Holly's Heart Collection One (21 page)

Unloading her luggage, she turned to me beneath the raised trunk. “Oh, Holly,” her voice shook. “I can’t believe you’d really do this.”

“What? Like it’s some horrible, hideous thing to want to get better acquainted with your father?”

“
You
know what I’m talking about,” she said in a huff.

It was deathly still as Mom drove the short distance home. But as we turned onto Downhill Court, Mom said, “Holly, I understand Carrie told you that I was away on a date last night. My friend’s name is Mike Tate, and he will be meeting us at home.”

Tate. That rhymed perfectly with date and late. He wouldn’t be Mom’s date tonight, or at all, if I hadn’t been so late. This mess could’ve been avoided if I hadn’t been off on choir tour.

“Mr. Tate’s coming over?” Carrie asked excitedly.

Mom nodded. “Only for a short time. We have something important to discuss. And I’d like Holly to meet him.”

“Terrific,” I mumbled, wondering how this guy had managed to upstage my return home. This was supposed to be
my
night!

Our headlights bounced off a somber blue car up ahead. “There he is,” Carrie said, pointing as we pulled into the driveway.

A stocky man got out of the car and came around to help Mom with her door. It reminded me of Danny offering his hand to help me climb into the bus yesterday.

“Holly,” Mom said, “I’d like you to meet Mike Tate. Mike, this is my older daughter, Holly.”

I shifted the balloon bouquet to my left hand so I could shake his hand. “Nice to meet you,” I mumbled.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, too, Holly,” Mr. Tate said. “Your mother has told me a lot about you.”

Like what?
I wondered. I didn’t like the idea of Mom discussing me with some guy. I mean, she’d just met him, for pete’s sake.

Mr. Tate gathered up my luggage, and we headed for the front door. Under the light of our porch lamp, I saw a shiny bald spot on his head. He opened the screen door, holding it while Mom found her key. I could tell by the way he stood there what type of a person he was. Polite and structured. He wasn’t nearly as tall as Daddy. Not nearly as handsome, either.

Inside, Mom said, “Holly, why don’t you go ahead and unpack? Just toss your dirty clothes in the hamper. I’ll do the wash tomorrow evening.”

I grabbed my bags and headed for the stairs. She sure was in a hurry to get rid of me. When I glanced back, I saw Mr. Tate touch the tip of Mom’s elbow, guiding her through the dining room toward the kitchen.

“We’ll be in here if you need anything,” Mom called.

Carrie asked, “Can I have a bubble bath, Mommy?”

“That’s fine,” Mom said. “Holly-Heart, could you help Carrie rinse her hair?”

“Sure,” I said. Carrie and I headed upstairs, leaving Mom and that Mr. Tate person sitting at the island bar in our kitchen. I often helped Carrie rinse the shampoo out of her hair. It was as thick and almost as long as mine.

“How much bubble bath can I put in?” Carrie called from the bathroom.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said, lugging my bags into my room.

“Goody.” Carrie ran to the hallway closet and came back with three bottles of the bubble stuff.

“What are you doing?”

She giggled. “You said it didn’t matter how much.”

“Just don’t flood the bathroom with suds,” I said, closing the door.

Back in my room, my stuffed animals stared at me from their shelf-home near my window seat—my favorite place to think. And write.

I yanked my backpack off, pulling out a droopy-eyed stuffed animal. “Welcome back, Bearie-O,” I said to the tan teddy bear.

He actually belonged to Andie. Six years ago we’d traded favorite bears. A very cool thing to do with your best friend.

I sat on my canopy bed and leaned Bearie-O gently against my pillow. “What do
you
think of my summer plans?” I asked the love-worn teddy. He looked intently at me. At least
he
would listen. A good trait for a best friend. Mothers too.

“I’ve saved up secret wishes ever since Daddy left,” I whispered. “You’re the only one who knows them all.” I stroked the place on his head where the fur was sparse, a bald spot made from kissing his teddy head good-night. Yikes! It made me think of bald Mr. Tate downstairs with Mom.

