Ann Martin - Dawn And The Impossible Three

He said it was an accident.

Suzi disagreed.

Mrs. Barrett looked ready to fall apart. She

hugged Marnie to her, and closed her eyes. I thought she might even cry. Since my mother is a big crier, I know the signs well.

"I'll take care of it," I told Mrs. Barrett. "Why don't you dry Suzi off? Buddy, go get the paper towels. We'll clean up."

"How come Suzi doesn't have to clean up?" whined Buddy. "She made a mess, too."

"I know, but she's all wet. Besides, if you get the towels, I'll show you a trick."

Buddy hesitated for just a second. "Okay!" he agreed.

Mrs. Barrett took the girls upstairs, and Buddy returned with the towels. I placed one square over a puddle, soaked it up, and then held the towel out for Buddy to see.

"It's pink!" he exclaimed. "Let me try!" So Buddy went around wiping up puddles, and I emptied the jars and cups into the bowl and returned everything to the sink in the kitchen. Then I scrubbed at the stuffed animals, but even after several minutes they still had a greenish cast to them.

Buddy finished with the puddles and we hung several of the colorful paper towels up as artwork. Then Mrs. Barrett returned with Marnie and a smiling Suzi, and peeped into the playroom.

"Oh, thank goodness, Dawn," she said. "It

looks wonderful in there. I don't know what I'd do without you." She began to usher me toward the front door. As I put my sweat shirt on, she handed me another dollar. "For averting a crisis," she explained. "You're a lifesaver. Each time you sit, the house looks better when you leave than it did when you arrived. I used to be such an organized person, but since the divorce, everything seems overwhelming. Money is a little tight, too. If the children's father would — Oh, well. Anyway, I hope you know how much I appreciate you. I think you're the glue that's holding us together."

The glue that was holding them together? That was a little scary. It sounded like an awfully big responsibility.

At that moment, the phone rang. "I'll get it!" Mrs. Barrett yelled, but she was too late. We could already hear Buddy on the extension in the kitchen saying, "Hello?"

"Buddy, I told you, you are not to answer the phone!" Mrs. Barrett shouted.

"It's Dad, Mom," Buddy shouted back.

Mrs. Barrett clenched her teeth.

"He says where are we? He says you were supposed to drop Suzi and me off at his apartment by five-thirty, and he's been waiting for half an hour."

"Oh-my-goodness-I-completely-forgot!" ex-

claimed Mrs. Barrett. "Dawn, I'll see you on Wednesday afternoon, right?"

"Right," I replied. "At three o'clock." But Mrs. Barrett didn't even hear my last words. She was already rushing for the phone.

Over the next couple of weeks, I baby-sat for the Barretts an awful lot. This did not escape any member of the club. They didn't mind, of course, except when it cut into meetings.

But I minded a few things. Mrs. Barrett's disorganization caused a number of problems. One afternoon when I was sitting, Suzi said she didn't feel well — and immediately threw up all over the kitchen floor. I cleaned up the mess, then held my hand to her forehead and realized she had a fever.

I dialed the number Mrs. Barrett had left by the phone. It was for an employment agency where she had gotten a temporary afternoon job.

The gruff voice that answered the phone said, "Hurley's Garage."

Hurley's Garage? "I guess you don't have a Mrs. Barrett working there, do you?" I asked.

"Sorry, kid," replied the man.

"Great," I said to no one in particular as I hung up the phone. "Mrs. Barrett left the wrong number."

At that moment, Suzi threw up again.

As I cleaned up the second mess, I racked my brain trying to remember whether Mrs. Barrett had mentioned the name of the agency where she was working. I didn't think she had.

Just in case, I opened the yellow pages of the phone book and scanned the firms listed under EMPLOYMENT AGENCIES, but nothing sounded familiar. Then Suzi began to gag again. That time I managed to rush her to the kitchen sink before she got sick.

I put Marnie in her playpen, sent Buddy over to the Pikes', rolled up the rug in the bathroom, and spent the rest of the afternoon there with Suzi, reading to her, and holding her head over the toilet every time she had to throw up.

She was miserable. I was angry at her mother.

When Mrs. Barrett came home, I told her, rather crossly, about the mixed-up phone number. She apologized, but it was a little late for that. If Suzi hadn't needed her so badly, I might have said more to her.

Two days later, I came down with Suzi's bug and spent hours in the bathroom. Mom and Jeff caught the bug from me, and the Pike kids caught it from Buddy, who had been spreading it around the afternoon I sent him to their house while I was taking care of Suzi.

Another day, as Mrs. Barrett rushed out the door, Buddy called plaintively after her, "Hey, Mom, my homework. ..."

"I'll look at it tonight," she called to him, and continued down the walk.

Buddy burst into tears and ran to his room.

I ran after him, pausing in his doorway. "Hey, old Buddy. What's the matter? Can I come in?"

He was lying facedown on his bed, but I saw him nod his head.

I sat next to him and patted his back. "Can you tell me what's wrong?" I asked.

He hiccupped. "My homework."

"Do you need help with it?"

"I need Mom's help." He rolled over and looked at me mournfully.

"Are you sure I won't do? I'm pretty smart," I told him. "I'm in seventh grade."

Buddy managed a smile. "It's not that. We're studying families. We're supposed to make a family tree tonight, starting with our grandparents. You won't know their names. 7 don't know them. They're just Gram and Gramps and Gee-ma and Gee-pa. And I have to bring it to school tomorrow and it's our first homework ever and I want it to be good."

"Oh, I see."

"And Mom said she'd help," Buddy moaned,

"but she won't. Not really. She's always too tired at night to do anything."

"Well, let's make it easy on her," I suggested. "Why don't we make the tree part, and then she can tell you the names to fill in. Do you know how many aunts and uncles you have?"

Buddy nodded uncertainly.

So I busied the girls with some toys, and then Buddy and I set to work. It took a lot of questioning and two phone calls to Mrs. Pike, but we finally figured out where the Barrett relatives belonged on the tree. Then I showed Buddy how to make boxes and lines and spaces. When he was finished, he had a beautiful blank tree. I just hoped it was accurate. If it wasn't, he'd have a lot of erasing to do.

A week later, Buddy showed up at my house after school. He'd never done that before. When I opened the door, he didn't say a word — just held out a large piece of paper. It was his completed family tree. A gold star was glued to the top.

"My teacher loved it," he told me. "Thanks for helping me, Dawn."

"You're welcome, Buddy," I replied, and gave him a hug. But all the while, I was thinking that Mrs. Barrett should be hugging Buddy for his good work.

Chapter 10.

Apparently, David Michael was more interested in talking than in snacking. Stacey fixed him a plate of crackers and peanut butter and poured him a glass of juice, but he hardly looked at the food.

"Stacey," he said, "when you moved, did the men pack up everything in the van?"

"Oh, yes," she said reassuringly. "Every last thing. Nothing was left behind."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

David Michael began to look tearful. "Do you have any pets?" he asked.

"No," Stacey replied, puzzled. Then suddenly she caught on. "Oh, David Michael," she cried. "They won't put Louie in the van. Dogs don't go in vans."

"I hope not. Louie doesn't like dark places."