I, Emma Freke (22 page)

“Happy travels, kid,” said Wanda, as she handed me off to the airline people with all my papers.

We had just made the flight in time. But it would have been worth missing it. Those forty-five minutes with Walter had answered about twelve years' worth of wondering.

It turned out when Walter and Wanda were teenagers living in New Thule, their parents died after their station wagon was sucked up by a tornado in a movie theater parking lot and dropped in a fountain across the street. To make matters worse, Wanda and Walter were forced to live with Aunt Pat as she was listed as every
Frecky
minor's legal guardian.

Aunt Pat was still young herself, but already the boss of everybody. And living with her was far more annoying than just being related. She tracked Wanda's and Walter's every move.

So the day after she turned sixteen, Wanda quit school and left town without a word, just a note asking them not to look for her. As a result, Aunt Pat told Walter that if he pulled any stunts like his sister, he could forget about college tuition or his Boris Horace inheritance. Walter knew an education was his ticket out of New Thule, so he stuck out all four years at Marquette University making Aunt Pat very happy.

What didn't make her happy was the news, a couple years later, that he was dating Donatella, a pasta queen/palm reader whom he'd met on a weekend trip to Boston. Walter was (somehow) smitten with Donatella's free-spirited personality and, at the same time, more than ready to abandon Aunt Pat and the rest of the
Frecky
clan. He had been all too aware of the family expectations and Pat's manipulating ways. So he married my mother, his exact opposite, after knowing her for only one month, against everyone's wishes. Wanda had quit the cruise ship life by then and stood as their only witness at the wedding. And no surprise, Walter (like Wanda) was promptly cut out of the family
and
the will.

“If you sacrificed everything to marry Donatella,” I asked Walter, as our waitress served three slices of apple pie, “then why did you leave her?”

“Leave? I didn't leave her,” he replied, sounding surprised. “Donatella chased me out of the apartment with a steaming hot pasta fork.”

Wanda chuckled a tiny bit, then caught herself and coughed.

“What was she so mad about?” I needed to know.

Walter pushed against the back of the booth and replied, “Who knows? Something I did or said or didn't do or didn't say. But honestly, I think she just grew bored of me. I'm not the most exciting guy in the world.”

I'm not exciting either, I thought to myself. But you couldn't get rid of your only daughter. You could only ignore her.

“Did you get married again?”

“No, I didn't,” he replied. “Donatella was it for me.”

I had no idea. But then again, no one in my family ever told me anything. Everything I knew had been based on assumptions and really bad guesses.

“I hadn't been back to Homeport in more than ten years,” explained Walter. “Last month I was on a business trip in the area, so I decided to drop by the store a couple of times hoping to bump into Donatella. But then, when I overheard you telling that gentleman you were her daughter,” he said shaking his head, “I was thrown for a loop! Clearly, we were related.”

We smiled weakly at each other.

“Well, I was plain furious,” he mumbled.

I didn't know what to say except, “I spend a lot of my time mad at Donatella too if it helps any.”

That made all three of us crack up.

“Amazing,” said Walter. “You laugh exactly like your mother, Emma.”

“Really?”

“If I had my eyes closed,” he said, “I wouldn't be able to tell the difference.”

Wow, I thought to myself, when did that happen?

“So how did I get invited to the reunion?” I asked.

Walter looked down at his half-eaten pie and pushed it around the plate. “I took a chance and wrote Aunt Pat. I thought she'd do the right thing.”

I thought about that for a few seconds. “In a way, I guess she did.”

At that point, Wanda noticed it was late and we had to get to the airport, but there was so much more to talk about. Walter and I exchanged e-mail addresses, and he asked if I would fly out to visit him in Ohio someday. Without hesitation, I agreed.

I had to ask him one last thing before we left. “Can you please tell me why Donatella mispronounces our last name?”

“To tell you the truth, she doesn't.
Freak
is the correct pronunciation,” he said, then pointed north. “They're the ones who pretend it's something else.”

OF COURSE, no one was at the Boston airport to meet me. What was I expecting? Donatella would always be Donatella. I had to go through the whole “missing guardian” process one more time. And to top it off, clicky heels Dee-Dee was assigned to me again.

“Hon, your parents have got to get their act to gether!” she said at full volume as we made our way over to the information desk.

I sighed. “You're telling me.”

It turned out my mother had a client scheduled, so she had signed up for one of those airport van drivers to pick me up. Only he had written instructions to pick up an ‘Emily Frick.' Luckily, he had the correct address, and Dee-Dee was willing to swear on her career that I was who I claimed to be, so the airport people allowed me to go.

The driver didn't say a word and seemed to be in a terrible hurry, which was fine because I was fully talked out. My brain was still spinning from lunch with Wanda and Walter back at the Gas 'n' Gulp. There was so much to think about.

Dusk had fallen, and the whole world appeared to be glowing. Normally I would have been dreading a return to my pathetic lack of social life and dreary existence, but something deep down inside of me had truly changed. It felt like I had been away three months instead of just three days. And all at once, I couldn't wait to get going with my life.

The driver practically threw my sleeping bag and backpack on the sidewalk in front of the store and sped away like he was off to pick up the emperor of Japan. I stood at the intersection of Harbor Street and Driftwood Lane and noticed how calm it was. No wind. I gazed up at the glittering evening sky. And right away I saw it, the North Star, and I waved.

