Drew’s heart sank as each rumble of thunder clenched at his stomach and each flash of lightning turned his worried face pale white. He paced across the living room, back and forth, back and forth.
“Honey, calm down,” said his mom. “I didn’t know storms scared you so much.”
Drew paused. “I’m not scared. It’s just …” Unable to find the words, he shook his head and resumed pacing.
“I understand. But it’ll be okay,” said his mom. As she spoke, there was another modest grumble of thunder, as if the sky were clearing its throat in preparation to roar.
“How do you know, Mom? What about all that work I did? All that work Dad did? We’ve been waiting for tomorrow forever. What if everything gets ruined?”
“Worrying won’t do you any good,” she replied. “We can’t control Mother Nature.”
Drew let out a frustrated sigh and peered out the living room window. Everything was darkening by the minute. Drew was no meteorologist, but as another threatening gang of smoky clouds glided across the sky, and as the distant rumblings grew louder, he knew the storm was coming. Just yesterday a perfect, golden sun had hung in the bright blue sky, radiating warmth and pleasantness throughout Emerson. There were a few clusters of puffy white clouds, but they only made the scene that much more picturesque. Now, only one day later, the sun had gone into hiding, and the sky was a dark, murky gray, with clear intentions of destruction.
Drew looked straight out the living room window and watched as the gusting wind scooped leaves from the ground and sent them down Ernest Way in a spiraling frenzy. The half-bare elm tree in the front yard shivered. Emerson Township was well-known for its trees. Many homes had wooded areas for backyards, and almost every home had at least one tree in the front yard. Drew was staring at the elm tree when his gaze was interrupted by the sudden appearance of wet spots on the window.
“It’s raining!” he cried out.
Penny didn’t respond, either because she couldn’t hear him from the kitchen, where she was removing some pork chops from the oven, or because she felt no need to respond to such an obvious declaration. Considering that the forecast called for a 100% chance of rain, and the sky was now the same color as the Johnstons’ freshly paved asphalt driveway, there was no need for someone to announce the arrival of the rain. Drew saw just a few droplets at first, but within a minute they were scattered all over the window. He cringed as the rain pattered on the glass.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” said his mom from the kitchen. “I want to eat now, finish up a few emails, then go down to the basement while it’s bad out. I’m sure everything will be fine, but I’ll just feel better if we’re down there. There’ll probably be some hail, and they said on the news that some areas could even see tornadoes.”
“Tornadoes? Seriously?”
“Honey, we’ll go downstairs and we’ll be fine. It’s just a precaution, that’s all. It’s very unlikely there will be anything like that here, but there will be some strong winds. Better safe than sorry, right?”
“You don’t understand,” said Drew. “I’m gonna call Dad.”
He grabbed the phone from the kitchen and dialed his dad’s number. It rang five times and went to voicemail: “You have reached the voicemail of Ryan Daley, Architect Apprentice at Ewing, Jones, Parker, and Silverman Designs. Please leave your name and number, and I will get back to you as soon as possible.”
Drew hung up without leaving a message. “Mom, Dad’s not answering.”
“Did you call his cell phone or his work phone?”
“Work. He said he’d be there late tonight so he can have more time for the unveiling tomorrow.”
“Try him on his cell.”
But there was no such luck. Why isn’t he answering? He always answers. Drew began to think of possible reasons why his dad wouldn’t have picked up his phone, but they only made him feel worse.
****
The rain continued tapping on the windows as a constant reminder of its presence. As Drew sat at the dinner table, barely touching his food, all he could think about was the swing set at Emerson Park, and all the time he had spent working on it.
Earlier in the year, Mayor Garcia had announced that the township would renovate Emerson Park. For years the old park had been unusable. The grass had died; the merry-go-round was rusted; the pavilion had a leaky roof; the basketball hoops had bent rims and shredded nets, and weeds sprouted from large cracks in the court; and the crown jewel of the park, the swing set, had to be removed after its collapse. Many older Emerson residents talked about the beautiful swing set that once stood proudly in the middle of their little town’s park. But the area was now a taped-off void with rusty pegs emerging from the earth as the only vestige of a swing set. With roads to pave, snow to plow, leaves to collect, and other more practical jobs to do, there hadn’t been much money left for anything else. However, after enough town members spoke up at board meetings, Emerson would finally get a new park.
