CHAPTER 15

Are We in Trouble?

All week, Mom is busy working at the library or doing paperwork at home or talking on the phone with her lawyer. I’m getting good at eating supper from take-out boxes and reading myself bedtime stories.

Marianna keeps bragging to us about having a big party at her house as soon as her mom gets here. How Reuben will cook us a big meal, and we’ll eat off flowery china dishes and drink sparkling apple juice from fancy goblets. Then we’ll watch movies on their giant screen, and no one will have to sleep on the floor, because her house has so many beds.

The other girls hang on her every word. Marianna talks big, but on the inside I know she’s the same size as me.

I could tell them the truth. Then maybe Amber would stop treating Marianna like a diva. Maybe she’d want to be my best friend again.

But I know what it feels like to have a big secret you don’t want anyone to know. I keep quiet.

*   *   *

When I ride the bus to Dad’s house on Friday, Bowtie sits behind Ruby and me again. But this time they don’t pick at our hair or tease me about my name. Instead, they show us their dead fly collection. I’m not a big fan of dead flies, but as long as they don’t throw them at me, I’ll pretend I’m interested. I tell them I collect stuff too.

“Like what?” Bo asks.

“Erasers, mostly,” I reply. “And unicorns.”

“Real ones?” Ty asks.

Bo gives him the elbow. “Don’t be a dope, Ty. She means pretend ones. Unicorns ain’t real.”

“How many do you have?” Ruby asks me.

“Only one so far,” I say. “It’s made of glass.”

“I have one that’s made of glass too, and one that’s a pillow,” Ruby says.

Ty makes a skunk face. “I’d rather collect dead flies.”

“My sister’s got a bunch of toy ones,” Bo says to me. “Unicorns, I mean. She’s too big to play with them now. I’ll see if I can get one for you. You too, Ruby.”

We both smile, surprised. Usually the only thing Bo gives us girls is a snap with a rubber band. “Thanks, Bo!” Ruby and I say.

Bo shrugs, and ducks his eyes. Then he sits back in his seat, messing with his dead fly collection, ears on fire.

*   *   *

When I get home a few minutes later, Dad is inside, making a pot of chili. The cabin smells warm and spicy instead of damp and musty.

Later, when he asks me to carry the trash outside after supper, I’m surprised to see that the broken storm door has glass now. Dad must have fixed it this week. And when I walk across the backyard to the garbage can, the leaves are raked and the grass is mowed. The toadstools are gone.

I read Dad a chapter from my reading book before he tucks me in for the night.

“I’ve got to meet with a couple people tomorrow morning,” he says, tucking in the blankets around me. “You’ll have to tag along. Bring some books to read.”

“Can I go to the library instead?” I ask. “Mom told me she works this weekend.”

“Sure thing,” Dad says. “I’ll drop you off on the way into town, and pick you up when I’m done.”

*   *   *

At the library the next morning, I march in like I’m Marianna Van Den Heuval and shout, “Surprise!”

Mom looks up from the mail she’s sorting. “Well, look who’s here!” she says, setting down the envelope in her hand and walking around her desk to hug me. She doesn’t say anything about my loud voice, or my crooked braids (Dad did my hair this morning), so I know she’s really happy to see me.

“Dad has to meet with somebody about fixing something,” I tell her. “He said I could wait here . . . okay?”

“Absolutely okay,” Mom replies, hugging me tighter. “You can help me organize the inter-library loan books. A shipment just came in.”

Mom and I start going through the stack of books and DVDs on her desk, matching them with the names of people who ordered them from other libraries. Halfway through the pile of books, I pick up one called All About Sea Glass.

“Oh, good,” Mom says, glancing over as I flip through the pages. “That’s the book Marianna has been pester—I mean, asking—about. She’ll be happy it’s finally here.” Mom smiles to herself as she goes back to work. “I’m happy it’s finally here.”

“Marianna said she and her mom collect sea glass,” I say. “They make jewelry out of it. Only now they can’t, because there are no oceans in Oak Hill. And her mom still isn’t here.”

“I’m sure that’s very hard on Marianna,” Mom says. “Would you like to bring the book to her? It might make her feel more at home.”

I close the book slowly, thinking through Mom’s suggestion. If I take the book to her, she’ll know that I know her secret. But would that be a bad thing or a good thing? If she lets me in on her secret, will it make her little cottage feel more like home?

