Ann Martin - Stacey's Broken Heart

Things between Dad and me had smoothed out during the evening. We were friends again, although neither of us had mentioned Robert since our talk in the museum. We just sort of let the topic go away. Mom says Dad and I are both "nonconfrontational." That means we'd rather sidestep an issue than fight about it. She's right about that.

I looked through the new clothes Mom and I had bought. It was still awfully warm out. None of them were really right. I narrowed my choices down to a sundress I have with flowers all over it and a straight, black sleeveless dress. I decided the black one looked too dressy, so I went with the sundress.

As I walked out of my bedroom, Dad came out of the bathroom bundled in a white terrycloth robe. "I'm taking a cab to work. Want a lift to the Walkers'?"

"Sure," I replied.

"We'll pick up a bagel or something at the corner deli," he said.

"Great." Now that Dad's single, he usually eats on the run. I think it's kind of fun and we can usually find something healthy to eat.

I couldn't wait to see Henry and Grace again. When I lived in New York full-time they were my favorite kids to baby-sit for. They live near the Museum of Natural History and Henry is wild about the dinosaurs. It's fun to go there with them.

Dad came out of his bedroom looking like Mr. Professional in a light gray summer suit. "Ready?" he asked, taking his briefcase from the coffee table.

"I think so," I said. We were at the door when I stopped. "One sec!" I called, hurrying back into the apartment. In my suitcase, I found my Kid-Kit, which I'd packed. "Ready," I told Dad, running out to the hall.

We bought breakfast and ate it in the cab. (I had a corn muffin and a carton of milk.) The morning traffic crawled through the streets. I felt as if we'd never get across town, but finally we did. "Have a good day. See you tonight,"

Dad said, giving me a kiss as I climbed out of the cab. "Say hello to the Walkers for me."

"Okay." As the car pulled away I turned and looked up at the huge apartment building in front of me. In a flash I remembered when I'd lived in this building. It hadn't been a particularly happy time because Mom and Dad were always fighting. In fact, I'd probably cried a zillion tears in this building.

But there had been some good times, too. I was glad to be back for a visit.

I entered the lobby and spoke to the doorman. "Hi," I said, not sure if he remembered me. "I'm here to see the Walkers in eighteen-E."

He smiled and picked up the phone on the wall. "Ms. McGill is here," he said into it. He did remember me! "Go on up."

It was strange being in the lobby, as if I'd gone back in time. I felt as if I'd never left. I half expected to go to the twelfth floor where we used to live, and hear Mom and Dad screaming at each other from down the hall.

"Nice to see you," the doorman said as I headed to the elevator.

"You, too," I called back to him.

On the eighteenth floor I rang the doorbell of apartment E and Mrs. Walker answered. "Stacey!" she cried happily. "Come in!"

"Your hair looks great that way," I said sincerely. She'd cut her curly, medium length black hair very short. Now her cap of short curls set off her large, dark, carefully lined eyes and showed off the dangling bronze earrings she wore. They spun on either ear like tiny mobiles.

"Thanks," she said. "This is a new stage in my career so I figured I needed a new look."

I stepped into the apartment and gazed around at the artwork on the walls. Most of it is modern, which is not really my favorite. Somehow, though, it looked right in the Walkers' place. So did the sculptures and wall hangings that were everywhere. I noticed that they'd acquired a new sculpture since I was there last. It wasn't of anything in particular, just different colors of metal that intertwined in an interesting way. I liked it, which I hoped meant my taste was becoming more sophisticated.

Their apartment was laid out just like our old one, with the rooms in the same arrangement. But it looked very different. For one thing, they had turned the dining room into an artist's studio. There were no curtains or shades on the windows because Mr. Walker, who is a painter, wants the soft, northern light to stream in without any shadows. His easel and chair were near the window on the left side of the room.

Mrs. Walker, who is an illustrator, also wants the benefit of good lighting on her slanted desk by the window on the right side of the room. I noticed a very large pastel drawing on her desk. It seemed to be about three-quarters finished. It showed an African-American woman in an old-fashioned outfit, with a big straw hat, standing in a garden. Many smaller characters tumbled from her hands. "This is great," I said sincerely, moving toward the picture.

"Thanks. It's going to be the cover of a book on African-American folk stories," Mrs. Walker said, standing beside me and studying the drawing. "It's not due to the publisher until next month, but I want to finish it for the show. I got this far while the kids were at camp, but since camp ended I haven't even looked at it."

"I'm here now," I said. "So you can start working on it again. Where are the kids?"

Mrs. Walker laughed. "They're in shy mode, hiding in Henry's room."

"Shy?" I cried. "With me?" The Walker kids are shy, but they know me well. I suppose I'd been gone longer than I realized.

At that moment I heard giggles from nearby. The moment I turned, Henry and Grace scrambled down the hallway and darted into

Henry's room. "I hear kids!" I shouted playfully, hurrying down the hall after them. "I hear kids!" I entered Henry's room and heard more giggles. It wasn't hard to tell where they were hiding. Henry was in the closet and Grace was under the bed. "Hmmmm," I said loudly. "Now where did those kids

go?"

More giggles.

"I know, they're hiding in the hamper.." I lifted the white straw hamper and looked inside. "No." I walked around the room some more. "Aha! Behind the curtains!" I tossed aside the green curtains covered with a pattern of small zebras.

From under the bed came a yelp of hilarious laughter. Dropping to my knees, I peered under the bed. "I found Grace!" I cried, reaching under the bed. Grace stretched out her small, warm hand and grabbed mine. She let me slide her toward me.

"Stacey! Stacey!" she said, hugging me. So much for shyness. I hugged her back, glad to see her again. She's definitely my favorite three-year-old.

"We have to find Henry," I whispered. "Do you know where he is?"

Grace nodded. "But I can't tell," she whispered back.

"I understand," I said as something in the closet bumped. Winking at Grace, I tiptoed to the closet and threw it open. "Got you!" I shouted. '

"Aughhhhhh!" Henry scrambled past me, yelling and waving his arms in the air. Then he doubled over with laughter.

"Hey there, Henry. How was camp?" I asked as his laughter died down.

"It was good," he said, smiling. "I was the best drawer in my craft group."

"I was too!" Grace said. "I am a good drawer, too!"

"I believe it," I said. I gazed around at the crayon pictures of dinosaurs that covered the room. "These are excellent." They were, too. Henry had obviously inherited his parents' talent.

Both Henry and Grace like artistic activities, such as drawing, painting, and making things from clay. As you can imagine, they always have plenty of materials around. At camp, Henry had built several dinosaur models from Popsicle sticks, which he proudly showed me. His parents had bought him a whole bag of the sticks, so the kids and I spent the next hour gluing sticks together. I made a box. Henry attempted a pterodactyl, which would have been successful if the wings hadn't kept falling off. Grace's hodgepodge of sticks and glue