I reached for the mini straw hat on my hillbilly mouse. Plopping it down on Bearie-O, I prayed out loud. “Please, Lord, don’t let this man mess up our lives.”

I unpacked the Mickey Mouse I’d purchased for Carrie and marched down the hall. “Knock, knock,” I said, tapping on the bathroom door.

“Who’s there?” Carrie answered, playing along.

“Mickey Mouse.”

Carrie squealed, “Really?”

I sneaked Mickey around the door and peeked him in.

More squealing.

“Do you need a shampoo, little girl?” Mickey said in a highpitched voice.

“Nope, it’s all done,” Carrie answered.

It was
my
turn to peek around the door. There sat Carrie in a mountain of shampoo bubbles, suds closing in on her eyebrows.

“It’s time for some expert help,” I said. “Besides, you need to get to bed soon. Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

“Let Mickey watch us rinse my hair,” Carrie said.

“Okay.” I set Mickey on the sink counter, wondering what I was like at eight. I remembered a surprise birthday gift from Daddy—a shiny red bike. That was my last birthday with him.

“Do you like Mr. Tate?” Carrie asked between rinsings.

“Don’t know him,” I said.

“He’s real nice, Holly. You should see what he got me.”

I felt uneasy. Not only was he showering my mother with attention, he was buying off my little sister.

“I’ll show you the present when I say my prayers.” She held her breath and disappeared under the bubbles. Golden strands of hair floated up like a mermaid’s.

At last her bath was done. I used the hair dryer on her long locks and braided it slightly damp to keep the tangles out, the way I did my own every night.

In her room, I was surprised to see a giant mermaid posed on her bed. “This is new, isn’t it?” I asked.

“From Mr. Tate.”

“That’s nice.”

The gift was.
He
wasn’t. I knew I wouldn’t let myself like this man. Presents or not, he had no business with our family.

I listened to Carrie say her prayers, then I tucked her in.

“I’m glad you’re home again, Holly,” said Carrie. “You really won’t go off to California this summer, will you?” Her soft blue eyes pleaded with me.

“I want to get to know Daddy better, Carrie. Can you understand that?”

“What about
me
?” She curled her lip into a pout. “What will
I
do all summer?”

“We’ll talk more tomorrow,” I said, feeling like a grown-up.

“You can talk all you want,” she said, “but it won’t change my mind. Not one bit!”

I hugged my spunky sis, then left the door cracked open to let the hall light shine in a little. I hurried to my window seat for some secret list-making. Curling up, I began to write in my notebook. On the left side of the page I wrote reasons for going to California. On the right side, reasons for staying home.

So far, there were five reasons to stay home and only four to go to California.

I reached for my teen devotional. After reading it, I wrote the fifth reason: Talk to Daddy about God.

Now both sides were tied.

SECRET SUMMER DREAMS

Chapter 5

The next morning, before I got out of bed, I wrote in my diary—
Sunday, March 28.
Then I copied the secret list into my journal. Afterward, I prayed.

“Please, oh please, dear Lord, make Mom let me go to visit Daddy this summer. It’s the most important thing in my life now. Honest. Amen.”

Feeling satisfied that I was approaching this like a mature Christian, I went downstairs and poured myself a bowl of cereal. After breakfast I called Andie. No answer. She must have gone to the early service at church.

Just as I hung up, the phone rang. I could tell it was long distance. Daddy!

“How was your trip home?” he asked.

“Perfect,” I said.

“The Grand Canyon?”

I remembered the powerful feeling I had there. “I think I know what you mean about that place,” I said softly.

“It’s amazing,” he said. “And Holly, you’ll be even more inspired if you ever have the chance to hike down into it.”

“I, uh, sort of did that,” I said, recalling my near-fatal fall.

“Well, how was it?”

