A Summer of Sundays (29 page)

But that seemed good enough for him because he sniffed and then plopped down next to me.

I got up, brushing off his hand when he tried to grab ahold of mine. “I think I forgot something upstairs. Let me know when we’re leaving.”

Bo followed behind me. I turned and glared at him.

“Can I come with you, Sunday? Maybe we can look for the missing pages?”

I glanced down the hall to make sure Mom wasn’t nearby. Whispering, I pointed my finger in his face. “I told you, Bo, leave me alone.” His bottom lip trembled, but I didn’t care if he cried.

Bo tried to squeeze in next to me in the van on the way to the play and then again when we got to the high school, but I switched seats or got up and moved. I could tell that Mom could see what was happening, but she didn’t say anything. And Emma didn’t give her any time. The moment we arrived, she dragged Mom backstage to help with a few minor adjustments to costumes before the production started.

“Everything okay, Sunday?” Dad asked, taking a seat beside me. May was on the other side, texting a play-by-play of her driver’s test to someone.

“It’s fine. I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me to him, kissing the top of my head. “Well, you know I’m here.”

Despite the hurricane of emotions swirling around inside me, I was able to slip into the eye of the storm for the first act and loved every moment. The actors and actresses were wonderful, the sets were beautiful, and I couldn’t help feeling proud of my sister, who had created the “simple but elegant” costumes fluttering across the stage. At intermission, Dad handed me five dollars. “Go and get yourself something to munch on until the second act starts.”

I took the money and stole away to the concession stand, hoping that Bo wasn’t trying to trail after me.

Jude, cheeks red, stood at the backstage door with a small bundle of flowers in his hand. Ben Folger stood by him, dressed in a shirt and tie, a single daisy in his lapel. Were they best friends now? My stomach sank, and I tried to focus on the fact that reporters were coming tomorrow. Jude glanced in my direction, but I turned away from him. The world needed to know what I’d found.

The man behind the concession stand smiled at me. “What can I get for you?”

I quickly looked beside me, thinking that Bo would be there to order something. He wasn’t. I could order whatever I wanted and wouldn’t have to share it with anyone. “I’ll have a brownie and lemonade, please.” I paid, took my treats, and started for the auditorium.

“Sorry,” the usher said. “No drinks or snacks inside.”

Probably for the best. If I went in I’d have to share my brownie, and CJ would have my lemonade sucked down in seconds. Out here I could enjoy it by myself.

I went over and stood by the window. Muzzy and Papa Gil were both outside with Mr. Castor, who was tied to a tree. Papa Gil pointed his finger at the dog, and Mr. Castor dropped what was in his mouth, his tail wagging.

I smiled.

“Have you talked to anyone yet?” a woman asked.
She was wearing a knee-length black skirt and a white silky-looking blouse, the fanciest outfit I had seen on anyone since we came. I could tell that this woman did not live here. The man she spoke to looked a little more like someone from Alma, but I doubted it.

“A few people, but no one seems to know much about her except that she was pretty reclusive. But we already knew that. Everyone knows that.”

I stepped closer, set my lemonade on the ground, and retied my shoe. The man had a camera slung over his shoulder, and the woman was pulling out a small notepad and pen. It was one of the reporters!

Should I say something? Introduce myself? I stood, cleared my throat, and wiped my hands on my pants.

“I don’t want to just wait for tomorrow,” the woman said. “We need to get information now. I’ll talk to the old ladies and you talk to the old men.”

“And the kid?”

The woman pulled a piece of gum from her purse, unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth. I bent down and tied the other shoe so I could listen a little longer. “Yes, we’ll meet the girl tomorrow at that library thing and see what she has. And if she really did find a secret manuscript, this is going to be huge.”

I knew it!

The woman continued. “But if we don’t find anything
out tonight or tomorrow morning, I want to get first read of the manuscript and the letters.”

“What about that critic from New York? He’s going to insist that he get to tear it apart before anyone else does.”

My heart
thunked
like metal in my chest. Tear it apart?

