Ann Martin - Mary Anne And The Secret In The Attic

which were spread with red-and-white-checked tablecloths and loaded with huge bowls and platters of food. "Wow!" I said. "There's enough food here to feed an army."

"I'm not really hungry," said Charlotte in a small voice. She was looking around at all the kids and adults who were gathered near us. Every child seemed, to be with a parent; a mother, a father, or both. I realized that Charlotte was feeling strange because her own parents weren't there.

"Let's see if we can find someone we know," I said to her. "Look, there's Becca Ramsey." Becca, Jessi's eight-year-old sister, is one of Charlotte's best friends. She and her mother were inspecting the potato salad. "Hi, Becca," I said. "Hi, Mrs. Ramsey."

"Well, hello, Mary Anne," said Mrs. Ramsey. "How nice to see you here."

She and I talked for a minute, and then I looked around for Charlotte. She'd apparently gotten over her shyness; she and Becca were loading their plates with piles of food. "Hey!" I called to her. "Don't take more than you can eat, okay?"

"But we want to try everything," said Charlotte. "See, Becca is getting a spoonful from every other bowl, and I'm getting the ones in between. That way we won't miss anything."

"Good planning, girls," said Mrs. Ramsey, laughing.

I loaded up a plate of my own. By the time I'd finished, Charlotte had found two more friends, and they'd all taken their plates of food down to the stream. The other girls, Corrie Addison and Haley Braddock, were at the picnic with their mothers. Soon a large group of us was sitting by the stream. I felt a little uncomfortable, since I was the only person who wasn't either a little girl or a mother, so I just concentrated on my three-bean salad.

Everyone was talking about Heritage Day. Charlotte explained her family tree project, and Corrie told us about her oral history project. She was interviewing elderly people at Stoneybrook Manor, and putting together a book of their reminiscences about the "good old days" in Stoneybrook. "This one man remembers when Stoneybrook was just a little tiny town, with a general store and a post office and not much else," she said. "Can you imagine?"

The talk went on, but my attention drifted. I looked around at the other clusters of people. There were kids with fathers, and kids with grandparents. There were even three girls with their aunt; the Craine girls, who go everywhere with their beloved Aunt Bud. But most of the kids had come with their mothers. I'd

never gone anywhere with my mother. We'd never gone to a picnic, or a family reunion, or even on a walk around town. I just couldn't seem to escape the fact that I didn't have a mother; that I was different. I'd thought being at the picnic with Charlotte would be a distraction, but instead I ended up dwelling on my problems again.

After we'd eaten, there were three-legged races and watermelon-seed-spitting contests and other old-fashioned games. The Historical Society had planned the picnic well. Everyone had a great time, including Charlotte, who didn't seem to miss her parents too much once she found some friends. But somehow I couldn't shake the feeling of sadness that had fallen over me.

I brought Charlotte home that afternoon, and she ran to tell her mother about the picnic. Dr. Johanssen thanked me for taking Charlotte and tried to pay me for my sitting time, but I wouldn't take the money. "I was glad to take her," I said. I knew how bad Charlotte's parents must have felt about not being able to go.

I walked home slowly, thinking hard. I was getting tired of feeling sad and confused about my past. Maybe it was finally time for me to confront my father and learn the truth — even if it was painful. I decided I felt so bad already

that nothing I found out could make me feel much worse.

When I got home, I walked through the house looking for my dad, but he didn't seem to be around. In fact, the house was empty. Sharon and Dawn were out at the mall, I knew that. I headed out the back door, feeling depressed and wishing for my dad. This would be the perfect time to talk to him, when we could be alone. I sat down for a minute on the back steps, holding Tigger. "Oh, Tigger," I said, stroking him. "I know you understand. You probably don't remember your mother, either." Tigger looked at me and purred.

Then I heard a clicking noise, and I glanced up to see my dad standing by the hedge that runs along our property. He was holding a pair of clippers in his hand. "Dad!" I said, surprised. "I didn't think you were home." My heart started to pound. Now that he was here, I knew I had to take the plunge.

He smiled at me, put down the shears, and sat beside me. "How was the picnic?" he asked.

"Oh, fine," I said. I was thinking fast. How could I start this discussion? "Dad, there's something I want to ask you," I said.

"What is it?"

"Um," I said, "would you — would you like some lemonade? You must be thirsty."

"That would be great," he said. He leaned back. "I have been working for a while."

I went inside for the lemonade. I was mad at myself for stalling, but glad to have another minute to think things out. I poured two glasses and brought them outside.

"Thanks," said Dad. He took a big gulp. "Ah, this tastes great." Then he looked me in the eye. "Now, what did you want to ask me? I know it wasn't about lemonade. You look too serious for that."

My father is pretty sensitive sometimes. "You're right," I said. "It was something else. It was about — well, it was about my mother. You know, I was at that picnic, and most of the kids there were with their moms. It made me feel sad."

"Oh, honey," he said. He reached out and squeezed my shoulder. "That must have been hard."

"It was," I said. "But it wasn't the picnic that made me upset." I took a deep breath and went on. "It was something I found out. About my past. About my grandparents."

My dad looked up, surprised. "Your grandparents?" he asked. "What about them?"

"I found out that I lived with them for awhile, and that they wanted me to stay with them forever. I read some letters," I rushed on. "I know I shouldn't have been snooping,

but I was so curious. And I also overheard that phone call you had with my grandmother." There. It was all out.

My father looked very surprised. "Why, Mary Anne," he said. "Ifs not like you to — "

"I know it's not, and I'm sorry," I said. "But you know what? I think you owe me an apology, too."

My father raised his eyebrows. "An apology?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "Why did you let me think I didn't have any relatives? Why didn't you ever tell me about the time I spent in Iowa? And why did you send me there in the first place?" Suddenly I was angry. "And also, what are you going to do when the social worker tells my grandmother you're an unfit parent? She wants custody again anyway, and now she'll have no problem getting it."

"Social worker?" my dad asked. "Custody? Oh, honey, nothing like that is going to happen. that’s in the past. Where did you get the idea a social worker was involved?"

I told him about the woman who had knocked on the door, and about everything she'd seen and heard: Logan with his shirt off, the music blasting, the broken eggs.

My dad's frown became a smile. "Oh, Mary Anne," he said. "You've gotten all upset about

nothing. That woman was a census taker. She just wanted to know how many people live in our house, that's all."

I heaved a huge sigh of relief. Maybe I wasn't going to be shipped off to Maynard, Iowa, after all. "But what about that phone call from my grandmother?" I asked. "She said she wants me back."

"For a visit, honey, for a visit. She just wants to see you before it’s too late." My father took my hand. "Look, here's the whole story. When your mother died, I was devastated. I knew I wasn't going to be able to take care of you the way I should. Not at first, anyway. So I asked Verna and Bill to look after you for a while. They loved having you, and they even tried to convince me that you should stay with them forever. But once I got back on my feet, I wanted you with me. After all, I am your father. I loved you then, I love you now, and I'll always love you." He had tears in his eyes. "There was a custody fight," he said, "but it was resolved without much fuss or bitterness. Verna and Bill realized that you belonged with me. But after that, we didn't have, much to do with each other. They thought that seeing you would be too painful for them, and I agreed. that’s all there is to it."