Absolutely Truly (13 page)

Pippa spotted it and froze. Her eyes widened, and I could see Dad's jaw muscles tighten as she ducked behind my mother and started to cry. It just kills him when Pippa does this.

My parents have tried, they really have. And so have Danny and Hatcher and Lauren and me. But no one has been able to convince Pippa that the hook isn't a big scary thing. So Dad's just given up wearing his prosthesis when he's at home. He keeps it in a gym bag and carries it to and from the bookstore every day. It's only temporary, Mom says, insisting that Pippa will get used to it. Plus, Dad is scheduled to get his new
more permanent prosthetic arm soon and everyone's hoping she'll like that one better.

“What's all the commotion?” asked Aunt True, emerging from the office. “Another book emergency?”

My mother shook her head. “Not exactly. More of a Pippa emergency.” Lowering her voice to a whisper that was barely audible over my little sister's wails, she explained the situation.

Aunt True crouched down beside Pippa. “Well, my goodness, and here I thought there was a hippopotamus loose in the store!”

The wails subsided into hiccups.

“I've seen a hippopotamus, you know,” Aunt True continued. “Back when I lived in Tanzania. And I've seen lions and zebras and crocodiles, too.”

Pippa peeked out from behind my mother.

“Speaking of crocodiles, do you know the story of Peter Pan?”

My little sister nodded, sniffling. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

“We went on the ride at Dithney World.”

“And do you remember the crocodile?” Aunt True asked her.

Pippa nodded again. “Tick-Tock.”

“That's right. And what did that crocodile do?”

Pippa's forehead puckered as she thought about it. “He thwam after Captain Hook.”

Aunt True smiled. “Uh-huh,” she said. “Tick-Tock wasn't afraid of silly old Captain Hook, was he?”

Pippa shook her head.

I could see where this was going, and so could my father.

He frowned. “Really, True?”

“Come on, J. T.,” Aunt True coaxed. “Where's your sense of humor?”

A corner of his mouth quirked up. I could tell he thought it was funny, even though he was trying not to.

“And you don't have to be afraid either,” Aunt True told Pippa. She motioned to my father, who heaved a sigh and reluctantly waved his prosthesis. “See? You can pretend you're Tick-Tock, and that's just silly old Captain Hook.”

“Thilly old Captain Hook,” Pippa repeated. She didn't look entirely convinced, but she wasn't crying anymore either. A moment later, she started running around the store shouting “Tick-Tock! Tick-Tock!” as my father gamely let her chase him.

“Thanks, True,” said my mother, watching them.

“Tell her about your job, Mom,” I urged, and she did.

“That's fantastic, Dinah!” said my aunt, then showed her the first edition of
Charlotte's Web.
“What a red-letter day for the Lovejoys! I'd say this calls for a celebration—I'm taking us all out to dinner at Lou's.”

My mother hesitated. “We have a family meeting scheduled.”

“You can have it at the restaurant,” said Aunt True. “Nobody's cooking tonight.”

“Are you sure, True?” Mom asked. “There are rather of a lot of us.”

“Really?” said Aunt True, blinking in fake surprise. “I hadn't noticed.”

I was beginning to really like Aunt True.

After my aunt locked
Charlotte's Web
away in the rare books cabinet, we trooped over to Lou's and crammed in around the diner's biggest table. Lou had to bring over a couple of extra chairs to fit us all in. I took it as a good sign that Pippa asked to sit next to my father.

“Don't see big families like yours much these days,” said the restaurant owner.

Like clockwork, our heads all swiveled toward Dad. This was his cue to leap in with a comment about the Magnificent Seven. But Captain Hook's smile had vanished and Silent Man was back.

Mom quickly spoke up to fill the awkward silence. “We love having a big family! I'm one of seven kids, myself.” She chattered on to Lou for a couple of minutes, then Lucas's mother came over to take our order.

I looked around the crowded restaurant. I guess if you're pretty much the only restaurant in Pumpkin Falls, you're going to be busy most of the time. The tables and booths were filled with a mix of college students, older people, and local families.
I spotted Amy Nguyen and her brother and parents in one of the booths, and Lucas, who was sitting at the end of the counter by himself, eating a cheeseburger and doing his homework. He waved shyly, and I waved back.

Danny and Hatcher launched into a recap of their wrestling practice for Dad while Mom and Aunt True started talking about some novel they were both reading. Lauren was still buried in
The Borrowers
, so I helped Pippa color her place mat until Mrs. Winthrop returned with our food.

As she set a small plate of greens and dressing in front of my father, I waited for him to say, “Oh, a honeymoon salad!” the way he always used to. He'd grin in anticipation, waiting for the waiter or waitress to ask what he meant by that. Then he'd waggle his eyebrows Groucho Marx-style and say, “Lettuce alone!” It always got a laugh.

Now, though, he just picked up his fork and started to eat.

“You're Truly, right?” said Mrs. Winthrop, handing me my fish and chips. I nodded. “I want to thank you for helping Lucas out today after school. Those bigger boys can be a bit—rowdy.”

“You're welcome.”

“Lucas said something about going to the library with you later for a project you're working on?”

I nodded.

“Would you mind walking him home afterward?” his mother asked, fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers. “It's
just that, you know, it's dark and the roads and sidewalks are icy.”

“Don't you worry,” my mother told her. “Truly will see your son safely home.”

“Thanks.”

I watched her walk away. I was wrong about Mrs. Winthrop being a blue jay. She was pure mother hen.

“So what was that all about?” my mother asked. I explained about the snowball fight earlier, and she smiled at me. “That was very kind of you, sweetheart.”

“All hail Saint Drooly,” said Hatcher in a robot voice, sticking French fries in his ears. He turned to Pippa. “Frankenfryenstein. Want. Ketchup.”