“Who? Albert? Oh, I’ve already told him that I want to look at it first. He agreed, but I’m not sure what other papers and networks that girl called. In any case, I want a read. I’m sure there’s a juicy story there. A secret child, a hidden husband, a wretched home life. Albert can adore or loathe the manuscript. I don’t care. Whatever Wren Lee wanted kept hush-hush, that’s what I’m going to find out.” She swiped red lipstick over her lips. “Nothing stays hidden forever.”

“Lee Wren,” the man said.

The woman turned to him, annoyed. “What?”

“You said Wren Lee, but her name was Lee Wren.”

She waved him off. “Her name could be Napoléon Bonaparte and I wouldn’t care. We came here for a story and that’s what we need to get.”

I was still hunkered down over my shoe, unable to move, as they walked off. They wanted to tear apart Lee Wren’s manuscript, expose everything that she wanted to keep secret, turn it into a juicy story.

Well, what else did you think, Sunday?
a voice in the back of my head asked.

I didn’t know.

My mind flashed to Ben Folger’s house. It was bustling with cars, reporters knocking on his door, cameras flashing, relatives hounding him, townspeople bringing over loaves of bread hoping to get the scoop. The pictures of Lee Wren and Ben would be taken and spread everywhere.

Lee Wren’s manuscript would be printed up, talked about, criticized. Her letters published, her life over-analyzed. The tapes would be played, maybe sold.

The lights dimmed and the ushers closed the doors to the auditorium. The second half was starting. I slipped inside and found an extra seat next to Henry.

The act started and ended, and I hadn’t heard a single word. When the lights were turned up at the very end, I wished that they hadn’t been. I still needed time to think. What juicy story would the press create out of Lee Wren’s manuscript and letters? Could I do that to Ben?

But if I didn’t give the newspapers what I’d promised, I’d still be a nobody. Plus I’d be called a liar for bringing the media all the way down here and then not delivering. I did not want to be remembered for that.

“Ready to go backstage and see your sister, Sunday?” Dad asked. I nodded and followed.

Emma grinned ear to ear, loving the attention, the compliments, the hugs, and the flowers. Everything I had been hoping to get tomorrow.

“Thanks!” she said, bringing a bouquet of roses to her nose. “You really think everything looked good?”

“Your costumes were gorgeous,” Mom said. “I’m so proud of you.”

My heart sank at the thought of not hearing those same words. I walked out of the auditorium and stood by the van to wait for everyone else.

There had to be a way I could be famous and still not betray Ben Folger and Lee Wren.

But as I looked into the darkness, I realized there was no way I could have both.

I had to choose.

At home up in my room, I read and reread and re-reread the letters over and over again.

I knew what I couldn’t do, and I knew what I needed to do. It’s just that both of them left me with the same just “one-of-the-six” label I’d always had.

I set down the manuscript and the letters on the nightstand next to the tapes and flicked off the light. I’d go see Ben first thing in the morning.

“SUNDAY!”

The light came on and I sat up and squinted, trying to focus on what was going on.

Mom opened my closet, then bent down and looked underneath my bed. “Is Bo in here?”

I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the clock. One o’clock in the morning. “No, why?”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t know where he is. Your dad picked Emma and me up from the auditorium and I went to check on the boys. He’s not in his room or anywhere in the house. Your dad and I have checked everywhere. We can’t find him.”

I jumped out of bed. “But he has to be here.” I pulled on a pair of shorts. “He’s probably just hiding. Or maybe he fell asleep somewhere crazy and can’t hear you.”

Mom wiped her tears, smearing her mascara. “I don’t know, Sunday. I’ve looked everywhere.”

I grabbed my flashlight and headed down the stairs,
Mom following behind me, sniffling. “Bo!” I yelled in the empty entryway. After I searched in every nook and cranny in the house, I burst out the front door and saw three flashlights bobbing in the blackness. “Bo! Where are you?” I called out. “It’s Sunday.”

I found Dad, May, and Emma out in the field. “Dad?”

He turned and grabbed ahold of my shoulders, his hands trembling. “You found him?”

