Girls Only! (34 page)

“You
didn’t
!” Manda was shocked. “That was a complete secret! How could you?”

Heather grimaced for a moment, then continued. “The three of us—three-fourths of the
Girls Only
Club—have a great idea.”

“What’re you talking about?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Livvy Hudson piped up in her soft voice. “We’ve dreamed up a way for Mr. Greenberg to meet your mother.”

This was insane—to use Tarin’s word!

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she heard herself say.

“No, actually, we think you’ll be pretty wild about it,” Jenna said, her finger stuck in her diary. “After Heather told Liv and me how you thought Mr. Greenberg and your mom should go out, well, you know . . . I started jotting some ideas down. About how to get them to meet.”

“All of us did,” Livvy said, holding up a piece of paper. “We each interviewed someone, asking how they met their spouse. I talked to my grandma. Jenna asked her parents.”

Heather’s turn. “My mom let me read the journal my dad kept right before he met my mom. It was definitely interesting.”

“And then after we discussed this stuff,” Jenna jumped in, “we decided how we can get your mom and Mr. Greenberg together.”

Manda felt limp. “You
discussed
this . . . without me?”

Heather touched her arm. “It’s okay, really, Manda. I think you’ll like our idea.”

She wasn’t so sure. “Well, what is it? What’s the great idea?”

Heather’s blue eyes shone. “Here’s what you do. Get permission to sit for Tarin at
your
house one day next week. When Mr. Greenberg comes to pick him up, leave
the door unlocked with a note for Tarin’s dad to come in.”

“But, of course, you and Tarin will make yourselves scarce—maybe outside or something—so your mom and Mr. Greenberg will meet each other,” Livvy added.

“Right in your own living room,” said Jenna.

“Yeah, that’s right, Mom
would
be sitting there—a captive audience—because of her leg cast,” Manda said, visualizing the whole scene. “Yes! I like it. You guys are nuts, but this is pretty great.” She was looking at Heather now. “Honestly, I don’t think you ever promised not to tell on the phone, did you?”

She ran her fingers through her short hair. “If I had, I wouldn’t have breathed a word to the club. And we wouldn’t be having this very important emergency meeting, either.”

Jenna, Livvy, and Heather seemed excited with their matchmaking idea. Manda was, too. And she decided to forget about Jenna’s hot-under-the-collar approach to the baby-sitting job. This plan of Jenna Song’s would be easy enough.

Now, to actually pull it off!

Reach for the Stars

Chapter Fifteen

Mr. Greenberg was in a rush when Manda arrived on Monday afternoon. He said something about having to meet with a new client. Ruffling Tarin’s hair, he waved and hurried out the door.

No time, once again, to talk to the man. She’d wanted to set up the location for retrieving Tarin. Yes,
the
setup—setting up Mr. Greenberg with her mother. Possibly for the rest of their lives.

So Tarin wouldn’t be coming to her house today. Just as well, because the boy became sick soon after she arrived.

“My head hurts . . . bad!” he told her minus the brainy gibberish.

“I know just the thing for headaches.” She led him upstairs and had the boy lie down. Then she found a
clean washcloth in the bathroom closet and dampened it with cool water.

He eyed the wet washcloth. “What’re you gonna do?”

“Don’t ask so many questions,” she said, deciding not to say a word about his lack of eloquent speech. “It makes your brain busy. When you have a headache, it’s best not to think too hard.”

“Whoever told you a dumb thing like that?” he asked.

“My mother.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he took a long breath. “Maybe it’s okay, then. I mean, if your
mother
said it.”

Folding the washcloth in thirds, she placed it over his forehead. “There, isn’t that nice and cool?”

She almost expected one of his smart-aleck comebacks. But he was quiet. She sat on the edge of the bed, watching Tarin’s flushed face.

“Is it nice having a mother?” he asked softly.

She hardly knew how to respond. Instead of speaking, she touched his warm cheek with her hand.

“I never, ever saw mine,” he whispered. “She died when I was born.”

Taking a breath, Manda replied, “My father left when I was real little, so I sorta know how you feel.” She offered the comment out of empathy for the boy.

“My head’s getting better,” he said.

