Another Day as Emily (4 page)

“Only one police officer,” says Dad.

“Seems Mrs. Bagwell wanted to report

a stolen ring.”

“There’s robbers in town!” says Parker.

“We don’t know that,” says Dad.

I get to thinking about

bad things happening in threes.

Grandma Fludd falls.

Mrs. Harden has a spell.

And now

Mrs. Bagwell is a crime victim.

Maybe Alison was right.

After lunch, I get on my bike.

Alison gave hers away last year.

“Bikes are for babies,” she told me

at the time.

“Tell that to Mr. Capra,” I said.

“He rides his bike to work every day.”

She ran her nose up the flagpole.

“Okay—babies and old people.”

It’s a bright afternoon.

I ride my bike

into the warm breeze,

away from the house,

along the bike path.

Trees ripple green.

The light is golden.

The sky is blue.

And I am a bird

flying …

flying …

Alison doesn’t know

what she’s missing.

I get back in time

to keep an eye on Parker

while Dad grades papers.

I set up Candy Land,

Parker’s favorite board game.

Parker keeps talking about

Mrs. Bagwell’s stolen ring.

Then he asks:

“Do robbers smoke?”

“What do you care?” I say.

“Just answer.”

“I guess some do.”

“Well, if we get a robber,

I hope he smokes.”

“How come?”

“So he’ll set off the smoke alarm.”

Parker is famous.

His photo—in his Superman shirt

and Count Dracula cape—

is on the front page of

the
Ridgley Post
.

The headline reads

LITTLE HERO DIALS 911
.

Parker asks me to read it to him.

“Big Hero Dials 911,”

I say.

By late afternoon,

our living room is filled with

balloons,

cookie bouquets,

stuffed animals,

and flower arrangements.

All for Parker,

who is becoming

more obnoxious by the minute.

“Stay away from my balloons!”

“Don’t touch my cookies!”

“Hands off my animals!”

“Don’t smell my flowers!”

Little hero?

How about little monster?

The phone doesn’t stop ringing.

Mom calls.

She tells Dad to pop a copy

of the
Ridgley Post
in the mail

care of Grandma Fludd—

“Today!”

Mrs. Capra calls

to say she saw the article.

“Isn’t it just wonderful!”

Alison calls.

“How does it feel?”

she asks.

“How does what feel?”

I say.

“Your brother’s a hero.”

“Yeah—hero brat.”

The mayor’s secretary calls.

She tells Dad:

“Mayor Paloma would like

your son to ride in her car

in the Fourth of July parade.”

I tell Dad: “I’m going

over to the creek

to look for rocks.”

No phones at the creek.

The creek isn’t far.

I leave my bike home

and walk.

I carry an old toy beach pail.

I’m fussier about my rocks

than I used to be.

I know I won’t fill the pail.

I’ll be happy if I find

just one special rock.

I’m ankle-deep in water

when I finally see one.

Smooth. Speckled green.

Like the egg of a rare bird.

I can feel myself smiling

as I pick it up.

Sometimes I put one of my rocks

in Ottilie’s tank.

Some rocks I let Parker borrow

for when he plays with

his plastic cowboys.

Not this one.

This is one of the all-time

beauties.

This baby is all mine.

“Did you find one?”

I turn. It’s Alison.

“Your dad told me

you were here.”

“Look,” I say, all excited.

I show her the green speckled rock.

She ignores it. “Did you

hear the news?” she asks.

“Do you see my gorgeous rock?”

I ask.

Alison gives me a look.

“It’s a rock,” she says.

I give up.

“Yes, I heard the news.

Parker’s invited

to ride in the mayor’s car

in the Fourth of July parade.”

“Wow!” Alison squeals.

“That’s really something. But

it’s not the news

I’m talking about.”

There seems to be

a rumor going around

that Gilbert

is the one

who robbed Mrs. Bagwell,

took her ring.

Mrs. Bagwell says

she’s 95 percent certain of it.

Dad says Mrs. Bagwell

shouldn’t be accusing Gilbert

without proof.

Just because

Gilbert moved some boxes

from Mrs. Bagwell’s attic

and had to pass by

her bedroom

where she keeps her jewelry

doesn’t mean he took her ring.

“No more than I took it,”

says Dad, “when I fixed

her ceiling fan.”

Mrs. Harden is being discharged

from the hospital tomorrow.

I’m making a Welcome Home card

for her.

Parker wants to make one too.

He comes into my room

with his can of broken crayons

in one hand

and a fistful of cookies

in the other.

He’s still wearing

his hero outfit.

(He even sleeps in it.)

“Can you help me, Suzy?”

I give him a look. “Can you be nice?”

“I can be nice,” he says.

He holds out his fist.

“Here. Take a cookie.”

Mrs. Harden is home and

looking tired.

Her nephew, Paul,

has an important meeting today.

He asks if I will stay

with his aunt

for a couple hours—

“just to make sure

there are no problems.”

“Sure,” I tell him.

And it’s a good thing

I’m there,

because as soon as Mrs. Harden

goes up to her room

to take a nap,

the doorbell starts ringing.

It’s the mailman

with a package.