Mayor Garcia announced that a construction company would coordinate the majority of the work, but volunteers would be needed because of the town’s limited budget. When Drew’s dad offered to help, he was given the revered duty of constructing the new swing set. The afternoon he accepted the job, he called Drew to see if he wanted to help. An enthusiastic Drew agreed.
The construction company and the volunteers worked on the park throughout the summer. For Drew and his dad, that meant painting the picnic tables and building the swing set. They decided to paint everything orange, white, and black, the official colors of Emerson. They spent hours working at the park on weekends and even some weekday evenings. Several times Drew turned down offers to hang out with his friends. He knew he was missing out on a lot of fun, but nothing seemed as important as that swing set.
It held three swings, and on each side of the structure two six-by-six wooden beams formed a triangle. Between those beams (which looked like giant, orange A’s) was a wooden panel. On one panel, just last week, Drew carefully painted “Emerson Park” in black letters outlined in white. Because he was so mesmerized by the drawing in his science book, he decided to try something more artistic himself. So, with the help of a sketch by his dad, he also painted a silhouette of the park on the other panel, outlining the pavilion, basketball hoops, trees, and the swing set itself.
Knowing the swing set would stand in the center of the park for all of Emerson to see, he was attentive to every detail. Even the tiniest mistakes resulted in him wiping off the paint and beginning again.
But now, all that hard work was in danger of being washed away for good, and Drew and his mom were sitting helplessly in the basement as an onslaught of rain pounded down on Emerson.
“Isn’t it funny how when you were little, you were scared to death to be in the basement at night, but now you’re down here to feel safe?” said Penny, smiling and lifting her head from the book she was reading.
Drew rolled his eyes, both at the accusation that he used to be scared of the basement (this was something he didn’t like to admit) and at the fact that his mom seemed to think he was scared of this storm. He had been afraid of the dark when he was younger. And, like most little kids, loud thunder and bright lightning strikes had been frightening to him. But now, as the storm worsened, it wasn’t the darkness or the loud noises that scared him. This was a new, different fear. This fear was based on the realization that everything he had worked for could be ruined – and there was nothing he could do about it.
He walked to the back door and peered out its circular window. It was too dark to see much, but he could hear the rain surging and the wind whistling like a tea kettle.
“Drew, sit back down,” said Penny. “Standing there isn’t going to solve anything. Besides, we’re in the basement to stay safe, yet you’re standing in the one area that could possibly be unsafe.”
Too frustrated to respond, Drew slumped back down on the basement couch. He wasn’t worried about his own safety – he was worried about the park. There was no basement for the swing set to hide in during the storm.
ZAP!
The TV and lights snapped off. Drew and Penny were surrounded by blackness. Penny turned on the two flashlights she had next to her and handed one to Drew.
“I figured,” she said. “Well, it’s getting late anyway, so we might as well call it bedtime. Sleep down here on the couch, where it’s safe and a little quieter.”
Normally Drew would remind his mom how much he hated when she used the word “bedtime,” but on this night he simply said, “Whatever.”
He lay on the couch in the basement, unable to fall asleep. He was kept awake not only by the noises of the storm outside but also by the whirlwind of worries inside his head. What if the wind lifts the tarp off the swing set, and then the rain washes away the paint? What if the whole thing gets ripped from the ground? Will all that fresh sod be okay? Could the pavilion collapse? His thoughts were interrupted by a fierce boom of thunder. Then the basement was lit up for a brief moment by a lightning flash. What if something gets struck by lightning?
He closed his eyes and gripped the couch pillow, trying to think of anything besides the storm or the park. The first thing to pop into his head was the drawing in his science book, but that was no comfort. The drawing was the reason he had painted on the swing set to begin with, and he needed to think of something different. Also, the idea of finding the Mystery Artist was losing its appeal. He still cherished the picture just as much as the first time he saw it, but his lack of detective skills made him want to give up on the case. Out of the five previous owners of the book, he still only knew who two of the people were: Jason Porter and Skylar Jansen. He was still uneasy about talking to Tommy’s older brother, so he hadn’t gotten around to it. And even though Skylar liked the picture, she wasn’t the Mystery Artist. As for the other three people on the list (Stacey Janofsky, Alexus Ballentine, and Mike Hudock), Drew had no clue who any of them were. Maybe it’s easier to give up on my search and just be happy I found the picture at all.