“That’s because you’re resting.” When she was
convinced that he would lie still and not chatter off a million questions, she pulled out her harmonica and began to play. The tune was actually a song, but Tarin had no reason to know the words. It was one of Manda’s favorite nursery songs. “Gentle, Sweet Child.” Her mother had sung it to her many times when she was sick or just frightened by the dark.

When she finished, Tarin’s eyes opened. He blinked several times before speaking. “I like your music, Miss Manda.”

“And I like
you
,” she replied, though she was hesitant. And quite surprised at herself.

“Do you like me because I’m Tarin the Terrible?” he asked, staring back at her.

She smiled down at him. “To tell you the truth, I like you just because you’re you. But I’m not crazy about your nickname.”

He snapped out of the blues. “Why not?” he demanded, trying to sit up.

“Just relax,” she said, getting him to lie back again. “You don’t want that headache returning, do you?”

He shook his head slowly. “What’s wrong with my name?”

“I think there might be a better one for you. One that fits you just right.”

His mouth turned crooked, like he was interested but trying to hide it. “Like what?”

“Tarin the Terrific. It’s much better.”

“Play another tune on your harmonica,” he said, battling a smile.

She sighed. “Make a deal with me first.”

He bit his lip. “Not now. I don’t feel good.”

“I know, but just promise me one thing,” she pushed. “No more of that grown-up talk, okay?”

“How about some French?” He was smiling now.

“Only if you teach me.” She picked up her harmonica. “Is it a deal?”

He nodded, watching her closely. “Okay. No more advanced communication.”

“
What
did you say?”

A little laugh burst through his lips. “Just kid talk from now on.”

“You got it.” She played the same song again on her harmonica. Three times.

When she finished, little Tarin the Terrific was sound asleep.

“I think I might’ve tamed him,” she told her mother on the downstairs phone. “At least for today.”

“You’re the genius.”

“All I did was play music. It seemed to soothe him.”
Like it does me
, she thought.

“Your father used to play, you know,” Mom said.

“He did?” Unexpected news.

“At night, when you had trouble falling asleep.” Mom’s voice was sure, unwavering.

“I never knew that,” she said.

Mom changed the subject, asking what Manda wanted to eat for supper. “I think I might be able to stand and fix something special,” she said. “I’ll lean on my crutches.”

“Give it a few more days,” Manda insisted. “I’ll be home in a couple hours. I’ll make something for us then.”

She heard her mother sigh into the phone. “Well, I
am
just a bit tired. Someone from the church dropped by to look at my computer. I’m ready to get off my feet.”

“That’s good news,” she said, eager to use the online encyclopedia for her latest homework. “Take it easy, Mom. I’ll be home soon.”

The fact that her mom was still pretty much housebound was ideal. Especially because she planned to ask Mr. Greenberg to pick up Tarin at her house this Wednesday. She hoped her mother would be her cheery self when Mr. Greenberg walked into the house unannounced.

She stifled a giggle and headed back upstairs to look in on Tarin. To say that she could hardly wait for Wednesday was the absolute truth!

Reach for the Stars

Chapter Sixteen

Tuesday night, the evening before the big day, Manda stood outside in the backyard, looking up at the stars. She had decided long ago that just before all the light disappeared from the sky—that second before dusk—something wonderful happened. There was the slightest pause, soft and still. In the evergreens just beyond the city, near the foothills, a whisper of twilight lingered. Then it happened. One by one, thousands of stars made their appearance until the whole sky was filled with flickering light.

Tonight, not feeling the least bit self-conscious, Manda reached up and swept her fingers and hand across the sky.
“Scoop up some stars,”
her grandmother used to say when Manda was little.
“Scoop up and make a wish.”

Making a fist, Manda captured her stars and held her
breath. But she didn’t make a wish. She was too grown-up for such silly things. She would pray instead. Praying to God, the Creator of the stars, was far better.

“Please, dear Lord, could you let Mr. Greenberg like my mother? Somehow, if it is your will, may they like each other.”

She didn’t go on to say anything about marriage or having Mr. Greenberg for a stepfather. None of that. God already knew how she felt.

Manda talked to Mr. Greenberg first thing when she arrived the next afternoon. “Would it be all right if Tarin and I walk to my house?” she asked politely.

