1 wondered if this would go on when I was grown and married and had kids of my own. I could imagine Thanksgiving, I would say to my husband, "Dear, where will we spend Thanksgiving this year? At my mother's or my father's?" And my husband, whose parents would also be divorced, would reply, "Or at my mother's or my father's?" At least when you are adults you could decide, "Let's spend Thanksgiving by ourselves this year." But then I would still worry about my parents who would have to spend the holiday alone.
Maybe I would write the Divorce Handbook myself one day. I would ask all my friends whose parents are also divorced to be contributing writers and editors.
I decided not to worry about my decision for awhile. I was too busy caring for my mother. I had to see that she took her medicine, ate healthy food, and was never left alone in case she needed help getting to the bathroom or something.
Late that morning Mrs. Pike came over. "Stacey! I wasn't expecting to find you here. Why aren't you in school?" Why wasn't I in school? For heaven's sake, my mother had pneumonia. Where did Mrs. Pike think I would be? "I'm taking care of Mom," I replied, surprised.
"She may be sick for awhile, hon." This was a good point, and I had been giving it serious consideration. Mom probably would be sick for awhile. And I couldn't keep missing school. I miss enough of it when I'm sick. "I know," I said to Mrs. Pike, "but I'm taking care of everything. Leave it to me." I had decided that if I couldn't be with my mother, then someone else should be. At all times. So I planned to contact Mom's friends and our neighbors and arrange for people to come stay with her while I was in school. They could come by in shifts. I would care for Mom the rest of the time. I would have to ask Mary Anne to find replacements for me for my sitting jobs during the next few days, but she would understand. She could call on our associate members, if she needed to.
While Mrs. Pike sat with my mother, I spread out a long piece of paper on the kitchen table. I drew up an hourly chart and marked off the times when I would be in school. Then I picked up the telephone.
"Hello, Mrs. Braddock?" I said. "This is Stacey McGill. Did you hear that my mom is sick? . . . Yeah, she has pneumonia. . . ." When I hung up the phone I was able to fill in a couple of the boxes on the chart. By lunch-time, the entire chart had been filled in.
Chapter 7.
I was proud of my chart. Not only did I fill it in, but the system actually worked. At seven-thirty on Wednesday morning as I was eating my breakfast and fixing Mom's at the same time, the doorbell rang. Mrs. Arnold had arrived. Mrs. Arnold, our neighbor, is the mother of Marilyn and Carolyn Arnold, twins for whom the members of the BSC often sit.
I ran to answer the door. "Thank you so much for coming!" I exclaimed.
"My pleasure," replied Mrs. Arnold.
"Now, my mom is still asleep," I told her. "At least, I think she is. She should wake up soon, though, and then please make her eat breakfast. She needs to keep her strength up. At eight-thirty she has to take one of these pills" (I held up a bottle) "and she can have aspirin if she wants it, since she's been getting headaches. She doesn't take another pill until ten, but you'll be off duty by then, and, let me see" (I checked my handy chart) "Mrs. Barrett will be here. I've left written instructions on the kitchen table for each person who will be taking care of Mom while I'm at school." I noticed that Mrs. Arnold was smiling, and I raised my eyebrows.
"Oh, Stacey," she said, "it's just that this is such a switch: my coming to your house, and your giving me directions on how to care for someone." I smiled, too, then. "Reverse baby-sitting," I agreed. "Mom-sitting." Ten minutes later I was saying good-bye to my mother who was only about half-awake. "I'm sorry I have to leave," I told her, "but, well, I really can't miss too much school. Mrs. Arnold is here. She's down in the kitchen, but she'll come upstairs as soon as I leave. She's going to bring you your breakfast and later your pills, and she'll be here until nine-thirty. Then Mrs. Barrett is coming over, and after that, Mrs. Braddock and then Mrs. Prezzioso. I thought Mrs. Pike needed a break. Oh, and don't worry. Mrs. Prezzioso won't bring the baby with her. Andrea is going to stay at the Braddocks'. I'll come home right after school to relieve Mrs. P. Then you won't have another sitter until tomorrow when I leave for school again." I tried to sound confident so Mom wouldn't worry. Then I ended up worrying all through school. Would my sitters show up when they were supposed to? What if someone forgot to come over? What if someone misplaced Mom's pills? What if, what if, what if? Several times I started toward the pay phones to call Mom between classes, but then I chickened out. What if she were sleeping and I woke her up?
