Here Come The Bridesmaids (13 page)

Cutting it close, I know. But I hadn't figured

in the Kishi Factor, so we were even worse off. We got to Sunny's at 11:03.

We let Dawn ring the bell.

Rumble, rumble. Shhhhhh. Giggle, giggle.

Unbelievable. It sounded like an army of mice had taken over the house. I know Dawn heard that.

Then Sunny opened the door. She had this huge, unnatural smile. "Hiiiiiiii! Come on in. We're just about ready to leave for brunch."

Dawn took one step into the house, and then —

"SURPRIIIISE!"

Flash! went a camera.

Dawn gasped. The living room was full. Jill and Maggie were there, and Mr. and Mrs. Winslow, some kids from Dawn's school, and a few of the WVKCs favorite charges.

I didn't know Dawn's school friends, but I recognized the little kids — Daffodil and Clover Austin (who are eight and five); the DeWitt boys, eight-year-old Erick and six-year-old Ryan (yes, another Ryan DeWitt, and no, not related); and Stephie Robertson, who's eight.

Draped across the room was a huge piece of paper that said BON VOYAGE, DAWN! It was signed with a personal message from everyone.

"Did you know we were here?" Daffodil called out.

"No!" Dawn replied. "Oh, I can't believe this! You guys!"

She hugged everybody, squealing and saying "I'll miss you!" each time.

Mr. Winslow kept moving around, taking pictures of Dawn's reaction.

"There's a cake!" Erick called out. "Sunny won't let us eat it till you have the first piece."

A cake? Even I didn't know about that.

Dawn went straight to the dining room. There, Whitney Cater was carefully unwrapping paper plates and setting them on a table full of food (most of which looked completely inedible). Whitney's twelve and she has Down's Syndrome. Dawn was once hired to sit for her, but Whitney thought Dawn just wanted to be friends. She was hurt when she found out the truth, but she and Dawn talked it out and became very dose. Whitney's an honorary WVKC member now.

"Hi!" Whitney called out.

"Oh, Whitney . . ." Dawn and Whitney threw their arms around each other.

Whitney began crying. "I'm going to miss you so much."

"Me too."

It came out more like "Me too-hoo-hoo."

(Yes, Dawn was crying, too-hoo-hoo.)

I was sad, but I couldn't cry. I mean, I was going to see Dawn in Stoneybrook the next week.

Mary Anne? Well, she wasn't doing so well in the dry-eye department, but what else is new?

"Hey, Dawn, did you have any cake yet?" Erick the Persistent called out.

Dawn let go of Whitney and finally looked at the cake.

It wasn't a cake, really. It was a work of art. It had been made to look like Dawn's face — blonde hair, sunglasses, freckles, and a big smile, all made of frosting.

"Oh . . ." Dawn said.

"Awesome," Claudia added. "Who made it?"

"Me and Joanna and my daddy," answered a teeny voice.

Off to the side, practically hidden by all the people, was Stephie Robertson. She's usually so bubbly, but that day she looked glum.

"Stephie, if s breathtaking* I don't even want to eat it, it's so beautiful."

"Oh, no," Erick moaned.

Mr. Winslow handed her a Polaroid photo of the cake. "For your memory book," he said.

Dawn was shaking her head in disbelief.

"Well, I guess I should cut it, huh?"

"Yeeeeaaaahhhh!" screamed most of the kids:

"I'll do it," volunteered Whitney.

She began slicing pieces. Mary Anne and Sunny helped her put them on plates.

"Mmmmmm," Dawn said as she ate the first piece. "I love banana cake, Stephie."

Stephie nodded.

"Stephie, are you okay?"

She folded her arms and looked off to the side. Her eyes were red. "I'm mad at you."

"Because I'm leaving?"

"Yeah." Stephie choked back a sniffle.

Poor kid. She adores Dawn. Not too long ago, Stephie was this shy, asthmatic girl who hardly ever went outside. Then she and Dawn really hit it off. Slowly Stephie came out of her shell. Even her asthma improved.

"I'll be back to visit, I promise," Dawn said. "And I'll write you tons of letters. Will you write me?"

"I already did." She pulled a folded-up piece of looseleaf paper out of her pocket.

"May I read it?"

"Uh-huh."

I couldn't tell what the letter said, but it made Dawn cry again. Later she showed it to me:

Dawn had a great time at the party. But she said nothing beat that letter.

Chapter 20.

Logan.

"Over — here — okay — Got it? Set it down — Easy — Auuugh!"

PLANNNNNK!

Franklin's piano thundered to the floor. It was either that or destroy our backs.

Have you ever tried to lift an upright piano?

If you have, I feel sorry for you. If you haven't, don't.

Franklin does not play the piano. Neither do his kids, although Ryan likes to walk on the keys if someone is holding his hand. The Barretts do not have a piano, nor do any of them want to.

So why were we going through all this?

Because Franklin had the piano in his old house. The previous owner had left it there. Why? He didn't want the hassle of moving it.

Did Franklin follow that man's example? Noooo. He thought the piano would be "a good investment in the future."

Some people have to learn their own lessons.

Anyway, my arms were falling off. I could swear they'd stretched. From now on I'd need a longer shirt sleeve size. "Is this the right place?" I asked.

Still panting for breath, Franklin stepped back and looked around the living room. We

had put the piano near a side wall.

"I think so," he said. Then he called out, "Natalie?"

Mrs. Barrett (or I guess she was Mrs. DeWitt now) appeared in the living room archway. She was wearing dusty, paint-stained sweats and her hair was pulled up in a bun. "Franklin, I said the east wall!"

Franklin fell to the floor on his back, as if he'd been knocked out. "Newlywed middle-aged man dies in domestic piano-moving incident. Details at eleven."