I look at Mom. “Okay, I’ll bring the book to Marianna.”

“Do you know which house?” Mom asks.

I nod. “It’s the big one, just around the corner. But Dad’s supposed to meet me here,” I say, tucking the book under my arm.

“If he shows up,” Mom says, “I’ll text you to come back.”

*   *   *

I get to Marianna’s cul-de-sac a few minutes later. Her house really does look tall enough to be a diva’s castle. It’s brick, with a big white porch that wraps around one side. As I walk toward the front steps, a lacy curtain flutters in one of the downstairs windows. I catch a glimpse of a swinging ponytail and hear someone squawk, “Oh. Em. Gee!”

The front door flies open. Marianna jumps out onto the porch in her stocking feet and pulls the door closed behind her. “What are you doing here, Tweety?!”

“Special delivery,” I reply, holding up the sea glass book. “It came in at the library this morning. My mom thought you’d like to have it right away.”

“Oh,” Marianna says, snatching the book from me. “Thanks.” She hugs it to her chest and shifts from one stocking foot to the other. “Well, then. Good-bye.”

She reaches behind her for the doorknob and starts to back her way inside.

“UmDo you want to show me your new house?” I ask.

Marianna swallows. Her throat clicks. “Yes, but . . . it’s just . . .” She looks over her shoulder. I wait for her to decide.

“Okay.” She hugs the book tighter, like a shield. “I’ll give you a quick tour. Take off your shoes. Don’t touch anything.”

Marianna opens the front door and peeks in like she’s checking to see if the coast is clear, then lets me follow her inside.

“This is my grand entryway,” she says in a queenly voice.

I kick off my sneakers, looking at the huge staircase with a carved wooden railing. But some of the fancy-patterned wallpaper is peeling at the edges. The carpeting on the staircase is threadbare. When I touch the wooden railing, it wobbles. A small table holds an empty flower vase and a book with gold letters on its cover.

Our Guests

Marianna puts the sea glass book on top of the guest book, then she picks up my shoes and places them neatly on a shoe mat next to a pair of cute polka-dot flats. They look the same size as my sneakers.

“Through here is the main parlor.” Marianna continues the tour, leading me into a cozy room. There’s a fireplace, but it looks like it hasn’t been used for a long time. Moving boxes are stacked next to it. Charlotte’s Web is lying open on the only chair in the room.

“Hey, my mom and I are reading that book too,” I say.

“I’m reading it to myself,” Marianna replies.

One of the moving boxes is open and I see a picture of Reuben on top. He’s wearing a suit and tie, standing next to a short woman with a pretty smile. The woman has on a white dress with a wreath of flowers in her hair. “Is that your mom?” I ask, picking up the picture.

Marianna nods. “It’s from their wedding.”

“She’s pretty,” I say.

“I know,” Marianna replies.

I give her a sideways glance. “When did you say she’s moving here?”

“Soon,” Marianna says, taking the picture from me and setting it on the fireplace mantel. “She promised.”

She pulls me away.

“Over here is the dining room.” Marianna walks me into a room with a long table and lots of chairs.

“Wow, you could sit in a different place every day of the week!” I say.

Marianna rushes on with her tour. “That’s the kitchen,” she says, pointing to a door across the dining room. “Reuben is cooking a new recipe. Don’t worry if you smell something funny.”

I take a sniff, but all I smell is something sweet and delicious. I hear kettles clanking and music playing, and Reuben singing along with the song, not very well. “Should we tell him I’m here?” I ask.

“No,” Marianna replies. “He doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s cooking.”

I look around the room again and see another closed door with a sign hanging on the doorknob.

Private Entrance

“Where does that door lead?” I ask.

“That’s not important, Tweety.” Marianna takes my arm. “Come with me.” She pulls me back through the living room to the staircase in the entryway. The steps creak as we walk up them.

“Is this the way to your bedroom?” I ask.

“Mmm-hmm,” Marianna replies.

When we get to the landing at the top of the stairs, Marianna opens a little cupboard and takes out a set of keys. Walking up to the first door that lines the narrow hallway, she tries to fit one of the keys into its lock. When it won’t go, she mutters something under her breath, then tries another key. And another.

This would be a good time to tell her I know this isn’t her bedroom. But then she’ll know I’ve been pretending. Instead, I ask, “Are you afraid of robbers?”

