into the back of the car. There was barely enough room for him with the luggage and the cooler, but he managed to squeeze himself into a tiny space between two suitcases. That’s where he stayed for the entire trip. He didn’t talk. He didn’t sleep. He just sat there glaring at the rest of us.
“There it is!” Mom cried as we crested the hill by Stoneybrook. “Kids, we’re home.”
“Thank goodness,” I murmured. Our horrible vacation was over. I looked at Mary Anne. Now if only we could end our family feud.
While Mary Anne and I were in Boston (not speaking to each other and having a terrible time), our BSC associate member, Shannon Kilbourne, filled in for us. It’s a good thing, too, because I know Cl
audia would not have been able to handle the battle at the Barretts’ alone.
After the call from Mrs. Barrett at the BSC meeting on Friday, Claud and Shannon made sure they read every entry in the club notebook. Then they put their heads together and came up with a plan to end the fighting between the Barretts and the DeWitts. They put it into action the second Franklin and Mrs. Barrett left.
“All right, guys,” Claudia said. “It’s a beautiful day. Let’s go outside.”
Shannon held the door while the seven kids raced onto the front lawn. Not more than two minutes passed before the arguing started.
“Let’s play a game,” Claudia suggested.
Buddy, who was wearing his cowboy hat, said, “Okay. Let’s play Wild West.”
Lindsey wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like that game, whatever it is. I want to play hopscotch.”
“I hate hopscotch,” Suzi snapped. “I’m not playing it.”
“Well, I’m not playing Wild West with you,” Taylor said.
“Who asked you to?” Buddy shot back. Then he stuck out his tongue.
Claudia and Shannon looked at each other and nodded.
“Buddy, Suzi, and Marnie,” Claudia shouted. “Come with me. We’re going into the backyard.”
“What about us?” Taylor asked, confused.
“You’re staying with me,” Shannon replied.
“Good.” Claudia pretended to be on the Barretts’ side. “We’ll play by ourselves.”
The Barrett kids turned up their noses at the DeWitts and followed Claudia around the side of the house. When they reached the backyard, Claud said, “Okay, you guys. How about a game of Red Light, Green Light?”
“Okay,” Suzi said. “You be it.”
Claud stood at one end of the yard with her back turned and Buddy, Suzi, and Marnie lined up at the other.
“Green light,” Claud said.
The three kids raced forward. (Buddy took Marnie’s hand, since she’s too little to understand the game.)
“Red light.” Claud spun around and said, “I saw Marnie, Buddy, and Suzi.”
“But that’s all of us,” Buddy protested.
“I know,” Claud said. “But there are so few of you, it was easy to spot who was moving.”
Suzi folded her arms across her chest. “Let’s play a different game. How about Mother, May I?”
“All right,” Claud said. “Why don’t you be the mother?”
Mother, May I? lasted about five minutes before the kids grew bored.
“These games would be a lot more fun if we had more people,” Buddy said, slumping down on the grass.
Claud sat next to him. “I know where we could find more people.”
“Where?” Suzi asked.
“In the front yard with Shannon. The DeWitt kids.”
Buddy leapt to his feet. “Let’s go get them.”
Claud shook her head sadly. “You always fight with Lindsey and the others. No, I think we better just play by ourselves.”
“Please?” Suzi said, jumping up and down. “Couldn’t we call them?”
“I don’t know,” Claud said slowly.
“We won’t fight.” Buddy held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“Pretty please,” Suzi added. “With a cherry on top?”
Claud nearly burst out laughing, but she bit her lip and kept a very serious face. “Well, if you think you can get along …”
“We can! We can!” Buddy and Suzi cried.
“Then we’ll give it a try.”
In the front yard, Shannon was having the same discussion with the DeWitt kids. They’d tried playing Red Rover, Red Rover but it didn’t work very well with four children. Then they’d tried A Tisket, A Tasket but that quickly fizzled, too. Soon the DeWitts were begging to play with the Barretts.
Claud and Shannon met at the corner of the house like generals planning a battlefield truce. They spoke in loud voices so the kids could hear them.
“Buddy and the others swear they won’t fight,” Claudia said loudly. “They said they like the DeWitt kids.”
“Well,” Shannon replied, “the DeWitts like the Barretts. They want to invite them to play a game of Red Rover. Would the Barretts be able to play nicely?”
Claud snuck a glance over her shoulder at the three kids huddled behind her. They nodded briskly. “They’ll try,” Claud said to Shannon.
Shannon stuck out her hand. “Let’s shake on it.”
“Yay!” The kids greeted each other like long lost friends.
For the next two hours, they played every outdoor game that Claudia and Shannon knew. And a couple that hadn’t been invented. Finally they collapsed, exhausted, on the grass. Before long, Lindsey began to giggle.
“What is it?” Buddy asked. “What’s the joke?”
“The joke is, I can’t remember why we were fighting,” Lindsey said, continuing to giggle. “Can you?”