Mrs. DeWitt laughed. "I guess that means we leave it there."

"Thank you!" Franklin said, springing to his feet. "You see how she and I think alike, Logan? I knew we were meant for each other."

He threw his arms around her and started necking.

"Aaaaah! You're filthy!" she screamed.

I turned away. This was embarrassing.

"Look! Pannano!"

Ryan came toddling into the room, followed by Madeleine and Suzi. Guess where they all went?

BANG! CLONK! FOOMP! PLINK!

Mozart it wasn't.

"I'll go unload some of the boxes," Franklin volunteered.

"Logan, would you give the boys a hand in the basement?" Mrs. DeWitt asked. "Their bookcase needs assembling, and then I think the girls need some help upstairs, too."

We both left the recital. Unfortunately there was no escaping the noise, but you got used to it after awhile.

Buddy and Taylor's bedroom was in the basement (if s a small house, and that was the room they picked). Mrs. DeWitt walked downstairs with me. We entered a room that had a bunkbed, boxes, and a bookcase with no shelves (the movers had taken it apart). Buddy and Taylor were rooting around in several boxes, throwing the books all over the floor.

"Now you two help Logan, okay?" Mrs. DeWitt asked.

"Okay," they mumbled.

Mrs. DeWitt left.

Taylor yelled out, "Freckle Juice! I love that book."

"It’s mine!" Buddy protested.

"How do you know?"

"See the box? It says BARRETT, B-A-R-R — "

"I can read."

"Uh, guys?" I said. "You're supposed to help, remember?" I pointed to a stack of

shelves the movers had taped together. "Why don't you untape those?"

Well, that took them all of two minutes. As I installed the shelves, they went back to their literary discussion group.

Buddy: "My Wizard of Oz has much better pictures than yours."

Taylor: "Oh, yeah? Do you have Animalia?"

Buddy: "I did when I was a baby."

Taylor: "I'm not a baby!"

"Yo, fellas!" I cut in. "Why don't you start putting the books on the shelves, okay? Like, in alphabetical order or something."

"I'm not going to let my books touch his," Taylor announced.

"Good. Then mine won't get cooties," Buddy replied.

"Okay, let’s split the shelves in half," I suggested.

Taylor's eyes lit up. "Yeah! Like, with karate chops!"

"That's not what he means, dodo," Buddy said.

I don't need to give you the rest of the blow-by-blow. Somehow I managed to negotiate a temporary truce.

Next I went to Lindsey's and Suzi's bedroom, where my assignment was to help Franklin obey all their commands. We moved

the bunkbed to the opposite side of their bedroom. Then we separated the two beds. Then we put them back together where they had been in the first place. Then Suzi decided she wanted to room with Madeleine. Lindsey stormed off in anger.

I left that one to Franklin.

I fed Marnie and Ryan. I played Chutes and Ladders with Madeleine. I came to the rescue when Buddy turned on the washing machine by mistake and scared the living daylights out of Taylor.

By the time I had to go, I felt as exhausted as if I'd had football practice.

But as I was putting on my coat, I saw Suzi crying in the kitchen, all alone.

I sat next to her. "What's up?" I asked.

"He's . . ." Sniff. "He's . . ." Sniff. ". . . not going to find us. I knout it."

"Who's not going to find you?"

"Santa. He's going to go to our old house."

"I'm sure he knows, Suzi."

"No, he doesn't! I wrote him a letter, but he didn't read it yet."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Because," Suzi said impatiently, "I told him to please write back, and he didn't. And besides, he gets millions of letters. Everyone knows that." She burst into tears. "The new

people are going to get all my toys!"

"Well, uh, then you'll get the toys that the kids who lived here would get, right?"

"What kids?" Suzi snapped. "It was all old people. I'm going to get, like, fat dresses and . . . and sweaters!"

Great suggestion, Logan. Figure this one out.

"Wow, that is a problem," I said. "Hmmmm. The trick is, how do we let Santa know to move the gifts from one house to the next?"

"Mom says we can't use an airplane with a sign."

"What about sending a fax?"

"Silly. Santa doesn't have a fax machine. He's old-fashioned."

"Well, how about leaving him some kind of sign at the old house?"

Suzi thought a minute. Slowly a smile spread across her face. "I know!"

I listened carefully as Suzi told me an idea that was ridiculous and childish.

But brilliant.

Chapter 21.

Dawn.

"Rrraumph," said Jeff as he turned in his seat.

I don't know how he could sleep. I could barely sit still, I was so excited about flying back to Connecticut.

I tried to watch the in-flight movie, but I lost the plot line during the opening credits.

Besides, I had my own movie rolling in my head. I kept thinking of the incredible week I'd just had.

Kristy was so sure I knew about my surprise party in advance. She kept insisting I must have known. I kept telling her no, I was surprised, but she kept saying I couldn't have been. I began feeling like a total doofus for not knowing about it.

Finally I hinted I did know. Just to keep her quiet.

But the truth was, I was shocked. And moved.

I had the best time. And I even loved every morsel of that cake, despite the fact that it was made with way too much refined sugar.

Actually, I was eating a piece of it when Kristy sounded the alarm.

Phweeeeet! Kristy is the only person I know who would take a referee's whistle to a farewell party.

"Excuse me, but all us Connecticut people have to leave right now!" she called out.

I stuffed the cake into my mouth and looked at my watch. Ten to one.

Yikes! We had overstayed by twenty minutes.

You should have seen Kristy. She got us out of there in about three minutes — and complained that we were too slow.

I'm glad she didn't have a whip with her.

We were lucky. Carol and Dad had loaded the suitcases into the trunk. They were already backing out of the driveway, intending to pick us up.