“No … I-I” I stuttered. I had never seen my dad, usually so put together and calm, look so terrified. “I wanted to know where you’ve looked already.”

“In the house, the library, the yard, and the field.” He turned to May. “Could you call the police, May?” She sniffed and then rushed off to the house. Dad turned back to me. “I don’t know where he could be. I just don’t know.”

“I’m going to ask Ben and then go over to Jude’s house. They’ll help.” I dashed across the field, bolted up the porch stairs, and pounded on the door. “Ben! Wake up! It’s me, Sunday! Wake up!”

A light flicked on, I heard footsteps, and then the door opened and a bleary-eyed Ben Folger looked out at me. “Sunday? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Bo. He’s gone. No one knows where he is.”

“I’ll get my flashlight.” Ben disappeared inside and then came back to the door. “I’ll start around here.”

“Okay,” I said, running down the walkway. “I’m going over to Jude’s. Maybe he went there. And Ben—” I said.

He turned.

“I already decided not to tell anyone about anything. You know, with Lee.”

“Thank you.” He gave a quick nod and a half smile, then disappeared into the dark.

Jude’s house filled with light when I pounded on the door and rang the bell over and over and over. His mom, with Jude behind her, opened the door a crack.

“Please, Ms. Trist. My brother Bo. Is he here?”

She opened the door wider when she realized it was me. “No, Sunday. He isn’t.”

Jude shook his head no, too. “I haven’t seen him since the play tonight.”

Tears stung my eyes, and I told them that everyone was out looking for him. Jude ran back into his bedroom, reappearing with a T-shirt and two flashlights. Jude’s mom pulled her bathrobe tighter around her waist, grabbed her cell phone, and started out the door. “I’ll call Wally. He’ll help. You go down the street this way and I’ll go the other way.”

Jude and I called to Bo until our voices were hoarse. When we reached Main Street, I sank to the curb, dissolving into sobs. Jude sat down next to me and put his arm around my shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Sunday,” he said, his voice shaking. “We’ll find him. I’m sure he’s just hiding somewhere.”

“But it’s my fault,” I said. “I know it is.”

“That’s stupid, Sunday. He just—”

“No, you don’t understand. He drew on some of Lee Wren’s manuscript and lost some of the pages—they blew away. I … I told him I never wanted to see him again.” My chest ached as I let everything out. “I was so … so mean.”

Jude stood up. “Okay. So do you think he’s out trying to find the missing pages?”

I nodded, still unable to speak. My brother. My sweet, sweet brother. I looked down at my hand and imagined feeling his small one in mine. He hadn’t meant to ruin anything. And who cared if he did? He could draw on every sheet of the manuscript if it meant he’d come back safe and sound. I’d color on every sheet myself.

“Please.” I couldn’t manage anything more than a whisper. “Please come back, Bo.”

Jude pulled me to my feet. “Come on, Sunday. You need to go back to your house and wait for him there. I’ll keep looking around here. I’ll get Muzzy and Papa Gil and Mr. Castor, too. Go! And don’t worry. We’ll find him.”

I stumbled back to the house and slumped onto the porch swing, where Mom sat, staring into space. She reached for my hand. “He has to come home. He has to.”

I tried to swallow another lump that was forcing its
way up my throat, but the lump won and I collapsed into her arms. “It’s all my fault,” I wailed.

She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me to her, quietly shushing me and stroking my hair. “Don’t say that, sweetie. It isn’t your fault.”

And then everything spilled out: the gas station, the locked box, Ben Folger, the cemetery, and finally what I’d said to Bo. I left nothing out. She needed to know how awful I was.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my stomach aching. “I’m so sorry.”

Mom was crying, too, her cheek resting on the top of my head. “
I’m
sorry,” she said. “So sorry that we left you that day. That’s inexcusable. And I’m sorry that you felt like you had to earn our love or do something to get us to pay attention. I know it’s not easy being in such a big family, but I promise you that once we realized you were gone we would’ve searched the ends of the earth to find you. You are my heart, Sunday Fowler. And I can’t live without that part of me. Neither can your dad, and neither can your brothers and sisters.”