The shop was locked up and dark except for a small lamp Donatella never turns off. Other than the chain of bells, which jangled as I swung open the door, the building was silent. I poked around the store and dug my hands into several piles of beads, letting them run like streams of water through my fingers. Everything smelled wonderfully familiar.

“Hello?” I called out as I climbed the narrow staircase.

I was surprised to find the small hallway pitch-black and the top door locked too. Again, it felt as if I had been away a very long time and Donatella, Nonno, and Eggplant had packed up and moved while I was gone. I fumbled around with my keys trying to find the keyhole when suddenly someone yanked the door open. Then all the lights flashed on.

“SURPRISE!”

Penelope stood at the doorway, her arms stretched wide open ready for one of her special hugs.

I couldn't believe it. A bunch of people were all cheering loudly and clapping. For me! Donatella, Nonna and Eggplant (in their brown plaid recliner), Stevie, that teacher guy named Gordon, and all eight kids from the library were there. Even my mother's icky friend, Kevin! Streamers and balloons drifted near the ceiling, and the kitchen table was filled with Italian food and drinks.

The old Emma wanted to panic and bolt down the stairs . . . but the new Emma wouldn't let her.

“Thank you!” I said and then laughed. “But what did I do exactly?”

That made the rest of them laugh.

Donatella rushed over and gave my cheeks a hard squeeze.

“It's a
Welcome Home
party, silly! Don't you love it?”

“It was my idea, of course!” hollered Penelope, still clinging to my waist.

“Hey!” Kevin hollered. “'Tella here cooked all weekend!”

Penelope stood on her tiptoes and giggled in my ear.

“Looks like '
Tella's
tofu burgers were too hard for Kevin to resist.”

Ugh. I guess some things would never change.

Nonno shifted Eggplant in his lap and asked in his raspy voice, “Where you go, Emma-roni?”

“Hmm, good question, Nonno,” I replied and looked over at Stevie. “I guess to the stars and back.”

“That good place!”

Everyone laughed again, but Stevie just smiled.

“Emma,” she said, “This is also a
Welcome
party.”

I was confused. “Welcome to what?”

“Your new school!” said Gordon. “You'll be joining us in the fall. That is, if you think it's a good idea.”

I glanced around at the eight kids and noticed Jared, the friendly boy who had talked to Penelope and me in the library.

“You're a real school?” I managed to say, then felt myself blushing.

“It's the special program Ms. Fiddle chose for you,” explained Stevie, “for gifted and talented students.”

“Ms. Fiddle chose that?”

“Of course she did, 'cause that's what you are, Emma!” cried out Penelope. “Gifted
and
talented!”

That comment set off another round of cheers.

“And I have to say,” said Penelope, “my gold mojo bead worked double time . . . 'cause man, you look
goooood
!”

Life drastically improved for me. It wasn't only due to my new school program, although that was a thousand times better than anything I had ever done in my whole life. And I automatically acquired eight new cool friends. But more important, I had definitely found my
joylah
, my groove zone, my smooth place back in the track. And I was sticking with it forever.

But I think the very best thing that happened that summer occurred in the last week of August when Penelope returned from her annual surprise vacation with the Gray Moms. In past years, they had visited Brazil, the Grand Canyon, and Sri Lanka, to name a few super incredible locations. But this year was different. The surprise trip for Penelope's double-digit tenth birthday was a journey back to Liberia. And she got to meet a whole bunch of her relatives . . . including a very special one.

I was in the back storage room, counting out a shipment of Navajo turquoise beads that had just arrived. I was thinking about a design to make matching bracelets for Abby and me when the phone rang.

“Emma, I'm home!” Penelope's voice squealed through the receiver. “You gotta come over! Now!”

“Wait! Where did you go this year?”

“I'll tell you when I see you! Meet me on my front porch!”

I hung the “Be Right Back” sign on the door handle and raced across the street. I was so happy Penelope was finally back and couldn't wait to hear all about her latest adventure. Now that I had traveled all the way to Wisconsin by myself, I was anxious to take another trip.

But as I got closer to her front steps, I stopped. Penelope was strangely slumped in one of the wicker rocking chairs with a pile of blankets covering her lap, like she was sick or something.

“Careful,” she whispered as I rushed up the stairs.

“What's the matter?” I gasped. “Are you okay?”

All at once, Penelope's lips stretched into an enormous grin as she tilted the pile of blankets toward me. I tiptoed over and saw a face. The sweetest little sleeping face I had ever seen in my whole life.

“This is my
sister
!” she whispered as loudly as she could. “We adopted her in Liberia.”

I drifted down to the floor.

“Oh. Wow.”

I think I stared in awe at the beautiful baby for a least a full minute before I asked, “What's her name?”

“Well, the Gray Moms named her Winifred, after Katherine's mother, since I'm named after Cynthia's mother. But they let
me
pick her middle name.”

“So what did you pick?”

“Emma,” she beamed. “Because that's the very best name I know.”

How to Find Your Joylah

 

 

 

acknowledgments

This story journeyed down various roads with guidance and support from a few wonderful people. I could not have completed the trip without my first reader, friend, and agent, Susan Cohen. Also, many thanks to my patient and talented editor, Andrew Karre. And finally, boundless gratitude belongs to my husband, Erik Eames, for giving me the writer's life.