23

Wide-awake and miserable, Dawn lay curled in a ball in the middle of her fancy new bed. Her mother had turned off the light and closed the door, leaving only a tiny night-light in the bathroom to contend against total darkness. Even though she was seven and a half, Dawn was a little nervous in this big, dark, silent room. Unlike her mother’s bungalow on Vineyard Avenue, Mitch’s house stood at the end of a long driveway lined with cypress trees, too far from the road to hear cars or see headlights.

Dawn didn’t want to live in this house so far away from Granny and Papa. Her mother wouldn’t have time for her. She’d never see her school friends again. Granny said she and Papa would come to visit soon, but what did “soon” mean? Tomorrow? Next week?

Dawn wiped away angry tears. She had initially liked Mitch, but now that he’d married Mom, she wasn’t so sure.

A soft wind and moonlight cast frightening shadows outside her window. Dawn huddled deep under the blankets, covered her head, and cried herself to sleep.

Mom opened the door the next morning and came in, all smiles and cheer. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”

Dawn hated that her mother looked so happy when she was so miserable. “I’m not hungry.”

“I’m making bacon and waffles.”

Dawn set her jaw, refusing to be tempted by her favorite breakfast. “I’m not going to eat anything until you take me home.” She felt triumphant when the joy dimmed in her mother’s face.

“You are home, Dawn. If you want to go on a hunger strike, that’s fine. If you want to come out and sit with us, even better. Either way, I won’t force you.” Her mother quietly closed the door behind her.

Dawn stared, furious. When fifteen minutes passed and Mom didn’t come back, Dawn shoved her covers off and went into the pink, green, and white bathroom. Her hair looked like a blonde mop on her head. Granny used to brush it for her every morning. Her clothes lay in a mess on the floor where she’d dropped them. Granny would have picked them up and folded them for her. Her mother always expected her to do everything herself! She’d probably force her to do dishes, too!

As Dawn approached the kitchen archway, she heard Mom talking. “A private Christian school is too expensive, Mitch. She’s my daughter. I wouldn’t feel right having you pay tuition—”

“Whoa. What’s mine is yours now. Remember? You need to get that into your head, Carolyn. We’re partners.”

“She’s been going to a public school. I’m not sure I want her in a Christian school.”

“Why not?”

Her mother spoke too quietly for Dawn to hear. Dawn walked around the corner and through the archway into the kitchen.

Mitch grinned. “Well, good morning, sleepyhead.” Dawn glared at him. His brows rose. “Oops. I guess you’re not a morning person.”

Her mother studied her coolly. “I thought you weren’t hungry.”

“I won’t eat if you don’t want me to. I can go back to my room and stay there and starve, if that’s what you want!”

Mitch breathed out a laugh. “Trying hard to be a pita, aren’t you?”

“Pita?”

“Pain in the . . . Never mind.” He stood, pulled out a chair, and bowed. “It would please us humble folk to have Your Majesty grace us with your presence at our table.” He waved his arm for her to sit.

Dawn stayed where she was, trying not to cry. Mitch had always been nice to her. She wanted him to like her, not think she was a spoiled brat.

His face softened. “Relax, Dawn. Sit with us.” Mitch scooted her chair in comfortably when she did. He squeezed her shoulders before he took his seat again. Mom put two strips of crisp bacon and a golden brown waffle on her plate, but Dawn had lost her appetite. She kept her head down, blinking back tears. Mitch and Mom had already finished breakfast. They hadn’t even waited for her.

Mitch sighed. “Think I’ll leave you two alone.” He cleared his dishes while Mom loaded the dishwasher. “Are you going to be okay?” Mitch spoke tenderly. Dawn glanced up and then realized he wasn’t talking to her. He had his arm around Mom’s waist. Mom shrugged. He kissed her. Grimacing, Dawn looked away. Mitch came over to the table and leaned down to plant a kiss on top of her head. “See you later, alligator. . . .”

She used to laugh and say, “After a while, crocodile.” That was before he married her mother.

Mom poured another cup of coffee and returned to the table. “Something wrong with the waffle?”

Granny’s waffles were darker and crisper. “It’s okay, I guess.” She nibbled the edges.

Her mother sighed. “If you’re done, you can put your plate on the counter.” Her mother put her hands around her coffee cup. “I was going to wait a few days to put you in school. Now, I think the sooner, the better. The sooner you make new friends, the sooner you’ll settle in.”

“I want to go to my old school with all my friends!”

“You’ll make new friends at your new school. Go get cleaned up, and we’ll head over there. They’ll probably even let you start today.”

Fear coursed through Dawn. “It’ll be just like when Susan came.” The girls had whispered about her and made her cry. It had been a game at first, one that made Dawn uncomfortable, but she hadn’t wanted to go against the crowd. “Nobody wanted to be her friend.”

Her mother stood and looked at her. “Well, let’s hope the people you meet in Healdsburg will be nicer than the ‘friends’ you had in Paxtown.”

Dawn felt as though her mother had slapped her.