As soon as school ended I dashed home. I ran through our front door and stopped to listen. The house was quiet.
Uh-oh.
"Mom? Mom!" I called.
Mrs. Prezzioso appeared at the top of the stairs. "Shh, Stacey," she whispered. "Your mother is sleeping." "Did she eat her lunch?" I asked.
Mrs. P. was tiptoeing downstairs. "Mrs. Braddock gave it to her. I think she ate most of it. She's certainly been drinking fluids." My mom was fine. Not fine as in all well, but fine as in the day had gone smoothly. The Mom-sitters had arrived on time, and my mother had been given her pills. I breathed a sigh of relief.
I spent the afternoon with my mother (once she had woken up). I decided she looked a little better than she had the day before, which meant she was making slow but steady progress.
At five-fifteen I was sitting in bed next to her, my shoes off, and we were watching a rerun of The Dick Van Dyke Show. Ordinarily, Mom would have been reading, but her head was aching. At any rate, my mother suddenly grabbed her wristwatch from the night table.
"Stacey!" she exclaimed. "You're supposed to be at a club meeting in fifteen minutes. You better find your shoes and get moving." I shook my head. "I told Kristy I wouldn't be there today. Dawn is going to handle the treasury for me." At that moment, Mom and I heard a door open and close downstairs. Then a voice called, "Hello?" "That7s Dee!" said Mom. Mrs. Pike had come over for a visit. "Now you can go to the meeting. Dee will stay with me. It's only for half an hour." "We-ell ..." I replied. Then I said to Mrs. Pike, "But who'll stay with your kids? Mallory's going to the meeting, too. Isn't she?" "Mr. Pike is home early today, hon," she told me. "Now go on." So I did. I hopped on my bike and rode to Claudia's.
Everyone was surprised to see me.
I enjoyed the meeting thoroughly. I was glad to have a half hour in which to think about something other than school and Mom's health.
"Well," said Claudia after we had taken care of club business, "mail delivery sure has become an exciting event." "It has?" I said.
"I'll say," agreed Mal. "The mail order stuff is starting to arrive." "I was at the Braddocks' this afternoon," spoke up Jessi. "Matt got two patches. To sew on his clothes, I guess. One said BRACES ARE BEAUTIFUL. The other said OLD BOWLERS NEVER DIE; THEY END UP IN THE GUTTER. I have no idea why he wanted them. I don't think he has, either. But he sure liked getting mail." "Yesterday," said Mal, "Vanessa received a bracelet-fastener and Nicky got a glass marble and a pamphlet about colleges in Minnesota." "I hope Vanessa's bust-developer arrives soon," said Kristy, looking ruefully at her own chest, which is in need of development.
Mary Anne giggled. "Me, too." Then Dawn said, "Not to change the subject, but did you decide what to do about this weekend, Stace?" (My friends knew about my dilemma. We usually know everything about each other.) I shook my head. "I really don't want to leave my mom, but you guys know how important the dinner is to my dad." "Yeah," said Dawn, who has been caught between her parents a couple of times. (Maybe I would make Dawn the co-author of the Divorce Handbook. She's had as much divorce experience as I have.) "I mean, everyone has been really helpful," I went on. I didn't want Mal to think I didn't appreciate her mother. "And I filled in the chart pretty quickly when I decided I had to go back to school. But I don't know. I'll feel guilty going off to New York for a weekend of fun, and leaving Mom behind fighting pneumonia. Even if she is going to be well cared for. I know she'd never do that if I were sick. She'd stay by my side." "But," said Kristy, "she's the mother and you're the kid." "So what? Mothers need to be taken care of, too. Anyway, if your mom was sick with pneumonia, would you, like, go to Disney World or something? That would look sort of selfish." "Yeah, but you have a responsibility to your father," spoke up Jessi.
I closed my eyes briefly. "I know, I know." "And it isn't like you can postpone your weekend with him. The dinner is on Friday and that's that." "I know." I paused. Then I said. "Sorry, Jessi. I don't mean to sound crabby. But I've been having this very argument with myself since Monday night. I think, This is a once-in-a-lifetime honor for Dad. All he has asked is that I be with him for this important event.' Then I think, 'My mother has pneumonia. People can die from that.' The argument goes around and around. I know Mom isn't going to die. She's not sick enough. Still, it isn't like she has some little cold. Two days ago she was in the emergency room." My friends shifted in their seats. Dawn was frowning fiercely. Kristy and Mal were gazing into space, asking the ceiling for answers. After a few moments, I said, "If you guys were in my shoes, what would you do?" My friends voted. Three would go to New York, three would stay home.
