A Summer of Sundays (30 page)

I nodded, unable to speak.

“You are special. Only you can handle CJ so that he doesn’t kill himself. And May and Emma. Well, they may think you’re too young in certain ways, but I see the way they go to you for advice and help, and just someone to listen to them. Henry adores you.” She stopped, her
voice catching. “And everyone knows that you’ve always been Bo’s favorite.” She tilted my chin up so that her eyes were looking into my own. “It’s not your fault that he ran away.

“And I do recognize you. I do see you. I guess I just don’t say it out loud enough, and I need to.” She squeezed my hand. “I’m proud of your decision about Lee Wren’s manuscript. I think you’re doing what’s right.”

The darkness was slowly turning into the light of the early-early morning. “It was hard. I really wanted to be in the paper,” I said. “And on TV.”

“I know. And that’s the reason I am
so
proud of you.”

We sat in silence for a few moments.

“We’ll find him, right?”

Mom reached over and squeezed my hand. “We won’t stop looking until we do.”

We continued to rock back and forth, staring out into the dark, my cheek pressed against her shoulder. I said the same silent prayer over and over again.

Please bring Bo home
.

“I remember the day you were born,” Mom whispered. “I woke up early in the morning, knowing that it was going to be the day we’d finally meet you. Your grandma and grandpa came over and picked up May and Emma, still groggy in their pajamas.

“Your dad and I held hands on the way to the hospital,
and I remember how the leaves were just starting to turn on the tree outside our house.”

“The oak tree in the front yard?” I asked. That one had always been my favorite, with limbs low enough to grab ahold of and thick enough to climb.

“Yes, that one. It was still mostly green, but I remember a small patch of leaves on the lowest branch beginning to change to a beautiful orangeish-red color.

“The hospital was bustling. Nurses raced down the hallways, the television in the waiting room blared too loudly, and even inside our little room waiting for you to come, there were people walking in and out, asking questions, taking my pulse, getting everything ready.

“And then, there you were,” Mom said. She held out her hands in front of her as if holding a small baby. “Not making a fuss. Never crying. Your eyes wide open, looking around. So peaceful and calm.” She looked at me and smiled. “Just like you still are today in all the chaos.”

I let my head sink heavier against her shoulder as we rocked back and forth, back and forth.

Shouting in the distance jerked me and Mom to our feet, and we both ran down the porch stairs. When the words “We found him!” rang out through the air, Mom collapsed in a heap on the ground and I sobbed beside her.

There, in Ben Folger’s arms, was Bo, one hand wrapped
around Ben’s neck and the other clutching a bunch of white pieces of paper.

Ben set him down and he rushed toward Mom, who was crying harder now that he was safe than she had when he was missing. After a minute, she let him go and I picked him up, squeezing him tight to me.

“I’m sorry, Sunday,” he said. “But I found your papers.” My eyes stung with tears as I kissed his cheek. “I’m so glad you’re safe. I don’t care about the papers, Bo. I’m sorry for getting so mad at you. It wasn’t right.” Ben walked up to us, my dad’s arm around his shoulder. “They aren’t my papers anyway, and I wasn’t really supposed to see them. No one was.”

When I set Bo down on the ground, May and Emma smothered him with hugs and kisses. Taking the papers from his hand, I held them out to Ben. “These are yours. If you wait, I’ll get the rest.” I turned and ran up the stairs, grabbed the letters, the tapes, and the manuscript, then came back down and handed them to him.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen these.” Then he looked up and met my eyes. “And a long time since I’ve had a friend. Thank you, Sunday.”

I nodded and smiled.

“All right, Bo,” Mom said, taking him by the hand. “Let’s get you inside so we can warm you up and feed you. I bet you’re pooped.”

The porch door opened and slammed. CJ stood there, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Who pooped?”

There was a soft knock at my door.

I laid down the worn copy of
The Life and Death of Birds
. “Come in,” I said.

The knob turned and Bo stood there. “Hi, Sunday. Mommy wanted me to sleep in her room for the rest of the night, but she and Daddy are snoring worse than CJ.”

“Come on.” I pulled back the covers.

He dashed for the bed and crawled in next to me.

“Could you tell me that story about the boy and the girl?”

I yawned. “I don’t know. It’s almost morning and—” His big brown eyes gazed at me and I smiled. “And … yes, I’ll tell you the rest of the story.”

He grinned.

“Mark loved Lilly, but she didn’t want to get married.”

“I don’t, either. I want to live at home with you and Mommy and Daddy forever.”

I nodded, remembering a time when I had felt the same way. “Well, Mark was sad that she didn’t want to get married, so he left their town and traveled all over the world. He went to India and England and South America. All sorts of places. Lilly just stayed and worked on a book that she was writing.”

“Did they miss each other?”

I nodded. “But they wrote each other letters. Then, after Lilly’s book became really famous, Mark went to New York City and asked Lilly to marry him again.”

“What did she say this time?”

I smiled. “She said yes. And they got married, and—”

“And they lived happily ever after?”

