Andi Unexpected
Authors: Amanda Flower
ANDI
UNEXPECTED
AMANDA FLOWER
For my brother, Andy
Mr. Cragmeyer’s knuckles turned white
. He held the steering wheel in a death grip as the Oldsmobile crested yet another rolling hill. His gray buzzcut stood on end as if electrified, and his shoulders hunched forward. There was no other traffic on the country road. The last mode of transportation we’d seen was an Amish horse and buggy, and that was about forty minutes ago.
Mrs. Cragmeyer turned around in the passenger seat and looked at us. She clutched the headrest with one speckled hand. Her fingernails were filed to a point and painted a translucent baby pink. “Now, girls,” she said, holding her seat belt away from her throat. “If you don’t like living with your Aunt Amelie, you’re always welcome to come back and stay with Mr. Cragmeyer and me. We have plenty of room.”
My sister Bethany, who was listening to her iPod and drawing in her sketchbook, had stopped listening to Mrs. Cragmeyer hours ago. I wished I had her ability to shut out the world. Even when I was deep in the midst of a science experiment, I couldn’t help but notice what was happening around me. But when Bethany drew, nothing but her paper and pencil existed.
I wondered how Mr. Cragmeyer felt about his wife’s open invitation. He hadn’t said two words since we left Cuyahoga Falls, and he’d said even less than that during the past few weeks that we’d been living in their house while we finished up the school year.
Mrs. Cragmeyer turned back around and sniffed, “That aunt of yours is too irresponsible to raise children.”
The cow pastures and fields gave way to houses and a suspect gas station. Mrs. Cragmeyer read aloud from a folksy road sign as we drove past, “Welcome to Killdeer, Ohio! Home of Your Friends!” Mrs. Cragmeyer snorted. Underneath images of frolicking Amish children, another line read: M
ICHAEL
P
IKE
U
NIVERSITY
—1¾
MILES.
On the outskirts of town, we drove past the abandoned building that once housed the Michael Pike Bottling Company. It was an old, flat-faced brick structure with tall cooling towers and brick chimneys. A new sign stuck out from the side of building: K
ILLDEER
H
ISTORICAL
S
OCIETY AND
B
OTTLING
M
USEUM
.
We drove down Center Street through the heart of Killdeer, past Betty Anne Curlers Beauty Parlor, McDonald’s, Hot Cross Bakers, and the gates of
Michael Pike University. Mr. Cragmeyer consulted the driving directions he’d taped to the dashboard of the Oldsmobile. He claimed he didn’t trust a GPS or any other “newfangled” technology.
Without warning, he made a sharp turn off Center Street and onto Dunlap Avenue.
I slid across the backseat and bumped into Bethany, who gruffly pushed me away. “You made me mess up,” she snapped, erasing the tiny stray line on her paper.
Oh, so she
can
talk. That’s a relief
. Bethany hadn’t said a word to me all day.
“Mr. Cragmeyer!” Mrs. Cragmeyer exclaimed, “Do be careful. There are children in the car.”
Mr. Cragmeyer grunted and squinted at the house numbers along the street. He couldn’t have missed my aunt’s house if he tried. Amelie stood in the middle of the fourth driveway on the right-hand side of the street, jumping up and down in front of a two-story yellow house with white shutters and a wide front porch. Even though my grandma had died when I was seven, I could still see her sitting on that porch, rocking away in her white rocker. The yellow paint was now peeling, but the rocker was still there.
Amelie’s multicolored peasant skirt swished back and forth over her bare feet and legs as she hurried over to the car.
Mrs. Cragmeyer muttered something under her breath, but the only words I caught were “crazy” and “hippy.”
A small smile formed on my lips.
We’ll be okay now
, I thought.
Not perfect, but okay
. I’d happily take “okay”
after living with Mrs. Cragmeyer who constantly told me to either stand up straight, not talk with my mouth full, or cross my legs like a lady. Of course, Bethany never received any of this advice because Bethany is beautiful. In Mrs. Cragmeyer’s world, that trait granted you a pass.
My sister is tall and thin like me, but our similarities end there. Bethany has naturally tan skin, bright blue eyes, and long, thick blond hair. I, on the other hand, have pale skin that burns even in February, undistinguishable hazel eyes, and pink hair. My mom used to tell me that I was a strawberry blond, and that one day I would love my hair color. But let’s face it: The hair looks pink—especially in the sunlight. As if that weren’t bad enough, I also have braces … and not the cool invisible kind either.
