California Diaries #7: Dawn, Diary Two (2 page)

But I don’t think he’s really listening when I answer. I know he’s always thinking about Carol and the baby. Which is only natural. Carol and the baby are his new family.

Jeff and I are his old family. And his new family is what’s most important to him right now. (Anyway, that’s how it feels sometimes.)

We took trays to the bedroom so we could eat with Carol. She sits up in her bed and we sit around her. Carol’s big belly is like a centerpiece. The baby is due any day now. Dad oohs and ahhs and is always putting his hand on Carol’s stomach to feel the baby. Jeff is fascinated. He loves to watch the baby move. He calls it “The Pod,” like it’s a character in a sci-fi movie.

Jeff is pretty excited about having a half brother or sister. He seems to genuinely like Carol too. Maybe that’s because Jeff is still a child and Carol can act pretty juvenile herself. That sounds mean, but it’s true. I guess Carol is basically an okay person. I might even like her if she were someone else’s stepmother. But she’s my stepmother.

Besides, I already have a mother.

Sometimes I feel guilty about not being excited about the baby. I try to show a little enthusiasm, but with all the other things I have on my mind it’s not easy. And I don’t want to fake it. I hate when people pretend they’re happy about something and you can tell they really aren’t.

If I felt closer to Carol maybe I’d be more excited about her baby. Maybe not. I mean, it’ll only be my half brother or sister. I’ll barely get to know it. By the time it’s five years old I’ll be in college and then I’ll probably never live at home again.

Carol wanted to know about the beach and who was there. She misses the ocean

and can’t wait to get back to surfing. She patted her belly. “We’ll be surfing before you know it, Emerson.”

“Emerson!” my father said in alarm. “Now, that’s a new one.”

Carol giggled and said she was just trying a new name on us. Then Dad, Carol, and Jeff were off, talking about their favorite subject—what to name the baby.

Carol suggested we start with the A’s and say every name that we liked. Jeff said we should do boys’ names first. He’s convinced Carol is going to have a boy. She wanted me to be the secretary for this session of the Name Game, but I gave the honor to Jeff. I said I’d clear the dishes and get our dessert. I was pretty bored with the Name Game.

Now, here’s something that surprises me. Dad and Carol have had plenty of

opportunities to find out the sex of this baby. The pregnancy has been difficult, so Carol had a zillion tests. The doctors and nurses know whether it’s a girl or a boy. But Carol doesn’t want to know.

“I like the suspense,” she always says. “It’ll be a nice surprise in the delivery room.”

I think Dad would like to know whether he’s having a son or a daughter, but he’s doing whatever Carol wants. The only reason I wish they’d find out is because it would cut the time they spend on the Name Game in half. I don’t really care what they name it.

It’s more their baby than my sister or brother.

So while my father, brother and Carol played the Name Game, I brought the

dishes to the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher, made coffee for my dad and herbal tea for Carol, poured glasses of milk for Jeff and me, laid the cookies on a plate, put everything on a tray, and went back to the bedroom. I could hear Jeff clowning around about the name Attila, and Dad and Carol laughing.

“Jeff,” said Carol with a sigh, “I’d be so happy if I had a boy just like you.”

Dad grinned.

“Being a prisoner in this bed isn’t so terrible with visitors like you guys,” added Carol.

Right, I thought, and servants like me.

While we ate dessert we gave Jeff names to put on the list. I suggested Brad and Bret. We started with the C’s. Then Jeff and I did the dishes, and then I went back to my room and closed the door.

I have to admit it’s a relief not to be sharing my room with Sunny, her stuff, and her complaints. Sunny was taking up all the air in my room. It’s good to be able to close the door and be alone with my own thoughts—even when they aren’t happy ones.

Lunch 6/8

I ate lunch with Maggie and Amalia, who are now going over some ideas Amalia

has for the band. We had a pop quiz in math this morning. I think I did okay, but Maggie thinks she flunked it.

“I never do well on those kinds of tests,” she complained. “If only I’d known we were having a pop quiz I would have spent more time on math last night.”