He continued to search for something, anything, to take his mind off the storm. How about baseball? He thought about the home run derby he and his friends had discussed having next week, but that just reminded him that the field would likely be too muddy. Video games? No, he quickly realized that wasn’t an option with the electricity out. What about Dad? But this only worried him even further. Why hasn’t he called back? He always calls back. Is there a problem? Did he get caught in the storm?
Drew literally shook his head to chase away the bad thoughts, and the drawing once again settled into his mind. Though it reminded him of the swing set, it did seem to have a calming effect on him. It could still help, even if he had given up on his mission. He closed his eyes and tried to immerse himself in the image, but for the very first time, he couldn’t do it. Instead, he could only envision rough waves crashing violently onto the shore, uprooting beach umbrellas and leveling sandcastles.
There was a loud crash. Drew shot up from the couch. The crash had sounded like glass shattering. He turned on his flashlight and waved it around the basement. Everything looked intact.
He went to the back door and looked out the window. The rain was still pouring, and it was too dark to see what could have caused the noise. He tried to use the flashlight to see outside, but it only illuminated his own reflection in the glass. Another thunderclap barreled through the darkness, but the noise he had heard couldn’t have been thunder. The sky began to flicker, and a staggering bolt of lightning struck down and split the sky in half. For a moment, everything seemed quiet and motionless, as if the lightning had the power to briefly make time stand still. Drew gazed in awe at the electric sky. Each time it flickered it seemed to reveal the world in a different hue: shades of purple and white and blue that Drew had never seen before.
Finally he snapped out of it and remembered why he had gotten up in the first place. Guided by his flashlight, he went upstairs and inspected the first floor of the house. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, but he could’ve sworn he heard glass breaking. Maybe it was just a dream.
But a moment later Penny came down the stairs and dispelled that theory. She too had heard the crash but said there was no damage anywhere on the second floor.
“How about we both go back down to the basement?” she said. “I think we’ll feel a little safer.”
With Drew on the couch and Penny on the old, chocolate-brown leather recliner, the two of them tried to fall asleep, still wondering what the loud crash could have been.
****
Drew’s eyes opened slowly. Hazy gray light floated in the quiet basement. He could sense that it was morning, though he wasn’t sure what time it was.
He sat up, tossed his blanket aside, and headed straight to the back door. Looking through the window, he saw that the downpour had eased to a lighter but steady shower. His old shoes were on the floor by the door, but he didn’t bother to put them on. He opened the door and stepped outside barefoot (he had gone to sleep with socks on, but they must have come off during the night). The sky was steel-gray. The air had that earthy, after-storm smell. It was as if the storm had washed away the old world and replaced it with a slightly different one. Drew took a few steps into the backyard but stopped due to a sharp pain in the bottom of his foot.
“Ouch!” He looked down and saw that he had stepped on a branch. As a matter of fact, branches were scattered throughout the yard. He limped back into the house and went upstairs to find his mom. She was standing on the front porch, surveying the damage from the storm.
“Good morning,” she said. “Power’s still out.”
“I know,” said Drew. “I have to go to the park and check out the swing set. And my foot hurts. Look, I stepped on a stupid branch in the backyard.” He showed his mom the bottom of his foot. It was scratched and red but not bleeding.
“Are you okay?”
“Well, I guess. I mean, it kinda hurts.”
The truth was that it didn’t hurt much at all, but he was so frustrated that he felt like everything should hurt. He found himself trying to urge pain into the foot, as if it would in some strange way make him feel better.
Penny knelt down to examine her son’s foot. “It doesn’t look too bad. I’m sure you’ll be okay. Why weren’t you wearing shoes, though?”
“I dunno. It doesn’t matter. Can we please go to the park now? What time is it? The unveiling’s at noon …”
Penny frowned. “It’s still raining, honey. I don’t think there will be any unveiling today.”
“It’s barely drizzling,” said Drew.
Penny paused. The determined look on her son’s face told her that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
“All right, I’ll take you down. But don’t you want some breakfast first?”
“I’m not hungry. Let’s just go.”
“Okay, get some shoes and socks on. And a jacket. We’ll walk down. I’d actually feel safer that way, with all the water and everything else all over the road. I wouldn’t be surprised if some areas flooded. I think we were actually the lucky ones. Well, except for the Zim –”
But Drew was already halfway up the stairs. He threw on a hoodie and some socks, mashed his feet into his shoes, grabbed his Pirates hat, and ran back downstairs.
