Tell Me (13 page)

I burst through Mim's front door, an official rider who just rode the best horse ever, and that's when I freeze.

“I can't believe it!” I shout.

I'm not kidding. Dad is sitting in the hugging chair!

He leaps up when he sees me and gives me a hug that no chair on earth can give.

Dad laughs deep. “Surprise!”

I look at his face.

He doesn't look angry.

I look in his eyes. They don't seem upset.

He's laughing now, like he used to.

“Dad, I didn't expect—”

“Well, it just seemed like the right place to be.”

Mim is standing in the hall and she's smiling at Dad like she's lit by the sun.

“Old girl,” he says to her, “it's been too long.” And they hug like it's been too long, which it has.

Mim's laughing. “Brian McConnell, what in the world are you doing here?”

“I took some vacation and found myself heading for Rosemont.”

Mim looks at him. “You look pale.”

Dad says, “So do you.”

“Don't be fresh. Have you eaten?”

He laughs. “I'd never eat before coming here, you know that.”

“We're going to fatten you up.”

Dad puts an arm around me and one around Mim. And something feels like old times. “God, it's good to see you.”

Dad laughs deep as we walk into the kitchen.

What's going on around here?

We eat until we're almost sick. Apple sausage, cheddar cheese, chewy dark bread, potato salad, and grapes. There are brownies left from yesterday, and I cut a big one for Dad and give him a frosty glass of milk the way he likes it. I tell him about riding Zoe.

“I was so careful. Honest, Dad.”

“I know how much you love horses, Anna.”

He doesn't look mad, and believe me, I'm watching.

I sit there. I don't want to break the magic.

I don't want to ask, or ruin the moment by saying the wrong, dumb thing like . . .

What's going on?

Why are you here, Dad?

Why are you happy?

Dad and Mim are talking about the festival and he laughs, remembering when she started it twenty years ago.

“You had three gardens set up for people to visit. I remember.”

“You helped plant all the petunias that year.”

Hey, that's my flower.

“Those were good times, honey,” Mim tells him.

Dad leans back. “I'm trying to find those times again.” He looks at me. “And I didn't want to miss the excitement here.” He looks at his hands. “I don't know how to say it. I'm sorry. I've been awful this year.”

I look at Mim, who says, “We love you, you know that.”

“I don't deserve it, but I'll take it.”

“Hold on now,” Mim says. “What's this about not deserving love?”

“Mother, I didn't mean . . .”

“Because if you think you're loved only when you're acting perfect, we're all in trouble.”

Dad's still looking at his hands. “I know . . . it hit me hard that I've got to change.”

It's so quiet in this room, like we're all holding our breath.

“Dad, tell me again about when you fought for the stoplight.”

And he tells the story I've heard a thousand times about the dangerous intersection in his neighborhood where two kids were hit by cars. “People wrote it off, they said it was driver error—it was, but there needed to be a stoplight there, to make things safer. The people who owned houses near the corner didn't want a stoplight, and people fought the cost, but, you know, we just went and talked to people, we let them know what we believed, and after a while we got a little army behind us.” Dad's face beams. “A little army that really cares can beat a big one.”

I love thinking about that.

“They called me a community activist after that, and I never felt that was the right word. I was just a guy who
saw things that were wrong and tried to do something about them. That's how I met your mom.”

I know this story, too. Mom was working at Town Hall and Dad kept coming in with all the things he needed to change. He laughed. “After I met your mom, I was looking for any little thing that needed changing, so I had an excuse to see her. I'm told I was becoming a real pain.”

And now they're apart.

We sit there quietly, but Bean knows what to do. He drops his stinking tennis ball in Dad's lap. Dad picks it up. “I've missed you, buddy, not the ball.” Dad goes out back and throws that ball until Bean is too tired to care.

It's settled. Dad will stay with us this week. He'll sleep on the pull-out couch in the living room.

Dad keeps walking outside to the garden, even though it's late, smelling the flowers. Just smelling them.

“Something about all these flowers,” he says.

I show Dad the composite drawings that Daphne did. “I'm proud of you, Anna, for not letting this go.”

“I feel like I've let it go. Nothing much happening.”

“You know what I've learned? In every fight for something important, there's always a time when it feels like
nothing's happening.”

I write that down and put it under my pillow and wonder how long it takes Homeland Security to translate a note.

I wake up to my father's loud laugh coming from the garden.