“I’m not afraid of anything,” Marianna snips, choosing a fourth key on the ring and wiggling it into the lock.

“It’s just that, most kids in Oak Hill don’t lock their bedrooms,” I explain. “Most grown-ups don’t either. My dad doesn’t even lock his truck when he runs into the grocery store.”

Marianna glances up. “For reals?”

I nod. “You’re not in Seattle anymore.”

Marianna turns the key. The lock catches. The door swings open.

“Welcome to my bedroom,” Marianna says, glancing back toward the staircase. “Remember, don’t touch anything.”

She steps aside to let me in, but I don’t move. “Are you sure we shouldn’t tell Reuben I’m here?”

“No, I told you he’s busy!” Marianna nudges me through the doorway.

The room is empty, except for more unpacked boxes and a huge bed with no covers on it. “Rueben is washing my sheets today,” Marianna quickly explains.

A door closes downstairs. A moment later, footsteps creak on the staircase.

Marianna stiffens.

“Mare Bear?” a man’s voice calls out. “Are you playing upstairs again?”

Marianna flies to the bedroom door and slams it shut, keys jangling in the lock on the other side. She leans against it, locks eyes with me, and puts a finger to her lips. “Shhh . . . !”

“I knew we shouldn’t be in here!”

Marianna leans harder. The door pushes open.

Reuben pokes in from the hallway. “Hello, Wren!” he says. “I didn’t know we had company!”

Marianna turns to glare at her stepdad. “Go away, Reuben! You’re bothering us!”

Reuben opens the door wider. “You know the rules, Mare Bear,” he says. “No playing in the guest rooms.”

Marianna’s cheeks turn bright red. She crosses her arms over her chest, scowling.

“Are we in trouble?” I ask.

Reuben turns to me. “Not at all, Wren. I just don’t want you girls tripping over loose flooring, or stepping on a nail while we fix the place up. Did Marianna tell you? We’re turning my boyhood home into an inn! This will be one of the guest rooms. It’s been our dream for a long time.”

“Your dream!” Marianna shouts at Reuben. “Not mine!” She storms out of the room. A minute later, a door slams beneath us.

Reuben’s shoulders sag. He runs his long fingers through his thin hair. Then he looks at me. “I take it Marianna is still pretending that we live in the big house?”

I nod. “I think she’s pretending about her mom too. She keeps saying she will be here soon.”

Reuben sighs. “That was the original plan, but things have changed. Sara won’t be arriving for another month. Maybe two. Marianna is having trouble accepting that fact.” He pulls the ring of keys from the door lock. “It’s been hard on her, leaving her family and friends in Seattle to move here with me. Her mother and I thought it best if she had a chance to make new friends before the start of the school year, but perhaps we should have waited.”

Reuben puts the keys in his pocket, then smiles kindly at me. “We’ll give Marianna a moment to catch her breath, eh, Wren? Then I’ll serve you two a treat. Crêpes suzette! It’s my latest creation for the inn’s menu!”

Reuben tells me all about his plans for the inn as we head downstairs. And how he and Marianna, and soon her mom, live in the carriage house out back, which is where they kept horse buggies in the olden days, but now it’s fixed up for people.

“There’s still lots of work to be done . . .” Reuben says as we walk into the dining room. “I’m grateful your dad is helping me. I had hoped to be further along with everything, but with Sara still in Seattle, we are a bit behind. Marianna misses her mother terribly, of course. She misses her father too. The smallest things set her off, lately . . .”

I listen, realizing Marianna hasn’t seen her parents since the beginning of summer. At least I get to see my mom and dad every week, even if it’s one at a time.

“I hope you can be patient with her, Wren,” Reuben says. “She could use a good friend like you.”

A timer starts beeping in the kitchen. “OhEmGee!” Reuben exclaims. “I completely forgot about my orange sauce!” Quickly, he points toward the Private Entrance door. “Straight through there, Wren. You’ll find Marianna in the cottage out back. Can’t miss it!”

Reuben rushes off to the kitchen.

I walk over to the door and open it. A vine-covered trellis marks the beginning of a path that leads to a little house hidden behind a tall hedge in the backyard. I step through the doorway and hurry down the path. Reuben might think that Marianna could use a friend like me, but maybe it’s me who could use a friend like her.