“Let’s go,” he said.
The park was just three blocks from their house, in the opposite direction of the school. Penny grabbed an umbrella for each of them, and they headed down the street.
Mrs. Goyle was standing on her front porch as they passed her house. Mrs. Goyle was like the neighborhood information center. She was the person who always knew what was going on with everyone in Emerson. She knew all the gossip and loved spreading it around. Drew doubted Mr. Barker would approve.
“Hey, Penny, can you believe this?” said Mrs. Goyle, sounding more excited than concerned. “I heard some streets are flooded pretty badly. Main Street, Coelho Drive, a couple others. The Bucci house always has flooding problems in the basement, but I bet they’re really in for it now. Their basement flooded in 2004, you know, and they had just put all new flooring in. At least then their son Michael was around to help. I haven’t seen him in years. They’re saying the power should be back on today, but we’ll see. Oh, and I heard what happened at the Zimmers’ …”
The old woman’s words seemed to spout out of her mouth automatically, regardless if anyone wanted to hear them or not. As she spoke, Penny’s footsteps slowed, perhaps reluctantly, and she proceeded to do one of Drew’s least favorite things: she stopped to talk. Drew rarely went on walks with her anymore because of the inevitable pit stops. He hated standing around waiting while she talked forever with someone about grown-up topics. It seemed like adults would stand around discussing the weather just to have something to talk about.
Drew heard a few words from their conversation, like “flood” and “electricity,” but he wasn’t paying much attention. He noticed that the rain had lightened and the sky looked a bit friendlier than it did mere minutes ago. He almost smiled but caught himself. Now scowling, he remembered that this was the same destructive sky from just a few hours ago. He heard his mom say something else about the Zimmers, who were their next door neighbors, and then, “Right, Drew?”
“Huh?” he said.
His mom and Mrs. Goyle looked at him strangely.
“Can we please go to the park now?” he asked impatiently.
“Hang on, Drew. We can go in a minute,” said his mom. “Did you hear anything about the unveiling at the park?” she asked Mrs. Goyle. “Drew has been worried sick about it since the sky turned gray yesterday.”
“Ah, yes, good old Mayor Garcia,” began Mrs. Goyle, as if she were an authority on the subject. “First the park was to be done for the Fourth of July, then Labor Day, and then she pushes it back to a random Sunday in early November when weather here gets dicey and calls it ‘Fall Festival.’ For someone always bragging about being a lifelong Pittsburgher, you’d think she’d understand the weather here a little better. But I tell you, it would be nice if she would ever stick to her word. Just once! That’s all I ask.”
Her rant was lost upon Drew, who waited for her to actually answer his mom’s question.
“But yes, the unveiling was postponed indefinitely. They made the decision before the rain started falling. It’ll be too muddy, too messy, although it does appear to be clearing up. We just might have a nice day after all. But as for the park itself, I haven’t talked to anyone who has seen it. On your way back, stop here and let me know if things are okay there.”
****
When they reached the park, Drew sprinted across the marshy grass, through the cool, misty air, to the swing set. He passed the pavilion, which appeared unscathed. But when he got to the swing set, he let out a gasp. The giant tarp that had been covering the swing set was nowhere in sight. The wind had been so powerful that it must have lifted the tarp and carried it away like it was as light as a tissue. The exposed swing set was snapped in half, collapsed under the weight of a big, thick, buckeye tree. Two of the swings were wrapped around the post, while the third was on the ground about 20 feet away.
“No … no!” Drew looked at the side panel where he had painted “Emerson Park.” There was a wide scratch across it. It looked as though a tree branch had been thrown against it by the violent wind. Drew ran his fingers across the blemish. He had spent hours painting those letters, trying to make each one perfect. Now something had come along and mercilessly scratched them out. He looked all around, and, suddenly, the park seemed a lonelier and sadder place than when it was empty. It had been useless before, but at least it hadn’t been disappointing.
His mom walked over and put her arm around him. “I’m so sorry, honey. It looks like you guys did a great job. You painted this yourself, right? You’re turning into a real artist.”
“It’s all ruined,” said Drew, ignoring her compliment and wiping tears from his eyes. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. “And no one even gets to see it. Everything was perfect, and now it’s ruined.”
“Drew, nothing is ever ruined,” said his mom. Drew still did not react to her words. “Let’s just go home now,” she said a few moments later.
