THE CEREAL DID NOT APPEAR in the refrigerator again, but over the next few weeks Megan noticed a distinct weirdness in the air. And changes. “Minor points in themselves, Watson,” said Sherlock Holmes, “but as part of the broader picture I think we can deduce . . .”
Then, one Wednesday morning when Megan came down for breakfast, Mum was still in her housecoat.
“Aren’t you going to anthropology?”
Mum’s schedule was posted on the refrigerator and they all knew it by heart. And Wednesday was anthropology, first thing.
“No, I’m playing hooky today. Going to lunch with a friend.”
But Mum never skipped classes, not once in the three months she had been at school. Dad said she must be a professor’s dream come true. And “lunch with a friend”? Mum didn’t go out for lunch. Between classes she ate the sandwich that Dad packed for her. She didn’t go out at all, except for bowling on Friday nights with Aunt Marie.
“I think I’ll play hooky too,” said Betsy.
“No,” said Dad, “only one juvenile delinquent allowed per family.”
And then there was the discussion about summer holidays. Betsy arrived home from Brownies crying, holding a notice about summer camp. “It’s in July! Finally I’m old enough for sleep-over camp and it’s in July.”
Megan saw the problem. They always spent the whole month of July at the family cottage on the island. July was their month, and in August the cottage was for Aunt Marie and Uncle Howie and John. How could Betsy even think of missing a week on the island? But Brownie camp—she had been wanting to go ever since she found out that there were special camp badges.
“There’s going to be cookouts, and sleeping under the stars one night, and everybody gets to take one stuffed animal....” Betsy’s voice was rising and her fists were starting to clench. Bumper began to whimper
Moments to blast off, thought Megan. She was about to suggest a cookout when they were on the island but Dad interrupted. “No problem. It’s going to work out just fine this year. We’ve decided to switch with Marie and Howie this summer and we’re going to take August. So Brownie camp will be just fine. That was lucky.” He and Mum gave each other gooey smiles.
“Yea! I can go! Sign it, sign it!” Betsy danced around and then plunked the notice on the table.
Megan caught Mum’s eye. “Why are we going in August this year?”
“Well, time for a change, we thought. We don’t want to get into a rut.”
But Mum loved getting into a rut. She liked lists and priorities and things written on the calendar. She said that a solid schedule was the secret of a happy life.
Mum continued, “Besides, we might have something else on in July. We’ll talk about it later.”
There was a period the size of a basketball at the end of her sentence. The answer that was no answer. What was with all this changing? It was like being on the island ferry when the sea was rough. You weren’t sure where the deck was going to be on the next step. This was fun for a little while, but later it made you feel like throwing up. Dad called it “green around the gills.”
But the biggest change wasn’t a schedule switch or an event. It wasn’t a clue from which you could deduce something. It was just Mum. She kept humming all the time, and her eyes would well up with tears for no reason. It was like she had taken off the fast let’s-get-things-organized coat that she usually wore, and under it was this soft, slow person. The same person who took care of Bumper when he was a puppy. The same person who would sometimes sing soppy songs like “Whispering while you cuddle near me” with Dad. But now this person was around all the time.
One night, while Dad was reading the last chapter of The Hound of the Baskervilles, Mum appeared and said they all had to come to the bathroom to look at the moon. The bathroom was filled with silvery light, and the moon through the window was huge and full.
“Good night for a tramp across the moors,” said Dad, who was still in a Sherlock Holmes mood.
“Is it a full moon everywhere at the same time?” asked Betsy. “Like in Africa and Australia. Does everybody get the full moon on the same night?”
“Yes,” said Dad. And then he paused. “At least I think so.”
“They don’t get summer and winter at the same time,” said Betsy. “How come they get the full moon at the same time?”
“Hang on,” said Dad. He laid out a bar of soap a rubber dinosaur, and the dental floss on the back of the toilet. “Now, if this is the earth and this is the moon . . .”
But Mum just kept staring up. “Yes, it is the same. Anyone looking up in the sky right now sees this full moon. Everyone.”
And the tears ran down her face. She hugged Megan around the head. Suddenly the bathroom seemed very small to Megan. There was certainly no space for questions. There was hardly enough space to breathe.