It’s so weird the way Maggie worries about schoolwork. I’m sure she didn’t fail the test. She never fails. She’s aced every test she has ever taken. I reminded her of that, but I don’t think it sank in. Maggie will worry about the test until she gets it back with a big, fat, red 100.

Sunny, on the other hand, cut math. And I don’t see her in the lunchroom now

either. It’s the same old story. She’s probably playing hooky.

Why is she doing this?

To Do Today:



Hospital visit with Mrs. Winslow



Bookstore for Carol

mystery novel—Nightfall by Randal Pierce/magazines—My Lucky Stars/New

Parent/Vogue



Serve dinner, do dishes



Check with Dad about plane reservation for flight to Connecticut—request

vegetarian meal



Make schedule for exam preps—finals in 5 DAYS!



Hem jean shorts



Decide on gifts to buy for Mary Anne, Mom, and Richard

I can’t believe I’m going back to Stoneybrook in two weeks. Here I am in my

room, in my house, in my life in California. I can’t imagine myself on the other sides of the country, in a different room, in a different house, in my other life. I probably won’t mind being in Stoneybrook once I’m there. But I’m afraid I will mind not being here.

I’m worried about what will happen to my life here when I’m not a part of it.

Will I have a half brother or half sister? More important, will the delivery go okay? How will I feel about having a baby brother or sister?

Will Mrs. Winslow be at home or in the hospital when I leave? What will happen to her during the nine weeks I’m in Stoneybrook? (I hate leaving when she’s so sick.

That bothers me more than anything.)

Will Sunny run away for good? Sometimes I think that she’ll cut out and not

come back. She must be so upset.

So why won’t she let anyone help her?

Monday afternoon 6/8

I walked into Mrs. Winslow’s hospital room and found it empty.

I rushed to the nurses’ station in a panic.

They told me she was having a treatment and would be back up in a little while. I was terrified that the worst had happened. But it hadn’t . Not this time.

I’m now in here room, which is pretty cheerful for a hospital room. A purple-and-orange quilt she made out of her own tie-dyed fabric is at the foot of the bed. A bouquet of roses and a lily plant make the room smell a little better than most hospital rooms. Just a little. Also, on the windowsill are a framed picture painting that Sunny did when she was in kindergarten and a framed photo of Sunny and her dad with their arms around each other.

Ducky gave me a ride to the hospital. He said he was going that way anyway, but I know he just wanted to talk to me about Sunny. Ducky is such a great guy. He’s funny, kind, considerate, and cute. It’s hard to find all of those qualities in one person, much less a sixteen-year-old guy. He’s been a good friend to Sunny. Maybe too good. I think Sunny takes advantage of Ducky and the fact that he has his own car. If she snaps her fingers Ducky is there to drive her wherever she wants to go.

“So,” he said as soon as we drove out of the school parking lot, “are you and

Sunny still not talking?”

“Nope,” I replied.

I didn’t tell him why nothing had changed.

I didn’t tell him that she went out blading just minutes after her mother returned to the hospital. I figured Sunny should keep whatever friends she can.

“I think Sunny needs you, Dawn,” Ducky said.

“She doesn’t seem to think so,” I told him. “I tried. I really did. I left her messages and she didn’t call back. And she’s making jokes about our not being friends.

It’s like she doesn’t care about anything she used to care about—me, her parents, school, her reputation, the future.”

Ducky sighed and ran his hair through his hair. “I know you tried,” he said. “But sometimes you have to stick with your friends even when they aren’t so nice to you.

They just need you to be around.”

“It’s hard to be around someone who isn’t talking to you and keeps running

away,” I muttered.

“I know,” Ducky said softly.

I realized that Ducky was thinking about Alex. It can’t be much fun to be around your oldest friend when he’s so depressed—which seems to be most of the time these days. Ducky spends a lot of time with Alex, even when Alex acts like he doesn’t want Ducky around. I’m sure Alex’s dark moods bring Ducky down. I guess Ducky hopes that simply by being there he’s helping Alex, just like he’s trying to help Sunny. I thought, That’s what I should be doing for Sunny. I silently resolved to try one more time to make up with her.

Ducky opened his door and jumped out. For a minute I thought he was going to

visit Mrs. Winslow too. But he’d gotten out of the car to open the door for me.

