A Summer of Sundays (2 page)

Then I heard the van doors slide shut and the engine rev up.

My heart raced.

Surely they knew I was here, still in the bathroom. CJ would know he had more elbow room than normal. Someone would notice that I wasn’t there to help Henry if he got carsick again. And Bo, well, he’d never forget me. I washed my hands real quick and didn’t even bother to dry them before I opened the creaky door and burst outside. I stared at the spot where the car had been. But looking down the highway, all I saw was the hot, wavy sun bubbling off the surface of the pavement.

Gulping on gas-fume air, I glanced around the now-empty station trying to convince myself that they’d parked in a different spot.

No.

I’d dealt with a lot as the middle child. Cold showers, my name forgotten or mixed up, and last Christmas I’d gone to the bathroom and missed our family picture (I was added in later), but at least I’d never been left behind.

Until now.

The realization sank like a rock to the bottom of my stomach.

I looked back at the highway. Maybe Mom’s cell phone had service now. I fished in my pockets for two quarters, my hands trembling. But all I pulled out was an old, worn tissue and a single penny.

My heart
thunk, thunk, thunked
inside my chest. This couldn’t really be happening. It was a dream, just like when I woke up on the first day of fifth grade and thought I’d grown a mustache.

I’d wake up any minute and find myself asleep in the van.

Wake up, Sunday. Wake up. Wake up!

I pinched my arm and winced.

The hot sun beating down on the blacktop was real, so was the smell of gasoline.

This wasn’t a dream.

A lump formed in my throat, and tears stung my eyes.

Think, Sunday. Think
.

Glancing through the window at the cashier, I thought about asking if I could use the phone. Surely the old lady squinting down at her magazine would let me.

But I couldn’t. She would ask why I needed to make a call, and then I’d have to tell her, and then maybe she’d call the police or something. Besides, any minute my family would realize what happened and they’d come back. Any minute. Any minute.

But a few minutes turned into fifteen.

They’ll come. They’ll come. They’ll come.

I sat down on a small orange bench outside the gas station, between a wad of slick pink gum and the initials RM + CL = Love. At first I clenched my fists, my fingernails biting into my skin. I imagined what would happen when my family came back full of guilt. My mom would cry and wrap me in a big hug. Maybe my parents would buy me a new book so I didn’t have to borrow one from my sisters. Or maybe they’d let me have two ice cream sandwiches after dinner instead of one, or let me sleep in my own room for a night.

But as the seconds ticktocked past, the anger dissolved into fear. What if they never came back? Why didn’t they realize I was gone? And what if they were glad I was gone? CJ always complained about not having enough room. Emma would have a spot to prop up her feet now that my head wasn’t in the way.

My eyes never left the horizon.

One after another, cars sped down the highway. I held my breath as each one emerged out of the wavy sun, hoping that maybe the next one would be my family. But as each car or truck or van flew past, I struggled to keep tears from sliding down my cheeks.

A whole two hours later our blue van pulled back into the gas station. I tried to hold back my sob of relief.
See, Sunday. They came back. And now they feel awful
.

The door opened and May got out, rushing past me
without a glance. I watched her back until it disappeared behind the scuffed bathroom door. I turned and walked to the van, bracing myself for the apologies and tears.

“I can’t believe we just drove an hour in the wrong direction, Adam,” Mom said. “We’ll barely be able to unpack before it starts getting dark.”

I stared, shocked. Not a single “We are so sorry, Sunday!” Not even a “We rushed back here as fast as we could.”

My dad ran his hands through his hair. It wasn’t the first time that he’d driven in the wrong direction. It was hard to pay attention to road signs when he and Mom were breaking up fights between my brothers or negotiating with my sisters. “I guess we got turned around. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

Mom sighed and leaned her head back.

My heart dropped in my chest. I tried to think of a way to bring up how they’d left me behind and completely forgotten me. Nothing came.

I climbed into the van and took my seat on the worn fabric. CJ knocked me with his elbow. “Move over, Sunday. You’re taking up all the room.”

I pushed him back and scowled. Bo blinked his eyes open, yawned, then lay his head on my shoulder, sinking back into sleep. I looked out the window, the sharp reflection of the sun off the parked cars stinging my eyes. Even Bo had forgotten me?

“Is May still in the bathroom?” Mom asked, her gaze flickering to me in the mirror.

I stared back. “Yeah.”

May dashed back, the smell of watermelon lip gloss following her. Then the door slid shut, my dad shifted the van into first, and we were off.

No one had noticed that I wasn’t there.

For two hours I was completely forgotten. It was as if I didn’t exist. As if I’d become one of the extras in the background of a movie … a nobody.

I didn’t say anything to my parents. I knew they’d feel bad. My mom would probably cry and maybe they
would
buy me a book or something like that. But I didn’t want a book or an ice cream sandwich or anything else to make it all better. I just wanted to be sure that I’d never be forgotten again. Ever.

No more mixed-up name. No more being left behind. No more “one-of-the-six.” I needed to do something so that my family would never forget me.

I looked out the window, blurry green fields rushing past.

Maybe moving to Alma for the summer would be my chance to do something to stand out.

Yes.

After this summer, people would say, “Oh, that’s Sunday Fowler. She’s the one who—” And then they’d say the spectacular thing that I was going to do. Of course, I
didn’t exactly know what that was yet, since there wasn’t anything I was spectacular at, but I’d figure it out.

Maybe I’d deliver newspapers while riding around balanced on top of a unicycle:
SUNDAY FOWLER: UNICYCLE NEWSPAPER GIRL
.

There was supposed to be a lake near the town. I could swim across it all by myself:
ALMOST-TWELVE-YEAR-OLD FIRST TO SWIM ACROSS GIANT LAKE
.