I'm getting in on this joy. I head outside in my dog pajamas. Dad and Mim are having a time, drinking coffee, eating muffins. The birds are flying in and out of their houses. I sit down with them. Dad grabs my hand. He's talking about when he helped an animal shelter get the word out about all the dogs they had for adoption. I remember the open house and the people who came to adopt the dogs. That's how we found Peanut.

I'm thinking I should call Mom and tell her that things are changing for Dad and he's not angry right now, and maybe she shouldn't be spending so much time in New Jersey with all those weird painted eggs that are in every room of Uncle Barry's house.

But Mim says to get dressed.

We've got work to do.

That's when Dad hands me a bag. “I figured you didn't need chocolate.”

I open it.

I can't believe it!

Inside it are yellow scrunchies.

“I could only find twelve, Anna, but it's a start.”

Burke gets a scrunchie and puts it on his wrist.

Ben gets one, and several kids from the band want to wear them. Everyone is here working on floats.

Now Caitlin Cudup walks up. She wants a scrunchie, too.

“It's not for your hair, Caitlin. It's to remember.”

“I know. Ben told us. I want to remember her.”

I'm not sure about this.

“Ben told me what you did, Anna.” She holds out her hand like she deserves it.

I hand her one. She puts it on her wrist.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

I can't get enough of this hangar. I'm walking with Mim and Dad, watching the work get done on the floats. So many volunteers have showed up to help.

“You should have seen this place months ago,” Merv
tells me. He manages the work on all the floats. “It was a sea of chicken wire. And now!”

A man covers the side of a float with dried flowers, moving like a machine. “That's nice,” Mim tells him. “I love the textures.”

A girl about my age is gluing small beans in circles to outline butterfly wings on the Harvey Mutt Plumbing, Ltd., float. Their theme is “Life Is Good,” and you wouldn't normally think of butterflies, rainbows, and hearts as big plumbing symbols, unless you had a toilet that kept overflowing and you know how good life seemed after the plumber fixed it.

This girl keeps laying bean after bean down, making something so beautiful.

“You're doing a fine job,” Mim tells her.

She lights up and grins.

All this attention to detail, it pays off.

Mim looks tired. She sits next to a waving chipmunk on the side of the Harvey Mutt Plumbing, Ltd., float as Coleman Crudup walks past fast like he's the King of the Festival.

He looks back and shouts, “You take care of your health, Mim. Nothing more important than that.”

Of course, the fact that he shouted it makes everyone look at Mim and wonder.

Well, let them look!

Coleman Crudup points to the floats being decorated. “That's coming along fine, real fine.”

“Where's your float, Coleman?” That's Merv asking.

“Oh, I got it hid away.”

“You adhering to the rules, friend?” Merv asks.

“Course I am.” He slaps Merv on the shoulder.

Merv slaps his shoulder right back. “Gonna have to inspect it, Coleman.”

“I'm busy as all get-out, Merv.”

Dad sticks out his hand to Crudup. “Brian McConnell, Mim's son.”

Crudup nods at that.

“I'll be stepping in and taking care of a few festival issues for her this week. First order of business, sir, is we need to schedule a walk-through of your float and the materials you're using.”

Crudup looks surprised. “Well, I'm planning to keep it under wraps until the big day. I'm sure you understand the value of not letting the world in on what you're doing.”

“Oh, I understand it,” Dad says, “but that's not what this parade is about. You signed an agreement regarding this walk-through and we aim to make sure you abide by that.”

Crudup looks a little nervous. “You're just like your mother.”

“Thank you,” Dad says.

More and more volunteers are pouring into Rosemont. The parade is four days away.

Winnie is on the phone, writing something down. “I'll tell them. Yes, I understand.”

She motions Dad, Mim, and me into the library conference room.

“That was Brad. They've checked the note you received at the nail salon, Anna.”

“What did it say?”

Winnie sighs. “Brad can't tell us.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's part of an investigation and he can't talk about the case. He said we sit tight.”

Every muscle in my neck might snap, it's so tight!

“What else did he say?”

“These things are carefully planned,” Winnie
explains.

“He said that?”

“No.” Winnie looks at me.

“But what else did he say?”

“He said nothing else.”

“And that's okay with everyone?” I'm shouting now.

“It has to be,” Dad says.

“This is highly confidential,” Winnie adds.

I know that! “What do you think is happening, Winnie?”

Winnie puts her arm around me. “I believe you've given them a powerful piece of evidence and they are going to track this down.”

That tells me nothing. Adults are supposed to know things!

Librarians are supposed to know more things than regular people!

I'm in a room with a librarian and two other adults and
I'm sick of not knowing
!