“No,” said Drew, pulling away from his mother’s embrace. He ran to the other side of the swing set to see the real artistry, hoping that it had somehow escaped the storm’s terror. Instead he saw that the silhouette had a crack down the middle of it. The meticulous outlines he had worked so hard on were now blurred from snapped wood. He looked up at the sky and saw that it had lightened up a bit, but that didn’t matter. Not anymore. He turned to his mom, his watery eyes strawberry-red, and they left the park.
****
When they got home, Drew went around the house to the backyard. He didn’t feel like going inside yet – the dreariness outside was more in agreement with his mood. As he tugged his hat down over his eyes, bristles of his sandy-blonde hair peeked out all around, especially between the arch and the adjustable strap in the back. The once-oversized hat was fitting more snugly than ever. Drew ignored it, but he knew he was beginning to outgrow his favorite hat. He grabbed one of his tennis balls hiding in the grass and repeatedly threw it against the back of the garage, similar to when he was trying to figure out his social studies presentation.
The weather changed with each passing minute. Soon the rain had reduced to an almost invisible dribble, and the sun shone faintly through the clouds. What’s the point of clearing up now? Drew thought as he whipped the ball against the garage. The damage is already done. It might as well stay dark forever. But the sky was soon emitting shades of bright orange and soft blue, and Drew again caught himself admiring the scene. No, he said to himself as he felt his mood improving. He wasn’t ready to move on yet.
After pulling his hat down even lower, he reared back and threw the ball as hard as he could – so wildly that he missed the garage completely and the ball soared over the fence and into the Zimmers’ yard. The fence was just a couple of inches taller than Drew. He got on his toes and peered over it, and he couldn’t believe what he saw. How didn’t I see this before? A huge pine tree was leaning on his neighbors’ house. The tree had snapped and splintered halfway down the trunk, and the top of the tree had crashed through a second floor window and was inside their home.
“Wow,” Drew mouthed slowly. A nameless jogger certainly couldn’t fix something like this.
Mr. Zimmer was standing in his backyard and saw Drew peeking over the fence. Drew hadn’t noticed him until that moment. He wanted to hide. His eyes were still watery, and he was pretty sure they were red. He didn’t want his neighbor to see him crying.
“Hey, Drew,” said Mr. Zimmer somberly.
“Hi,” said Drew, shifting his teary eyes back and forth between his neighbor and the fallen tree. Mr. Zimmer looked so sad, so disgusted. Drew still couldn’t believe what he was looking at.
“What a day,” said Mr. Zimmer, switching his gaze from the fallen tree to Drew. Drew felt strange, though. Mr. Zimmer was looking right at him, just a couple feet away, but his expression did not indicate in any way that he realized Drew was crying.
Mr. Zimmer then noticed Drew’s tennis ball on his lawn. He picked it up and handed it to Drew.
“Thank you.”
Mr. Zimmer began to walk away but stopped and said, “You remember when me and my brother painted this house?”
Drew shook his head side to side.
“Yeah, was probably ten years ago, now. The house used to be a putrid green, something I hated for years. And instead of gettin’ a professional to paint it, me and my dumb brother thought we could do it. Took us almost a month and it didn’t look too great afterwards, but boy do I love the house being anything but that awful, putrid green. My brother passed away a few years ago, remember? Guess he won’t be helping me this time.” The words didn’t seem to be meant for Drew, even though he was the only person there with Mr. Zimmer.
Without saying goodbye, Mr. Zimmer walked toward the front of his house. Drew continued to stare at the catastrophe. After a few minutes, he wiped his cheeks again and went inside.
A peanut butter and banana sandwich was on the dining room table. His mouth watered for it, and he felt his stomach clench and grumble. He knew his mom had left it there for him because it was his favorite sandwich, but he resisted the urge to pick it up and take a bite. He saw that his mom was sitting on the front porch, and he stepped outside to join her.
“Mom, did you see what happened next door?”
“Of course I did. That was the crash we heard last night. I feel so bad. I’m just relieved no one was hurt.”
“What are they gonna do?”
“Oh, I don’t even know. It’s so much damage, I don’t even know where they begin.”
Drew shook his head and looked out at the street. Water was still streaming along the curb, and newspapers were scattered all around. Some neighbors were outside, examining the damage and picking up items that had been tossed out of place.