I imagined Ben across the field, sitting in his chair with Lee’s letters and story in his hands and her voice playing over the tape recorder.

“Yeah, they sort of did,” I said. “And even though Lilly’s not alive anymore, every morning Mark walks to the cemetery with a daisy and he puts it on Lilly’s grave.”

“You should’ve stopped at ‘happily ever after,’ ” Bo said, yawning. “That ending wasn’t very good.”

I turned off the light, the stars blinking out, one by one, as the dawn crept up in the morning sky.

MOM
motioned for me to join her.

“And now I think it’s time for what all our out-of-town guests have been waiting for. Sunday?”

I climbed up the stairs and stood by Mom, clutching the manila envelope that Ben had given me earlier.

“This’ll make them happy, believe me,” he said, winking.

When I looked out at the small crowd filled with reporters and TV cameras, I completely forgot the speech I had tried to memorize. Instead I winged it.

“If you don’t know who Lee Wren was, she was the author of the book
The Life and Death of Birds
. She lived here in Alma, and even though her book is really famous, she never wrote anything else.” I smiled. “At least that’s what everyone thought.” I held up the envelope. “But I’ve found three short stories and two essays that she wrote.” I stopped and met Ben’s gaze from his place next to Ms. Bodnar. He smiled and nodded. “They were in the basement of the library and, well, I’m excited that now
we’ll be able to enjoy more of Lee Wren’s writing. After the originals are sent to her publisher, they’re going to be kept here, at the library. So, um … yeah, that’s all.”

I started off the stairs but stopped. “Oh, and my family and I are going to be here for a couple more weeks. So if you have any other remodeling or home repairs, ask my dad. As you can see by the library, he’s the best. Okay, that’s all. Have a good time.” I handed the envelope to Miss Jenny.

The reporters surrounded her, and I was surprised at how relieved I felt that it wasn’t me. I was glad to scurry away to the snack station with Jude leading the way and Bo clinging to my hand.

Jude’s mom spotted him looking hungrily at the spread of cookies, pies, cakes, breads, muffins, and cupcakes. “I packed organic peanut and cocoa-bean cookies for you, Jude,” she said, handing him a plastic bag with a few round blobs.

Just then CJ, who had been busy chasing a girl with a disgusting bug, stopped dead when he spotted us. He caught his breath and then reached for the plastic bag. “Fake poop? That’s perfect.” And he sprinted off after her again.

Jude and I laughed.

While he loaded up a plate with desserts, I glanced around at the party. The cast from the high school had
arrived in costume and were putting on scenes from the play. Emma and May stood huddled to the side, pointing and whispering about the boy who had played Puck and the boy who had played Oberon. Papa Gil had Henry in his lap, and they were cruising down a straightaway together. Dad was giving people tours of the library, and Mom and Muzzy were manning the refreshment table next to Ms. Bodnar’s makeshift crepe stand.

Jude and I sat on the grass, Bo squeezing between us. I leaned back and smiled, gazing up at the blue-icing sky. Whipped-cream clouds floated by.

“I think the party is a success,” I said.

Jude smiled. “Definitely. You should be proud.”

As I scanned the crowd once more, I spied Ben Folger sitting by the library stairs, a picture book in his hand and a crowd of little kids sprawled out on the soft grass.

Ben Folger had come out of his house.

I smiled. I was still one-of-the-six. I had two older sisters and three younger brothers. I couldn’t change that. And really, it wasn’t such a bad thing.

Not at all.

I was Sunday Annika Fowler.

And though I never would have thought it before, that was enough.

If you look in the dictionary under the word
happiness
you’d see a picture of the table on Grubbs Road where I first sat and listened to story after story after story. So, to all the Devlins and Pooles for giving me a history and a childhood filled with laughter, and love as filling as MomMom’s famous mashed potatoes. And for the entire Eland family who have made me their very own.

To Rebecca. If only every writer were as lucky as me. Thank you.

To Alison, your brilliance and loveliness are overwhelming and your pen on every page. And also to the entire staff at Egmont USA for their support and kindness.

To my critique group. Lisa Amowitz, Cyndy Henzel, Cathy Giordiano, Kate Chell Milford, Dhonielle Clayton, Linda Acorn, Christine Johnson, and Heidi Ayarbe. What would
I do without you guys? I’m afraid to even think about it. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

To my dearest friend, Kim, and her wonderful family (Stephan, Isabelle, Henri, Ames, and Uncle). Super Secret Spot, beaks and claws, nails, Minturn, thrift stores, and good-ole-fashion laughter. A recent friend who feels like a history friend. Mwah!

Everyone at Breckenridge Elementary, my home away from home. Thank you for taking care of the most precious people in the world to me, and for always greeting me with a smile.

To all the authors that have come before me and have taught me everything I know through their brilliance. I don’t think this book would be here if it weren’t for Roald Dahl, Matilda, and The Trunchbull.

To Harper Lee. Thank you.

Thank you Gracie, Isaac, Ella, and Noah. Thank you for every hug, every smile, every day, and every moment. You make it all worthwhile.

And of course, John. Always and forever. Where you are is home.