Another Day as Emily (5 page)

It’s the florist

with a dozen roses.

It’s Mrs. Capra

with a bowl of stewed plums.

And then Mrs. Kim

with cookies.

Last, it’s Mrs. Bagwell

with one of those

rotisserie chickens

from the supermarket.

I don’t like how

Mrs. Bagwell is blaming

Gilbert

for stealing her ring

when she has no proof.

I act polite, though.

I tell her Mrs. Harden

is resting.

I thank her for the chicken.

I feel like throwing the chicken

into the garbage.

But I don’t.

The chicken didn’t

accuse Gilbert.

Mrs. Harden is up from her nap

when the doorbell rings again.

It’s Gilbert.

He’s carrying a big planter of mint.

“Keep it in the pot,” he says,

sounding like a garden pro.

“If you plant it in the ground,

it will take over.”

Mrs. Harden smiles.

“I’ll set it on the patio tomorrow,”

she says. “For now, put it on

the coffee table

so I can smell it.”

I’m careful not to mention

Mrs. Bagwell’s accusation.

For a while I think Gilbert

is doing okay until I realize

I didn’t hear him whistling

up the walk.

I walk out with Gilbert

to the end of the driveway.

I want to say something

that will cheer him up.

“So, Gilbert. Want to do something?”

“Sure. But you’re busy now.”

“Right—so … someday?”

“Okay. Good. Someday.

Do what?”

“Right. What?”

“Well?”

“Want to collect rocks with me?”

Gilbert frowns.

“Scratch rock collecting,” I say.

“No offense,” he says. “I’m just

not into rocks.”

“I understand,” I say. “So … let’s think.

What do we both like?”

“How about food?” he says.

“Food—” I say. “Can’t go wrong

with that.”

“Ice cream,” he says.

I give him a high five. “Ice cream!”

“Someday,” he says.

“Someday,” I say. I head back

to Mrs. Harden.

Suddenly I turn and call to Gilbert:

“My treat!”

Gilbert gives a fist pump.

“Yes!”

Mom is coming home!

On Saturday.

Grandma Fludd is much stronger.

And she has lots of friends

at Sunshine Terrace

if she needs anything.

I didn’t realize how much

I missed Mom

until I burst into tears

when Dad told me.

It takes a lot of convincing,

but finally I get Parker

to accept the fact

that he can be a hero

without the Superman shirt.

I tell him it’s starting to stink.

I tell him the bad guys

will smell him coming.

He lets me pull the shirt off.

He puts on the Phillies shirt

I got him last Christmas.

I can’t talk him out of

the cape.

Alison stops by.

I tell her I’m going to Bean’s Books.

“Mom is flying home on Saturday.

I want to get her a gift card.”

Alison says she’ll come along.

On the way

Alison brings up Gilbert

and Mrs. Bagwell’s ring.

I tell her: “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s gossip and Gilbert is a friend.”

Alison raises an eyebrow. “Aha!”

“A
friend
.“

“A
boy
friend,” she squeals. “Wooo-hoooo.”

I poke her. “Back off. He’s just a friend.

Who happens to be a boy.”

“Well, anyway,” says Alison. “My cousin Tara

says he probably did it.

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

“That’s it,” I say. “I’m not going to

talk about it.”

Alison clamps her lips together. “Fine,” she says.

“Fine,” I say.

One thing about Alison—

she doesn’t stay in the same mood

for long.

By the time we get to Bean’s,

she’s back to being chatty.

“So,” she says, “what do you want

for your birthday?”

“Well, there’s no point asking for

my own phone or computer,” I say.

“Dad already told me. Not till I’m thirteen.”

Alison’s parents have told her the same thing.

She rolls her eyes. “Parents!”

My birthday is July 15.

I’ll be twelve.

I’ve been calling myself twelve

since school let out.

Mom says not to wish my childhood away.

But I don’t think of myself

as a child.

Parker is a child. I’m a kid.

There’s a difference.

I’ve already told my parents

what I want for my twelfth birthday.

I want to go to a Phillies game.

Citizens Bank Park—

home to the Philadelphia Phillies—

is a two-and-a-half-hour drive

from Ridgley.

Going to a game

means staying over

at a hotel in the city.

So it would be

an expensive

birthday present.

But hey—it’s the big one-two.

A person turns twelve

only once.

I tell Ottilie:

“Mrs. Harden is out of the hospital.”

Ottilie flicks her tail fin.

I think it’s her way of smiling.

“And Mom is coming home.

And I forgot to tell you before—