January 6

Dear Tara*Starr,

What New Year’s Eve party? Did you go to it with Alex? Was he your date? Were Hannah and your other friends there? Where was the party? At school? At someone’s house? I want to know EVERYTHING. Especially whether Alex kissed you at midnight, with streamers and confetti showering down on you, and horns blowing. That is how I always dream of New Year’s Eve. Kissing someone at midnight with confetti floating onto our hair and shoulders.

Guess how I spent New Year’s Eve. At home with Emma. I baby-sat. Dad wanted Martha or someone to come stay with us while he and Mom went to this big fancy party, but I had gotten it into my head to see the new year in with Emma. Just the two of us. When I said that I really, really, really wanted to baby-sit, Mom looked kind of relieved and said okay right away. It’s funny — Mom’s trying to save five dollars here, twenty dollars there, while Dad’s out buying jewels. (They are real jewels, Tara. I’ll tell you more about that later.)

Two interesting things happened at New Year’s — one on New Year’s Eve, one on New Year’s Day. Here’s what happened on New Year’s Eve: Mom and Dad left around 8:00 ALL DRESSED UP. Dad was wearing his tux, and Mom was wearing a long gown and the emerald jewelry Dad gave her for Christmas. I watched Mom get ready for the party. I was trying to decide if it was a good time to talk to her but decided it wasn’t, so I just sat on the bed and watched her put on her makeup and stuff. I saw her reach into the jewelry box for the emerald necklace and earrings, take them out, look at them, put them back, then take them out again and put them on, like she didn’t really want to wear them. Anyway, Mom and Dad finally left, and Emma and I did a little dance around the living room. We were on our own, and even Emma had permission to stay up until midnight. She was desperately excited about this. So guess what time she fell asleep. 9:25 P.M. And guess what I did between then and waiting for the ball to drop at midnight. First I read a little, then I worked on a new cross-stitch project, and then (you won’t believe this) I looked through my father’s desk. I couldn’t help myself. Guess what I found. A batch of notices from companies with names like North Radcliffe Agency and Turner-Whitman Services. These are collection agencies. Three of the envelopes had been opened, so I pulled out the letters. Each one demanded the payment of a bill. I don’t know what got into me, but the fourth envelope was still sealed — and I steamed it open. The letter inside was just like the other three. Really mean sounding, like Dad will be in A LOT of trouble if he doesn’t pay the bills. I resealed the envelope with a very thin layer of Elmer’s glue. I hope Dad won’t be able to figure out what I did, but you know what I think? If he does figure it out, I don’t care, because it’s nowhere near as bad as what Dad has done. Dad is buying stuff he can’t afford, and then he isn’t paying for it. You said Dad isn’t a thief, Tara, but I think what he’s doing is the same as stealing.

That was New Year’s Eve. On New Year’s Day I talked to Mom. My New Year’s resolution is to speak up more, at least in my family. (I wonder where I got that idea.) So after lunch, while Dad was out somewhere and Emma was playing with her Barbies, I said, “Mom, I have to talk to you. It’s really important.”

Mom was going through some papers at her desk, but she said, “Okay, honey.”

And then, guess what. I told her everything — everything I have overheard about our finances (and I did not apologize for eavesdropping), about the Christmas presents (the ones I bought, and how surprised I was by the ones Dad bought), about finding those letters last night, everything. Finally, I just said, “I’m so confused. Can’t you please tell me what’s going on?”

Mom sighed, but she didn’t turn away or start to cry. She said, “Elizabeth, you are old enough. You do have a right to know what’s going on.”

Tara, it turns out my dad sort of has a problem, and it isn’t the drinking, although I guess that doesn’t help. Mom said that Dad just cannot bear to admit to himself or anyone else that he’s lost his job and that we are in bad shape. Bad financial shape, I mean. He’s trying to pretend that nothing has changed, to show everyone we still have money. She said that even when we did have money he overspent. There are always bills he’s late paying. Mom told me how Dad bought the Christmas presents. (That’s when she told me the jewels are real.) He CHARGED them. And he won’t be able to pay the credit card bills when they come in. (The letters I found last night are about OTHER bills he can’t pay.)

Mom was going to tell me more — about our savings and Dad’s package and stuff — but Dad came back just then. When we heard the car pull into the garage, Mom and I looked at each other.

“We’ll have to finish this discussion another time,” said Mom.

“Okay. As soon as possible,” I said. I said it very firmly.

Mom looked surprised, but all she said was, “Yes, definitely. The next time your father is out, okay?”

“Okay.”

I do not know where this firmness is coming from. Is it coming from anger? I am very mad at Dad.

Love,

P.S. Of course a diamond bracelet is a weird present for someone our age. Actually, it’s stupid. Where am I supposed to wear it? To school? What would I do with it during gym class? For now I have left it in the box it came in. I have never taken it out (I haven’t tried it on). I figure when we need money, I’ll just give the box to Mom and she can turn it in at the jewelry store for cash. She must know where it came from, and all grown-ups know how to return merchandise.