Mom’s expression softened. “I know life isn’t easy, May Flower Dawn. Believe me, I do. I could fix your hair in a French braid and help you pick out a skirt and—”

“I don’t want to look like you!” She fled to the doorway. “And don’t call me May Flower Dawn. It’s a stupid, hippy name! I’m Dawn.”

Granny called that night. Dawn poured out her loneliness and anger over having to live so far away. Granny said she was sorry about that, too, and then asked if she liked second grade. “Did you make any friends today?” Several girls had come up to her and wanted to be friends. Dawn had been surprised at how nice they were.

Granny called again the next night—and the night after that.

After a few weeks, Dawn realized she enjoyed riding the bus to school with her friends. Getting off the bus after school proved harder. Granny wouldn’t be waiting at the house. She had always given Dawn a snack, then played board games or let Dawn watch TV. Mom told her to play outside or with her Barbies. “You’ve been sitting in a classroom all day. I don’t want you sitting in front of a television all afternoon.”

Every evening, Granny called right about the time Mom started clearing dishes. After a while, Mom stopped answering the telephone and let Dawn run to her room and catch it. At least she had her very own phone. That was one nice thing about living in Mitch’s house.

Dawn knew something was wrong the moment she heard Granny’s voice. “What is it, Granny?” Her heart began to pound. “Is Papa sick?”

“No. Papa is fine.” Granny sniffled. “Everything is fine.”

“No, it’s not. I can tell.” Something had made her grandmother cry.

“I’m going to stop calling you every evening, honey. I’ll call you once a week instead.”

“Why? Are you mad at me?”

“No! Of course not. It’s just that . . . your mother says— ”

“She’s so mean!” Dawn was crying now too. “I want to come home! Please come and get me!”

“Honey, I can’t. I love you so much, but she’s your mother.” Granny sniffled again. “She and Mitch love you very much, Dawn. I have to go now.” Her voice broke. “I’ll talk to you in a week.”

Dawn marched down the hall to the kitchen, where her mother was putting the last plate into the dishwasher. “You made Granny cry!”

Mom turned and looked at her. “I’m sorry about that, but—”

“You’re not sorry! You’re not sorry at all! You said she couldn’t call me anymore!” Hands in fists, she screamed. “And I hate you! I wish you were dead so I could go home and live with Granny!”

All the color drained from her mother’s face, leaving her skin the color of ashes. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her blue eyes filled with tears, and she turned away.

Feeling sick rather than triumphant, Dawn fled to her room.

Someone tapped on the door. Limp from crying, Dawn sat up, expecting her mother to retaliate. She tensed when the door opened. Mitch stood in the doorway, looking grim and unhappy. “May I come in?”

She shrugged, trying to pretend she didn’t care. Her palms felt moist. Had her mother told him what she’d said?

Mitch crossed the room, took her desk chair, and turned it around, straddling it and resting his arms on the back. “So, Pita. Feeling any better now that you got things off your chest?”

He’d called her Pita. Dawn heard the disappointment in his tone and felt the heat of guilt pouring into her face. She decided to lie. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I was home, in my office. I heard every word you said. Not said—screamed, like a spoiled two-year-old having a tantrum.”

“She told Granny not to talk to me anymore!”

“That’s the second lie you’ve told me, unless your grandmother lied to you.”

“Granny never lies!”

“Then how about the truth this time?” He spoke gently.

Dawn plucked at her skirt, eyes smarting with tears. “I want to go home.”

“Granny isn’t the only one who loves you. She’s not the only one who cries. Your mother loves you, too.”

She covered her face and sobbed. Mitch sat for a while, silent. He got up, put the chair back, and came over to her. She felt too ashamed to lift her head. “Your mother loves you, Dawn, and so do I.” She felt him kiss the crown of her head. “Maybe you could give us a chance.”

Dawn didn’t sleep well. Gathering her courage the next morning, she headed for the kitchen to say she was sorry. Her mother was at the sink.

Dawn stood in the doorway, chewing her lower lip, not sure what to do. “Where’s Mitch?”

Her mother’s head lifted slightly. “He went to work.” She turned mechanically, removed the lid from a frying pan, and scooped a portion of scrambled eggs onto a plate. She brought it to the table, poured a glass of orange juice, and moved away.

Dawn poked at her breakfast. The hollow feeling in her stomach had nothing to do with hunger. She didn’t know what to say to break the silence. Her mother went back to the sink and stood there, staring out the window, arms wrapped around herself. Did she have a stomachache, too? After a few minutes, she went into the laundry room off the kitchen and began sorting clothes.

Dawn scraped her uneaten eggs into the garbage disposal. Rinsing her plate and silverware, she put them in the dishwasher. Trembling inside, she went to the laundry room door. She gulped. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Her voice came out tight.

Her mother went still. She didn’t look up. “If you want to talk, call Granny when you get home from school.”

It didn’t matter that she’d won. Dawn felt awful. She wanted to say she was sorry; she didn’t hate her; she’d just been so mad. She wished she could take the words back, but they still hung in the air like a foul stench. Mommy, she wanted to cry out. Mommy, I’m sorry. “I . . . I . . .” She couldn’t get the words past the hard, hot lump in her throat.