Moments later Mr. Daley’s white pick-up truck pulled into the driveway. He got out, walked over to the edge of the yard, and began talking to Mr. Zimmer. After a handshake and a pat on the back, Mr. Daley made his way to the front porch.
“Dad!” said Drew.
“Hey, bud, what are you doin’ out here?”
“Are you okay? Why didn’t you call back?”
“It’s just been such a mess,” said Mr. Daley. “We lost power at the office last night, so I went home. Problem was, I had no power at my place either, and my cell phone died, and of course I couldn’t charge it, so I couldn’t call, it’s just a real mess. I was gonna stop over last night, but I figured your mom had things under control. Didn’t mean to scare you, bud.”
“How are things looking out there now, Ryan?” Penny asked. “We only saw the park.”
“Not great. Main Street’s flooded. Joyce Drive is closed off. There’s a cop down on Coelho directing traffic, but that’s not helping much.”
“It’s such a shame,” Penny said, shaking her head. “Hey, why don’t we go inside? It’s still a bit chilly out here.”
Mr. Daley took off his muddy boots, and the three of them went inside and sat down at the dining room table. Drew sat in the chair by the sandwich, but he still didn’t touch it.
“Coffee?” Penny said to Ryan. She got up and walked over to the counter.
“Sure.” He smiled and tapped Drew on the arm. “You think she’ll figure it out?” he whispered.
Drew paused for a moment then smiled, trying not to laugh.
“What are you two whispering about over there?” Penny said, looking at Ryan and Drew skeptically as she scooped some coffee out of a canister.
Drew and his dad sat quietly with slight smirks on their faces.
“Ah – you two are the worst! Okay, okay, you got me,” Penny said, realizing she couldn’t make the coffee without electricity. “Hey, I’m just getting this ready for when the power comes back on, that’s all.”
Drew laughed, and for a moment he forgot about the storm. He looked back at his dad and, in a serious tone, asked, “Did you go look at the park, though?”
“Yeah, I did, bud. That’s why I drove straight over,” Mr. Daley said in a muffled voice.
“It’s really bad,” said Drew. “The swing set is ruined.”
“I told him nothing is ever ruined,” said Penny from the counter. Those words seemed eerily familiar to Drew, but he figured it must have been because she had said them at the park just a little while ago.
Mr. Daley put his hand on Drew’s shoulder. “Well, we built it before, and we can build it again. We’ll just have to make it even better. It’s all we can do.”
“Yes, and I know you didn’t want to hear this when we were at the park,” said Penny, returning to the table, “but your painting was really good. We need to get you more art supplies. I didn’t know you were such an artist.”
Drew fought the urge to smile. Then, as quickly as it had gone out, the power came back on.
“See,” said Penny. “I told you both. You thought I didn’t know what I was doing, but I did. The power is back on, and I’m number one!”
She began dancing around the kitchen with her hands in the air, singing “I’m number one, I’m number one!”
It wasn’t often that Penny acted this way. In fact, Drew couldn’t recall a time when she had seemed so lively.
Penny looked at Drew and motioned to the sandwich on the table. Drew smiled and, finally, picked it up. Bite by bite, he began to feel better. He wasn’t sure why – maybe it was getting food in his empty stomach, maybe it was his parents’ comforting words, or maybe it was his mom’s zany behavior – but he felt reassured that things would be okay.
“I’ll make some calls today and see what we can do to get back to work on the park,” said Mr. Daley. “Remember, just because something might take a little bit of work, you know, a little elbow grease, doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.”
Drew knew his dad was right. In a way, it was the hard work itself that made the swing set worth it.
“Well, I bet there’ll be a ton of people to help with the park again, right?” Drew nodded in answer to his own question. “So I was thinking maybe we can help Mr. Zimmer. I don’t think he’ll be able to fix his house by himself, so do you think we could see if he needs help?”
Mr. Daley smiled. “You’re a good kid, you know that? Finish that sandwich, and let’s get over there and see what we can do.”
Drew knew helping the Zimmers wouldn’t be as fun as building the swing set, but it seemed just as important, if not more. While sweeping pine needles out of the Zimmers’ second-floor bathroom that afternoon, he thought of the Mystery Artist again. Originally, he had thought his search would be an easy task. Now that he realized it was never meant to be easy, he no longer wanted to give up. In fact, he was determined to complete his mission now more than ever.