He agreed. “That’s fine. I’ll pick him up there around five-thirty.”

“Okay, thanks!”

As soon as he was gone, Manda sat with Tarin. “Before we go to my house, I’m dying to know something,” she said.

“My headache’s over,” he volunteered. “Is that what you want to know?”

She stroked his soft hair. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, but that’s not my question.”

“Do you want to learn French?”

“This isn’t a guessing game, Tarin,” she said. “I
wondered why you talked that way before . . . you know, all grown-up? And why did you want to scare off your baby-sitters?”

He was grinning. “That’s
two
questions. Which one first?” He turned to face her on the sofa.

“You choose.” She felt completely comfortable with this little guy, and yet it had happened so quickly. She was grateful about that.

He sucked in a deep breath, then forced it out. His tiny chest rose and fell as he did. “I talked grown-up because I sometimes feel that way inside. I never have any kids around me, except at ski school. Just grown-ups. And my dad’s friends are always very smart . . . just like me.”

She chuckled at the admission. “Was there another reason?” she asked, guessing what it might be.

“Sure,” he said, his eyes shining. “I get lots more attention when I act like a thirty-year-old.”

She laughed out loud. “No kidding. Okay, so what about all those sitters—Suzy Buchanan and the others?”

He folded his arms and sighed. “None of them were right for me,” he said. “I was waiting for someone like you, Miss Manda.”

She couldn’t help herself; she hugged him. And she felt his fingers squeeze around her arm in response. “Want to go to my house?” she said, letting go. “We can walk through the snow. It’ll be fun.”

“Can we pretend we’re skiing?” he asked, face aglow.

“We’ll practice our gliding strokes,” she said. “Can we make a snowman at your house?”

“Sure . . . in my big backyard,” she said, remembering the plan to keep Tarin occupied for his father’s grand entrance.

Then she gasped. “Oh no!”

“What’s wrong?” Tarin said.

“Your father doesn’t know my address, does he?”

Tarin nodded. “I think Daddy wrote it down that day we interviewed you,” he told her and ran to find his father’s notes.

How could I have been so stupid?
she thought.

Tarin came running back. “Here it is,” he said, pointing to a small notebook.

“I can only hope he knows where to come,” she whispered.

“There’s always the phone book,” Tarin suggested.

She groaned. “Our number’s unlisted.”

Without revealing her concerns, Manda hurried to the hall closet. There she bundled up Mr. Greenberg’s son with his own favorite wool scarf, mittens, and snow boots.

Outside, Tarin held her hand as they walked the short distance. “Let’s race on our pretend skis,” he hollered, running ahead.

“Look out for Downhill Dynamite!” she called back.

He turned around. “Is that
your
nickname?”

She was surprised at his perception. “How’d you guess?”

“It’s perfect for you,” he replied. “That’s how.”

They bent their knees and leaned forward, pretending for more than a block. At the intersection, they stopped and waited for the traffic. “Have you ever wanted a new father?” the boy asked. “Since your first one went away.”

She thought about it. “Sure . . . someday I’d like . . . to have another father.”

If he only knew
, she thought, watching for cars as they crossed Wood Avenue.

“Me too . . . only I want a mommy.” Tarin the Terrific looked up at her and grinned shyly. “Maybe
you
could adopt me, Miss Manda,” he said. “Maybe when you’re all grown-up.”

She didn’t have a good comeback for that. Not even a ho-hum one. But she’d seen something of his father in Tarin just now. That kind and thoughtful look in his childish eyes. Something very special, indeed!

Reach for the Stars

Chapter Seventeen

Manda’s mom was comfortably situated on the couch when Manda and Tarin arrived. “This is Tarin Greenberg,” she introduced her young charge.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Tarin,” Mom said, offering her hand.

The little boy shook her hand and stood near the sofa. “Miss Manda says you told her not to think too much if you have a headache.” Politely, he waited for a convincing reply.

Mom smiled her broad grin. “That’s right, honey. I did tell her that.”

The remark seemed to satisfy him. “Thank you,” he said. “Nice to meet you, too.” He looked at the leg cast. “Take care of your leg.”