Ducky is the only guy I know who has manners like that. He should have a more sophisticated name than Ducky. Something like Emerson. Or, Randal the Third. Or maybe Maximillian. If Carol and Dad named their baby Maximillian, they could call him Max. That’s a cute nickname. Or Maxine if it’s a girl. Max is a great nickname for a girl too.

Monday night 6/8

I can’t concentrate on my science homework. I have to review the organs of the human body. The illustration in my biology book is of a healthy body. But all I can think about is Mrs. Winslow’s unhealthy body.

Mr. Winslow told my father that the cancer has spread to her bones, so they’re trying some new chemotherapy treatment. That’s why she’s in the hospital this time.

When they brought her to the room after the treatment I could see that she was exhausted and in pain.

“I’m sorry you had to come back to the hospital,” I said after I kissed her hello.

“Me, too,” she said weakly. “But I’m still fighting, Dawn.”

I squeezed her hand. “I’m glad. I’m really glad.”

I pulled a chair up next to the bed.

“So, how are you?” she asked.

I didn’t want to tell her how I really was. She had enough problems. So I said,

“Okay. Great.”

“I know things aren’t so great between you and Sunny these days,” she said.

“You aren’t speaking to one another.”

I was surprised that Mrs. Winslow knew. I hoped that Sunny hadn’t made a big

deal out of it with her parents. They had enough trouble. I wondered what Sunny had said about me.

“We did have an argument,” I replied very carefully, “but we’ll get over it.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” asked Mrs. Winslow.

I wanted to tell her my side of the story, but I didn’t want her to worry about our problems when she should be putting all of her energy into fighting the cancer.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” I said. “Really.”

Mrs. Winslow put her hand over mine. “Yes,” she said softly. “It’ll work out. It always does with you two.”

I wanted so much to tell her that I didn’t think it would “work out” this time, to tell her the whole awful story. I wanted to cry on her shoulder, just the way I did when I skinned my elbow falling off Sunny’s trampoline when we were kids. But we weren’t kids anymore, and I was there to cheer up Sunny’s mother.

“I’m very glad Sunny has you, Dawn,” she continued. “I know that no matter

what happens she can count on you.”

I nodded. Tears welled up in my eyes. I didn’t want Mrs. Winslow to see them. I couldn’t tell her that I was afraid Sunny and I might never be friends again. So I changed the subject by telling her that we were all going crazy trying to come up with a name for the baby. Some of Jeff’s silly names made her laugh. Then she started coughing this awful raspy cough, which made her throw up. After we cleaned up, she lay back on the pillows.

I told her I thought I should go so she could rest.

“Maybe,” she murmured. “Sunny’s too busy to come today, but Paul will be here after he closes the bookstore.”

I told her that I was going to the bookstore to buy some books and magazines for Carol. She said I should ask Mr. Winslow for a copy of a book called Name Your Baby.

As a gift from her to Carol.

She smiled weakly. “The next time you come you can give me an update on your

quest for the perfect baby name,” she said. “I’m looking forward to the baby’s arrival. If we’re lucky the baby will look just like you.”

I kissed her good-bye.

I don’t think there’s much chance that the baby will look like me. But it was sweet of Mrs. Winslow to say that. It’s just like her to think of everybody but herself.

It’s a shame Sunny can’t be more like her mother.

I took a bus into town and went directly to the bookstore. Mr. Winslow is

expanding it. It’s been really stressful, especially with Mrs. Winslow so sick. Sunny helps her father out occasionally—but she always complains about it. She got Ducky a job at the store too. I think Sunny wants to keep her chauffeur close by.

Mr. Winslow was deep in conference with Ducky about where some books had to

be shelved. I asked another clerk where the magazines were.

“By the fiction,” she answered.

As I was looking through the latest issue of Vogue, I heard Sunny’s laugh.

It never occurred to me that she’d be there. Since she’d cut school I, I figured she was at Venice Beach for the day. Now here she was. A magazine rack away from me.

Hanging over some guy’s shoulder as he flipped through a car magazine.

“Cool,” she said. “That’s the hottest car. Cool and hot. Perfect.”