"Some help you are," I said, but I was smiling.
After the meeting, I rode my bicycle home, and on the way, I finally made a decision. I could not abandon Mom. I would stay with her as much as I could until she was well again.
I knew Dad would not appreciate this news. I also knew I should give it to him as soon as possible. I phoned him after supper that evening.
"Dad," I said, "I have to tell you something. I have thought this over carefully. I'm not coming to New York this weekend. I'm going to stay here and take care of Mom." "You're what?" "I'm - I'm going to have to miss the dinner." "But Stacey, this is important. Besides, you're my date for the evening." "You could invite someone else," I suggested. "There's time." "No," said Dad, sounding choked up. "That's not it. You're all I have. I don't know anyone else to invite. Just you. . . . You're all I have," he repeated.
"Maybe if you weren't a workaholic, there'd be something more in your life. But you're married to your job," I told my father.
Dad gasped, and I realized what I'd just said. I had practically accused him of being responsible for the divorce. I gasped, too. "Dad, I'm sorry," I cried. "I didn't mean to say that. Honest. But . . . but I can't leave Mom." "I understand," said Dad quietly.
I wasn't sure he did.
Chapter 8.
"Look! Look at me, Mary Anne!" Laurel Kuhn greeted Mary Anne at the door in a state of great excitement. But Mary Anne couldn't see anything unusual about her. She looked at her from head to toe, feeling a little panicky. Clearly, Laurel felt she had made some great, obvious change. How could Mary Anne not notice it?
But before Mary Anne could think of an excuse, Laurel said, "My lipstick! It's my lipstick!" She was hopping around in excitement.
In all honesty, Mary Anne didn't see any lipstick on Laurel, even when she was actually looking for it. "Your lip - " "It is mood lipstick," Laurel went on. "It came in the mail yesterday. It changes color. If you're angry, it is red. If you're happy, it is pink. If you're scared, it is yellow. If you're jealous, it is green." "Boy. Pretty smart lipstick," said Mary Anne, who still could not detect any color on Laurel's lips.
Mary Anne entered the Kuhns' hallway then, and said hi to Jake, who's eight, and Patsy, who's five. (Laurel is six.) She and Mrs. Kuhn talked for several minutes before Mrs. Kuhn left to run errands. As soon as their mother was gone, the Kuhn kids pulled Mary Anne into their rec room. "You have to see our stuff!" said Jake.
The couch in the rec room was covered with bottles and jars, pamphlets, cheap toys, and a few things Mary Anne couldn't identify. "What's this?" she asked, pointing to one of those unidentifiable objects.
"It's Poof," Jake informed her. "Stain remover." " 'It can even remove ground-in dirt and grass stains,' " quoted Laurel.
"And what's this?" Mary Anne wanted to know. She pointed to a tiny vial.
"That," Jake said proudly, "is moondust." "It really came from the moon," added Laurel. "Some astronauts brought a sack of it back with them." "We are one of only twenty people in the whole world to own moondust," Jake went on. "We may be famous soon." "That's moondust?" Mary Anne said to Jake. "Are you sure?" "The ad said." "Oh." "Guess how much it cost," demanded Laurel.
"Real moondust? Well, it must have been pretty expen - " "Seventy-five cents," Laurel interrupted her.
"And I gave a quarter," spoke up Patsy. "We each did. So the moondust is part mine. I will be famous, too." Ding-dong.
The Kuhn kids raced Mary Anne to the front door. Standing on the stoop were Buddy Barrett and Nicky Pike. Buddy was clutching a brown paper bag.
"The mail didn't come yet," announced Buddy, letting himself through the front door. (As an afterthought, he added, "Hi, everybody.") "I know," replied Jake.
"Isn't the mail awfully late?" asked Mary Anne.
"Yup," spoke up Nicky, "but this is great because now we can wait for it. ... Hi, everybody. . . . Gosh, I wonder where the mailman could be." His truck is probably bogged down with free samples and jars of moondust, Mary Anne thought.
Patsy pointed to Buddy's paper bag. "What's in there?" she asked.