Buddy sat up, and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think. “Well, that trip to the petting zoo was kind of a disaster.”
Lindsey nodded. “That’s ’cause our parents wanted us to like each other so much.”
“So everything went wrong,” Taylor added.
“Then Mom started acting weird,” Buddy said.
Suzi agreed. “Not like our real mom at all.”
“Like some TV mom,” Buddy said. “Trying to cook and clean and be perfect.”
“Dad’s been weird, too,” Taylor said. “Really tense.”
Lindsey flopped back on the grass. “I think we should tell our parents to cool it.”
“Yeah,” Buddy said, sitting down beside Lindsey. “They should just relax and be themselves.”
Claud and Shannon hoped the kids didn’t notice, but they were both beaming. They’d helped put an end to the battle of the DeWitts vs. the Barretts. And they’d learned a lesson. As Shannon put it: “People shouldn’t try to be something they aren’t. It just messes things up.”
When Franklin and Mrs. Barrett pulled into the driveway half an hour later, they were greeted by seven grim faces.
“Oh, no,” Mrs. Barrett muttered as she leapt out of the car and hurried to the children. “Kids? Is anything the matter?”
“Yes!” they shouted.
“Okay,” Franklin said with a resigned sigh. “What is it?”
“We’re hungry,” Buddy said with a huge grin. Then to Franklin and Mrs. Barrett’s surprise, he draped one arm over Lindsey’s shoulder and asked, “What’s for dinner?”
Franklin and Mrs. Barrett turned to each other, amazed. But before they could say a single word, they were surrounded by seven happy, giggling kids.
Ding-dong!
At eleven on the dot on Sunday morning, the photographer arrived at our house. Jeff was sitting in the living room wearing his torn jeans, striped T-shirt (with a jam stain on the sleeve), and his baseball cap. I was in the kitchen, dressed in a jean skirt, red cotton T-shirt, and blue chamois shirt knotted at the waist. (After the terrible four days I had just spent with Mary Anne, I wasn’t about to wear any outfit that matched hers.)
“Oh, my goodness!” Mom cried from upstairs. “Marshall Gaines is here. Kids! Kids, where are you?”
“Jeff and I are downstairs,” I shouted back.
“I’m glad you’re ready,” Mom said as she hurried down the stairs. She was wearing her blue silk dress that shows off her eyes, and her pearl earrings and necklace. “These photographers charge by the hour. One minute over and it can get very pricey. AAAAAAUGH!”
Mom’s scream was loud enough to bring Richard to the top of the stairs. “What’s the matter, Sharon?” he called. “Are you all right?”
“The kids.” She pointed at Jeff and me. “They’re not dressed. The photographer is here and they’re not —”
“We’re dressed,” I said calmly. “We just decided to go casual.”
“Up the stairs!” Mom ordered. “Both of you. Into your good clothes. Now.”
Mom rarely gets angry, but when
she does, her face turns bright red. Today, it looked like a tomato. That’s why Jeff and I did exactly what she told us to do.
Ding-dong!
“Isn’t anyone going to answer the door?” Mom asked in exasperation.
“I thought you answered it,” Richard snapped as he hurried down the stairs. The strain of the past week was showing on his face. “What’s going on around here?”
Mary Anne passed Jeff and me on the stairs. She was wearing an old pair of jeans and a sweat shirt.
“Should we tell Mary Anne how mad Mom’s going to be when she sees her outfit?” Jeff whispered.
I shook my head. “No, let her find out herself.”
Jeff and I waited to see what would happen. We didn’t have to wait long before we heard shouting. This time it was coming from Mom and Richard. A very red-faced Mary Anne hurried back up the stairs.
“Something wrong, Mary Anne?” I asked sweetly.
She answered me by slamming her bedroom door in my face. Jeff and I smiled at each other.
“You kids have five minutes to change and get back down here!” Mom shouted from below. Jeff and I raced to our rooms.
I decided to wear the outfit Mary Anne and I had chosen the week before. It was hanging on the closet door and I’d already picked out my jewelry and shoes. Jeff had brought only one nice outfit to Connecticut. A pair of tan slacks and a sweater.
When we reappeared downstairs we walked headlong into an argument between Mom and Richard, and the photographer.
“I think the portrait should be taken in the yard,” Marshall Gaines was saying. “That big tree provides the perfect backdrop.”
“I really want to pose on the front porch,” Mom said stubbornly. “I’ve always wanted the front porch.”
“Why does it have to be outside?” Richard cut in. “Why can’t we have a formal photo in the living room in front of the fireplace?”
“Oh, Richard.” Mom rolled her eyes. “That’s so dull.”
“Dull? Dull?” Richard sputtered. “I say it’s elegant. Much better than a family of hillbillies on the porch.”
“Hillbillies?” Mom repeated huffily. “Now that’s a nice thing to say!”