But whatever I did, the town of Alma would never forget Sunday Fowler.

And neither would my family.

“WAKE
up, everyone,” Mom called.

Dad rolled down his window and stuck his arm outside as a warm breeze filtered through the van. “We’re almost there.” In the rearview mirror, I watched his eyes squint into a smile.

Bo, who had been leaning on my shoulder for the last hour, woke up and rubbed his eyes. Though my arm had fallen asleep a while ago, I didn’t have the heart to nudge him awake. He looked up at me and smiled, his eyes still sleepy and a red line creased across his face where he had pressed his cheek against my shirt.

“We’re here,” I told him softly.

Bo was six years younger than me, and ever since he could walk he’d been like my miniature shadow.

“Sunday,” he’d say, climbing up the ladder to my bed every single night. “Will you read me a book?”

I never minded.

I followed his gaze as Dad made a turn onto Main Street. He drove real slow, and for once we were all quiet as we took in our home for the rest of the summer.

“The library is near a park, and our house is right next to it,” Dad said.

The street was lined with small stores, most reminding me of my grandparents—wrinkled and droopy with age but still beautiful in their own ways. The biggest dog I’d ever seen bounded down the sidewalk right in front of a thrift store. His massive feet flipped over a big silver bowl and flung water all over the small old lady who clung to his leash as if her life depended on it. Actually it looked like her life
did
depend on it. He galloped by a few clothing shops, a five-and-dime, a real estate office, and a small restaurant called the Crepe Café. A pretty lady with flowers in her hair flipped over the
CLOSED
sign on the café and started out onto the sidewalk. She passed by a couple walking hand in hand and a group of kids gobbling down ice cream cones.

It was the most perfect town I’d ever seen.

Not like something from
Little Women
or
Anne of Green Gables
, but it was just small enough for a middle-of-the-middle child to be noticed.

Now I just had to figure out how.

Dad made another turn and drove down a street lined with houses on the left and a wide green park on the right.
A man sat on top of a lawn mower, driving through the tall grass like he was on a highway. I didn’t know a lawn mower could move that fast. His stripes zigged and zagged all over the place. He slowed down long enough to tip his hat at our car before he was off again.

CJ put his head out the window to watch. “Cool.”

“You’re sure it will fit all of us?” Mom asked, obviously wondering how in the world we were all going to stuff ourselves into a house that was only as big as the ones we’d passed. They were nice and all, but I could picture the house straining at each joint to keep us crammed inside.

“Yes, Lara, don’t worry. I made sure I saw the inside of the house. It’s perfect for us.”

She sighed.

We turned down a street that bordered the park. A tall, skinny stone building sat at the back with thick chiseled letters above the doors that read
ALMA TOWN LIBRARY
. It didn’t look like it needed too much work, at least not on the outside. There weren’t any flowers in the big flowerpots, the few steps leading up to the doors were dirty, caked with dried, dead leaves, and the windows could use some scrubbing, but all that could be done in a day. I got an ache in my stomach. How long would it take for me to be noticed and recognized? I figured I needed the whole rest of the summer.

“That’s the library?” May asked, cracking her gum close to my ear. “Looks awful small.”

Emma smoothed down the strands of hair that flew around her face from the breeze fluttering in through Dad’s open window. “Doesn’t look like there’s much to do,” she said. “I bet we’ll finish ahead of schedule.”

“And then we can leave, right?” May asked. “Because I need to practice driving.”

CJ leaned over to me and mumbled, “All the practice in the world wouldn’t be able to help her.”

It was true. May was a terrible driver.

“And I can’t get my license if you guys are going to be too busy to drive with me,” she complained. “Besides, what if they don’t even have a place to take a test or-or- or they won’t give me my license ’cause I’m not from here?”

“We’ll make time,” Mom reassured her. “And don’t worry, you’ll be able to get your license.”

But from the way May chewed her bottom lip, I could tell she was still worried. All I knew was that I didn’t want to be within five miles of any car May was driving.

“Most of the work now is just cleaning up, organizing, and helping out the new librarian,” Dad said as he tried to get a good look at the library and drive at the same time. “Your mom and I will be plenty busy, but there’ll be time to practice your driving.”

“I bet there’s a lot to organize,” Mom said. She could
organize just about anything. From pictures we drew when we could first hold a marker to the knotted-up fishing line Dad had out in the garage, once Mom got ahold of something it was separated, categorized, slipped neatly into the space she’d arranged for it, and then slapped with a label.

I gazed up at the library and could almost smell the scent of old books and hear the crack of their spines. “I’d like to help, too.”

“Of course
you
would, little Miss Goody Two-shoes,” Emma whispered behind me.

I glared at her, then turned back around.

“So where are we gonna live?” Bo asked, swiping his hand across his nose.

Mom pointed to a large house beside the library. “Is it that one?”

Dad nodded and smiled. “That’s it.” We all craned to see as the van pulled into the driveway. Everyone clambered out as soon as the car rolled to a stop.

CJ, Bo, and Henry barely stopped to look before they had raced up the walkway, up the stairs, and were pulling at the front door. May stretched and yawned while Emma walked to the very middle of the front yard and stared up. Mom smiled at Dad and he reached down and kissed her hand.

Me, I just stood off to the side drinking in the sight of it.

The house was tall and wide and white with a long front porch, a round window right at the top that was probably the attic, and an old red watering can sitting by the front door. The yard was big and the grass had the same zigzag stripes as the park.

“Come on, Dad!” CJ whined, tugging on the doorknob. “Open the door. We want to see the inside.”

Dad turned to me and tossed a small ring with two keys on it. “Can you open it up for them, Em—May—Sunday?”