“Hey, Little O,” said my mother.
“Hey, Mama Owl,” I replied.
“Can’t sleep?” I shook my head and she set her book aside and patted the sofa. “Come sit by me.”
I curled up next to her and she rearranged the quilt to cover us both. The remnants of a fire crackled softly in the fireplace. I stared at the glowing embers while my mother sipped her tea.
I’d missed this. We hadn’t been Little Owl and Mama Owl for ages, not since before Black Monday. I was probably getting too old for it, but still, it was really nice.
“Seems like old times, doesn’t it?” my mother murmured, resting her chin on my head. “So, are you happy with your dress?”
I nodded. The two of us had actually had a lot of fun shopping earlier. And the dress we’d finally settled on was okay, as far as dresses go.
“And are you happy with your new friends? Cha Cha and Jasmine sure seem like great girls,” my mother continued. “And that Winthrop boy has taken a shine to you too.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “They’re all really nice. I still miss Mackenzie, though.”
“We were going to keep this as a surprise, but your dad and I have been talking. We know this move hasn’t been easy for you, and we really appreciate the way you’ve pitched in to help here at home and at the bookstore. So we’re getting you something special for your birthday.” My mother smiled at me. “Mackenzie!”
I sat bolt upright. The quilt dropped from my shoulders. “Really?”
She nodded. “Really. I’ve already checked with Aunt Louise and Uncle Teddy, and they said she can come for spring break. Aunt True donated some frequent-flier miles, and the ticket is booked.”
I started to squeal, but my mother quickly put her finger to her lips, so I threw my arms around her instead. “Thank you so much, Mom!” I whispered, doing a quick calculation in my head. Spring break—and my birthday—was in the middle of March. That was only a little over a month away!
“Bedtime for bonzos,” my mother announced a few minutes later. She gave the embers a good stir with the poker and secured the fireplace screen. “Come on, I’ll walk you upstairs.”
The following morning I woke at the crack of dawn. Between the rendezvous with my friends at church in a few hours and the thought of my cousin’s upcoming visit, I was too excited to sleep. I glanced at my alarm clock. Still too early in Texas to call Mackenzie. I could text her, though.
Throwing back the covers, I slid my feet into my fuzzy slippers and grabbed my bathrobe from off the bedpost.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Miss Marple was awake too, her tail smacking softly against the bedspread as she wagged it.
“Hey, girl,” I murmured, giving her a pat. Over the past month I’d had to resign myself to the fact that I was Miss Marple’s favorite Lovejoy, at least while Gramps and Lola were away. I’d given up trying to foist her off on Lauren, and totally caved on letting her into my room. Miss Marple even slept in here most nights. She’d start out on the floor, but somehow she always ended up at the foot of my bed by morning.
The house was silent, except for the telltale clank and rattle from the radiators as they roused themselves to their daily business of keeping us warm. I dashed off a quick text to Mackenzie, telling her to call me the minute she woke up, then crossed to the window. It was still dark outside, except for a patch of light on the snow below me. My bedroom was directly over the kitchen, so someone was up. Most likely my father. Lieutenant Colonel Jericho T. Lovejoy is an early bird, up at zero dark thirty every morning for his daily run.
Sure enough, I found him in the kitchen, drinking coffee and reading the paper. The radio on top of the fridge was on low, a melodious male voice letting listeners know that the record-breaking cold that had gripped the valley for weeks now might finally be coming to an end.
“According to the National Weather Service, we can expect a warming trend by the end of the week,” the announcer said. “Nothing like the January thaw finally showing up in February!”
“Too bad it’s not showing up today,” I said, glancing at the thermometer outside and shivering.
“What?” said my father, looking up from his paper. “Oh, right.”
“Morning, by the way,” I said.
“Morning,” he replied.
“Hey!” I blinked in surprise when I spotted the big box of donuts on the counter, along with a pitcher of juice. That’s what we always used to have on Sunday mornings, whenever Dad was home on leave. Yet another family tradition that got shelved after Black Monday.
“Hey, what?” Dad asked.
“Um, nothing.” I gave him a sidelong glance. Silent Man seemed to have made a donut run. I helped myself to a chocolate-covered old-fashioned with sprinkles, poured myself a glass of juice, and sat down at the table across from him.
He was wearing the Terminator. The new prosthesis had made a lot of things easier for him to do, and I watched as he gripped the newspaper in its high-tech fingers and turned the page.
My father has three prosthetic arms to choose from now: the Terminator, Captain Hook, and the one he’s dubbed Ken, which is his least favorite, even though it’s the one that looks the most human. Ken is made of this plastic stuff that’s matched to Dad’s skin color. He named it after Barbie’s companion, because all it does is hang around looking pretty.
“It’s useless,” I heard him tell Mom in disgust. “It doesn’t move; I can’t pick anything up or do anything with it—what’s the point?”
My father had shocked us all at dinner one night recently when he’d made a joke about the “arms race” in his closet. It was a tiny joke, but still, it was a joke. It made me think that maybe Mom and Aunt True are right, maybe Pumpkin Falls has been good for him.
“Dad, what do you know about Ella Bellow?” I asked, taking a bite of my donut.
He peered at me over the top of the paper. “Why do you want to know?”
I shrugged. “Just curious. She’s really nosy.”
“That she is.” He was quiet for so long I figured I’d been dismissed. Then he said, “I’ve known Ella all my life. She’s a good woman, and she’s good at her job, but she’s never been good at staying out of other people’s business. And it seems to have gotten worse since her husband died a couple of years ago. I hear she’s retiring soon—maybe she’ll move to Florida and leave Pumpkin Falls in peace.”
With that he returned to his paper. Now I was dismissed.
And still left with more questions than answers.