“Much scarier than I dreamed it would be.” I didn’t explain what had happened. I didn’t say I nearly dropped into the Grand Canyon.

“Pretty steep, was it?” He paused, then asked, “Have you thought any more about your summer plans?”

I wanted to say Mom was chewing her nails over his invitation, but didn’t. It could be a mistake to get him in the middle of things here.

“I really want to come—more than anything,” I said, hesitating. “But there’s, uh, lots of stuff going on here. I just don’t know how it’s gonna fly.”

“Well, Holly, I can get your plane tickets in a jiffy, so that’s no problem. Let me know when you’re sure. Okay?”

“Sure, Daddy. Thanks.”

“How’s Carrie?” he asked.

“Spunky as ever,” I said, laughing. “She missed me so much, she welcomed me home with balloons she bought with her own money.”

He chuckled. “Tell her thanks for sending the artwork. I hung it up on the wall in my study.”

“Why don’t
you
tell her?”

“I’m in a rush,” he said quickly. “Have an appointment with a client in thirty minutes. I’ll talk to you soon. Good-bye, Holly.”

I hung up, feeling sad that he was headed off to work instead of church. On a Sunday morning, no less.

Tiptoeing up the steps, I heard Mom singing. I went to her bedroom door and knocked.

“Come in,” she called cheerfully.

As I entered, she drew back the curtains, letting the morning drift in. Dressed in her soft pink robe, Mom looked like an angel, her blond hair spilling forward on her shoulders. She sat down on the bed.

“Can we talk?” I asked.

She patted the bed beside her. “Sure, what’s up?”

“Mr. Tate,” I said, getting right to the point.

“Oh?”

“How long have you known him?”

She looked at the ceiling, like she was counting something invisible. “About ten days, I guess.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” I said. “And you’ve been out with him? Mom, he could be a bank robber, a serial killer, a—”

“Honey,” she interrupted. “I met him at
church.
”

“I’ve never seen him there before.”

“He came from another church, he and his son.”

I sighed. “So he’s been married before?”

“His wife died several years ago. He’s lonely.” She touched my hair. “Like I am.”

How could I follow up with my anti-Tate campaign when Mom looked so happy? I couldn’t tamper with that. At least not now.

“Do you like him?” I asked.

“He’s very nice. And his adorable little boy is in my Sunday school class.
He’s
the one who introduced me to Mike.”

I studied her.

“I hope you’ll give him a chance, Holly-Heart, even though it may be difficult.”

“Okay, I guess.” I wanted to ask why he picked our church to come to, and why he was so bald. Instead, I hugged her and ran to wake Carrie for Sunday school. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe I
should
give Mike Tate a chance. But he’d better prove himself fast, because I wasn’t going to give him very long.

After school on Monday I was at my locker, dropping off books and loading up my backpack, when Jared popped around my locker door. “Boo!” he said.

“Eek!” I squealed, jumping back.

“Didn’t scare you, did I?”

“Get away from me,” I said.

“Let’s go skating next Friday, Holly-Heart.”

“Don’t call me that,” I said coldly.

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot,” he said. “The name’s to be used only by close friends and relatives.”

“Perfect, you remembered. Now remember
not
to say it.” I glimpsed Andie speeding toward us.

She grabbed my arm. “Quick, I’ve forgotten our English homework assignment,” she said, out of breath.

“It’s here somewhere,” I said, flipping through my assignment notebook. “There.” I handed it to her, wondering why she hadn’t paid attention in Miss Wannamaker’s class.

Jared leaned over my shoulder, real close. “Cool handwriting, Holly.”

“You need a decoder for yours,” Andie joked, scribbling the assignment on the back of her lunch bag.

Jared leaned on my locker, almost in it. “That’s some ingenious essay Miss W has planned. ‘Write about your secret summer fantasy—what you would most like to have happen this summer,’ ” he said, mimicking Miss W’s sweet voice. “Where do you think she gets these wild ideas for our writing assignments?”