Pippa giggled. Not to be outdone, Danny wedged a pair of fries between his upper lip and teeth. “Yessssss,” he said, affecting a fake accent. “Fangs a lot, Truly—Count Spudula approvessss.”

“Boys,” warned my mother, but it was too late. Lauren was oblivious, of course—too engrossed in her book to notice—but Pippa laughed so hard that milk squirted out of her nose. This startled her and made her cry again, and when I reached for some napkins to help clean her up, I knocked over my water glass, making an even bigger mess. My father shot me a black look as some of the liquid pooled over the edge of the table and onto the leg of his pants.

“For heaven's sake, Truly!” he snapped.

“But it was Pippa's—”

“Don't answer back.”

I slumped in my seat. “No, sir.”

Mrs. Winthrop brought over some paper towels. As she and my mother started to mop up, the door to the diner opened and a figure in black came in.

“Oh, great,” muttered my father. “Just what I need to make my evening complete.”

It was Ella Bellow.

Spotting us, she made a beeline for our table. Her lips thinned in disapproval as she surveyed the lake of watery milk. “Waste of money, taking children to restaurants,” she observed, shaking her head. “Especially when there are so many of them.”

“It's my money, and I don't consider it a waste,” Aunt True replied. “Can we help you, Ella?”

Pippa's tears instantly ceased. She looked up. “Ella Bellow?”

I felt a prickle of misgiving.

The postmistress gave my little sister a fleeting smile, but her gaze was riveted to the hook at the end of my father's shirtsleeve.

“Take a picture; it'll last longer,” said Hatcher under his breath.

My mother elbowed him sharply. “It's nice to see you again, Ella,” she said politely. “And now if you'll excuse us, we were about to have a family meeting.”

“Of course,” said the postmistress, steering herself to the
closest table. She took a seat with her back to us, but it was obvious that she was all ears.

My mother leaned forward and whispered, “I vote that we take our dessert back to the bookstore and have our meeting there.”

“Mom'th whithpering becauth Ella Bellow ith a buthybody,” said Pippa in a loud voice. “Right, Truly?”

The postmistress's back stiffened. The nearby tables went dead silent. Aunt True choked on a bite of cheeseburger, except her coughing fit sounded suspiciously like laughter to me.

“Truly!” my mother whispered furiously. “What did you tell your sister?”

“It's not my fault!” I whispered back. “And anyway, you were the one who said it first!”

My father glared at me. “Truly Lovejoy, don't you dare speak back to your mother.”

“Truce!” said Aunt True weakly, waving her napkin like a white flag. Her eyes were watering and she was trying hard to suppress a smile. “All in favor of family harmony, especially in public places”—she tipped her head toward our neighboring eavesdropper—“raise their hands.”

Hatcher and Danny raised their hands. So did I.

Mrs. Winthrop, who looked like she was trying not to smile too, finished cleaning off the table.

“Let's change the subject, shall we?” Aunt True continued. “How was your day, Dinah?”

“Fine up until now,” my mother replied.

“Look at the bright side,” my aunt told her. “It can't get any worse, right? But, seriously, any interesting classes?”

Mom nodded. “Yes, all of them. I especially like my American History for Educators class. Professor Rusty is so interesting.”

Dad's eyebrows snapped to attention. He looked over at Aunt True. “I didn't know Rusty was back in town! How long's he been teaching at the college?”

Aunt True suddenly seemed very interested in rearranging her silverware. “Six months or so. Mom mentioned something about it before they left for Africa.”

“Who's Rusty?” asked Danny.

“Someone your father and I went to high school with,” Aunt True said lightly. “So, what do you say we all get ice-cream sundaes to go?”

I glanced anxiously at the clock, then turned to my mother. “Can I be excused to go to the library? It's going to close soon.”

“
May
I,” said my mother automatically. “And no, you may not.”

“Mom!”

“You know our agreement.”

Attendance at family meetings is mandatory. It's one of Lieutenant Colonel Jericho T. Lovejoy's rules.

“I don't need a sundae.” I begged. “And it's just down the street—I'll be back at the bookstore before you guys even finish dessert. We only need to look this one thing up.”

My mother frowned. “It's for your project with the Winthrop boy, right?” she asked, and I nodded. It wasn't a lie, really. Solving the mystery of the envelope counted as a project, and Lucas was helping me. My mother pressed her lips together, considering. “Well, I suppose it's okay,” she said finally. “If you promise to hurry.”

“I promise,” I said, getting to my feet. “Absolutely truly, cross my heart and hope to fly.”

I froze, aghast.

I'd said it completely without thinking, the words no sooner out of my mouth than I would have given anything to snatch them back.

My father stared down at his prosthesis, which was resting on the table. Pain creased his forehead. “I think we'll save the family meeting for another night,” he said gruffly, then pushed back from the table and stood up.

Ella Bellow swiveled around in her chair and stared as he walked out of the restaurant.

“Truly, how could you!” said my mother, giving me her trademark disappointed look.

“Nice going, moron,” added Danny. “You totally ruined everything.”

Even Hatcher looked at me reproachfully.

“I didn't do it on purpose!” I protested. “It just came”—I caught myself before I said “flying” —“out!”

“Cross my heart and hope to fly” is this saying that Dad's
best friend Tom Larson made up, way back when the two of them were in flight school. We always knew when Dad was talking to Mr. Larson on the phone, because that's how they'd end their calls. It was like their own private motto, and over the years it had become our family's motto too. But now it's strictly off-limits because Mr. Larson didn't make it back from Afghanistan, and it reminds my father of that horrible day when he lost both his arm and his best friend.

Once again, I'd gone and stuck my foot in my mouth. I was Truly-in-the-Middle-of-a-Mess.

Aunt True was wrong—the evening could get worse. It just did.