I smiled as Amelie continued to hop from foot to foot on the white gravel driveway. With her purple cat eye glasses, wild blond curls, and big feet, Aunt Amelie didn’t care that I wasn’t pretty like Bethany. She was family—the only family Bethany and I had left.
Silent Mr. Cragmeyer rolled the Olds to a stop in Amelie’s driveway. I could hear the gravel crunch beneath the tires as they sank into the damp earth. Not able to wait another second, Amelie pounced and threw open my car door. She pulled me out of the vehicle by the arm, barely giving me time to release the seat belt, and crushed me in a tight hug. She smelled like fresh pears and salsa. “Andi! I’m so glad you’re finally here. How was the trip? Did you see any cows on the drive? About a thousand, right? Not exactly a booming metropolis out here, is it?”
Before I could answer any of those questions, Amelie let me go and crushed Bethany in an equally tight hug before slamming her with a half-dozen random questions. My sister held her sketchbook close to her chest as though she needed to protect it from our aunt.
Amelie moved on to Mrs. Cragmeyer and hugged her too, thanking her for not only taking care of Bethany and me, but also driving us all the way out into the “boonies.” Mrs. Cragmeyer went rigid.
I stood beside my sister. “Amelie is happy to see us,” I whispered.
Bethany shoved her sketchbook into her Juicy hobo bag, removed her cell phone, and began texting.
Okay, so the talking thing was just a momentary lapse. I’ll try to remember that
.
I wondered if she was texting her crush Zane, the most popular guy in her grade back home (despite being a class-A jerk). I knew better than to ask. She’d been crushing on Zane for as long as I could remember, and he never noticed her until after our parents died. I guess being an orphan made Bethany more interesting to him. One time I’d tried telling Bethany that Zane isn’t a good guy, but that had been a mistake—a serious mistake.
Amelie thanked Mr. Cragmeyer through the open car window. I knew he’d never leave the safety of the car—he feared getting pulverized by one of Amelie’s monster hugs.
Mrs. Cragmeyer sniffed. “Amelie, I must ask you to calm down.”
“Sure, Linda.” Amelie replied, but her crazy grin remained plastered on her face.
Mrs. Cragmeyer glowered like a cartoon bulldog when Amelie called her by her first name. I didn’t even know Mrs. Cragmeyer
had
a first name.
Beside me, Bethany’s cell phone beeped with a new text message. My sister read the text and frowned. She dropped her cell phone back into her bag. “Stop looking at me,” she hissed.
I skirted my sister, opened the trunk of the Olds, and began removing our luggage. Yet the whole time, I kept my eyes on Mrs. Cragmeyer and Amelie. Amelie smiled at the older woman. “Are you sure you don’t want to spend the night? It’s a long drive back.”
“No, thank you. We should be going. My daughter lives in Canton, so we’ll stop there on the way home.”
“How about a quick lunch? Or just coffee?”
Mrs. Cragmeyer shook her head. “Your offer is very kind, but we must be going. We want to get to our daughter’s by dinnertime.”
“All right then,” Amelie said. “Thank you for everything. It was so generous of you to care for the girls so they didn’t have to change schools before the end of the year.”
Mrs. Cragmeyer smiled, and her chest inflated with pride. “It was no trouble. It was the Christian thing to do.”
Amelie nodded and pulled our backpacks from the backseat of the Olds.
Mrs. Cragmeyer rounded the back of the car, put her arms around Bethany’s and my shoulders, and gave the two of us a squeeze. “Now girls, remember what I told you. You have my phone number. Call me
any
time, and Mr. Cragmeyer and I will come fetch you.”
I gave her a weak smile in response, but I suspected that I’d be losing Mrs. Cragmeyer’s telephone number pretty quickly. Bethany nodded. She was probably wondering how she could see the friends she’d left behind, rather than thinking about the Cragmeyers.
After giving us one final squeeze, the older woman turned back to my aunt. “Now, Amelie, if you find that you can’t.” She paused and then tried again. “If it becomes too taxing for you to care for the girls, remember that Mr. Cragmeyer and I would love to have them with us.”
Amelie’s eyes narrowed. “That’s kind of you to offer. But my brother left their care in my hands, and I plan to fulfill his wishes.”
“If you need anything, girls, you know where to reach us,” the older woman said loud enough for everyone to hear. Mr. Cragmeyer started up the Olds, and his wife climbed into the front seat of the car. As they backed out of the drive, Mrs. Cragmeyer just shook her head and pinched her lips tight.
I glanced at the house next door and noticed a boy and an older woman staring at us. Although she was probably the same age as Mrs. Cragmeyer, this woman didn’t look anything like my former guardian. Her white hair was secured in two stubby pigtails, and she wore a hot pink T-shirt and yellow capris. The boy looked about my age. He wore glasses and had brown hair that fell over the top of his frames.
The woman waved. I waved back. She called out in a clear voice, “Hey, Amelie! Are these your nieces?”
Amelie set down our suitcases. “Come on, girls. I want you to meet some people.”
Bethany and I followed her across the yard.
“Hi, Bergita,” Amelie said. As we climbed the porch steps behind her, Amelie wrapped an arm around each of our shoulders. “This is Bethany; she’ll start eighth grade in the fall. And this is Andi; she’ll be in sixth grade.”
Bergita grinned, showing off her straight white teeth. “Bergita Carter. Pleased to meet you. And welcome to the neighborhood! I heard what happened to your parents, and I’m really sorry. I knew your father when he was a little boy. Smart as a whip. I always knew Killdeer was too small for him.”
Bethany pulled away from Amelie and reached for her cell phone again. I stared at my feet. I never knew what to say when my parents were mentioned.
“This is my grandson, Colin.”
I looked up.
Colin pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, smiling shyly. “Hi.”
Bethany looked Colin up and down and then sighed as she returned her attention to her phone.
Bergita pointed to a pug lying on a pillow by the front door. “That lazy bum is Jackson.”
The dog opened his eyes when he heard his name and snorted into his pillow.
Bethany’s head snapped up. “Did that dog just snort?”
“Yes,” Colin said. “Pugs are a brachycephalic breed, which means they have a broad head and a short nose. This can cause snorting or sometimes respiratory problems. But don’t worry; Jackson is healthy. We take good care of him.”
Bethany rolled her eyes.
“If you see two harried-looking doctor types around here, they are my son and daughter-in-law. Then again, you might not see them. They’re never home.”
Colin grimaced.
Bergita fixed her snappy dark eyes on me. “It’s hard to believe that your parents would name their first girl Bethany and their second girl Andi.”
I grinned. “My name is actually Andora, but I go by Andi most of the time.”
Bergita took a quick breath. “Andora?”
Concerned, Amelie put a hand on Bergita’s arm. “Bergita, what is it?”
A strange look crossed Bergita’s face. Then the expression was quickly gone. Bergita laughed, “Oh, it’s nothing. I must have had some bad egg salad for lunch. Won’t do that again! Come along, Colin. Let’s leave the girls to get settled in.”
I glanced behind me as I followed my aunt and sister across Bergita’s yard. The older woman was still watching me with an odd look on her face.
“Welcome home!” Amelie announced as we stepped through the front door. The house looked just as I remembered it. When we were younger, my parents used to bring Bethany and me to our grandparents’ house for quick visits around Christmas, Easter, or the Fourth of July. But I hadn’t been to the house since I was seven—after my grandmother died. And then my dad and aunt had boarded up the house because they didn’t know what else to do with it. They couldn’t sell it because it had been in the family for so long. Yet at
the same time, neither one of them expected to ever live there again.
The house was too far away from my parents’ work at Cleveland State University, and my aunt never stayed in one place for very long. She’d hopped from country to country on her quest to see the world. At least, she hadn’t
planned
to stay in one place until she got a job as an English professor at Michael Pike University. But now she was stuck with two kids. I worried my lip. Were Bethany and I holding Amelie back from her life?
A ginger-colored cat wove in and around my sister’s legs. The tiniest of smiles played on Bethany’s lips. Then the cat did the same thing to me. We’d always wanted a pet, but our parents said no because they traveled so much.
“Well, Mr. Rochester,” Amelie said with a laugh. “The girls have arrived, and I see you’ve given them the proper greeting.”
He meowed loudly in response.
“Can I pick him up?” Bethany asked. It was the first thing she’d said to our aunt since we’d arrived.
Amelie’s face broke into a smile. “Of course! He’s a very friendly gentleman.”
Bethany slipped her phone into the pocket of her jeans and picked up Mr. Rochester. The orange cat settled into her arms, and Bethany left the room.
