Last Summer (6 page)
Authors: Holly Chamberlin
Frannie looked away from the Pattersons’ house. She missed her best friend. She could barely remember her life before Jane Patterson. They had met almost fourteen years ago at a local mommy-and-me class. Jane had arrived on the first day carrying a new knockoff designer diaper bag; Frannie had arrived carrying a bag passed down from a neighbor who had used it for both of her children. It was old but clean and serviceable.
The women’s differences, which were considerable, hadn’t proved to be an obstacle to building a solid friendship. Frannie’s mother had been a homemaker and her father had worked for a local utility company. She hadn’t been able to afford college after high school, so instead, she had taken some classes in computer science and taught herself enough administrative skills to get and keep progressively decent jobs. She was smart and used to making do. Jane, whose mother had worked in an art gallery and whose father had been a lawyer, had grown up in a suburb of Boston and gone to a small arts-oriented college in New Hampshire. Later, she had earned a master’s degree in the history of textiles. (That tidbit of information had amused Frannie for months. Imagine what her own parents would have said had she told them she was earning a degree in such a “useless” oddball topic!) Frannie loved the Red Sox with a passion. Jane couldn’t even recognize a home run, though she did enjoy going to a Sea Dogs game as much as the next person. But Frannie suspected that for Jane, the outing was all about the chance to socialize and chat about what people were wearing, not about the final score.
And there were deeper differences than levels of education and a love of or indifference to baseball. Frannie, who had grown up in a fairly religious home, still considered herself a Catholic and attended Mass almost every Sunday and certainly on the holidays. At Peter’s nagging insistence she hadn’t forced a religious education on the children, though both Meg and Petey had been baptized and Meg had gone to an after-school religious education program so that she could receive her First Holy Communion. Anyway, there wasn’t even a Catholic grammar or high school within ten miles of their home, not since the Church had hemorrhaged so much money in the past few years, paying off its emotional debts. Frannie had done her soul searching and had come to the conclusion that while the institution of the Church might be in many ways corrupt, and while some of its decrees were impossible for her to accept (No women priests? Come on! No gay marriage? What was that about?), there were plenty of good and faithful people, herself included, who should not be denied the solace and tradition offered by the community in which they had come to maturity. She had made her separate peace, which included requiring her children to accompany her to Mass whether they understood all that was going on or not.
Jane, on the other hand, considered herself an agnostic. She liked to say that she had been brought up in the First Church of Suburbia. She also claimed not to remember or maybe never even to have known the church’s actual denomination. “Something vaguely Christian,” she had said. “Nothing extreme. Nothing really memorable, either. No pomp, and certainly no circumstance.”
“Was there even a cross?” Frannie had asked, slightly appalled, the first time Jane had talked about her past.
Jane had considered for a moment before saying, “I think so.”
What the two women did have in common was intelligence, a devotion to family, a generous spirit, and, if Frannie was being honest, a real need for each other. That was enough to unite them and keep them together for almost fourteen years. The Pattersons moving into the house right next door to the Giroux family when the girls were about six further cemented the bond that had begun to form over hand-clapping games and diaper rash remedies. True, Mike and Peter had never been close. In fact, from the start Frannie had the impression that Mike only tolerated Peter for her sake. Certainly, after Peter had moved out, Mike hadn’t spoken more than a passing word or two to him when he showed up to beg for a loan or to retrieve something important he claimed to have left behind. (That was really an excuse to make off with an object he could sell for some quick cash.)
And now, after all the two families had been through together—the childhood illnesses, Jane’s miscarriages, the birthdays, the holidays, the first day of school, her own disruptive divorce and its aftermath—to have it all come to this horrible state of anger and betrayal and distrust sickened Frannie.
Frannie sighed and reached for the switch on the bedside lamp. If she had to lie awake well into the night, she might as well do it in the dark and keep the electricity bill within budget.
6
November 5, 2011
Dear Diary,
In the past few days, things have been kind of weird between Meg and me. This girl Jill Harrison, one of Mackenzie Egan’s friends, told a bunch of people about a video that’s going around online that’s supposed to be really sexy. I’m not sure what Meg means by its being “sexy,” like if it’s a music video or what. Anyway, Meg asked me if she could check it out at my house because she didn’t want her mom somehow finding out or her brother coming into her room while she was online. But when she told me about it I said no. Not just because my mom and dad wouldn’t want me to watch the video but also because I just didn’t feel right about it.
Meg was all, “But everyone is checking it out!” and I just laughed. Since when does she care about doing what everyone else is doing? Besides, I seriously doubt “everyone” is checking it out. Anyway, I said, “No, thanks,” again and then she wanted to know if I was going to tell on her. I was totally shocked and really hurt, but I didn’t say anything. How could Meg think I’d ever tell on her? I’m her best friend. I might not like something she does, but unless it’s some sort of horrible crime—which Meg would never do, anyway—I’d never give her away! Never. Just like Meg has kept my big secret for years now and would never, ever tell anyone. I know that for certain, like I know that my name is Rosemary Alice Patterson.
Anyway, the long story short is that I guess Meg went ahead and checked out the video, but I have no idea whose computer she used or if she did it by herself or with someone else. I kind of want to know and I kind of don’t want to know. I’m certainly not going to ask her! I think she’s sort of mad at me for not going along with her or helping her out. I hope she’s not but I think she is.
As for my big sister, I haven’t seen Carly in weeks, except for glimpsing her across the cafeteria at lunchtime. But that’s okay because I’m doing fine. Meg’s big sister gave her a crinkly cotton scarf she didn’t want anymore. I didn’t even know that Meg liked scarves, but she’s been wearing it ever since, so I guess she does. And it’s orange, which I always thought Meg hated! I wonder if she just likes it because it was Tiffany’s.
That sounds kind of mean. Sorry. I guess I’m still a little upset about the video incident. I shouldn’t be because I know I did the right thing not letting Meg use our computer. But I am. I don’t like to make anyone unhappy, and I guess that this time I did. Mom and Dad have always taught me that following your conscience isn’t always easy. They were right.
Oh, this is news! In gym class I actually made a basket in basketball! It was the first time I ever even came close and this girl Kylie joked it would probably be the last time, too. She’s probably right!
It’s already been below freezing three times—at night—and it’s only the beginning of November! Brrr. I don’t like the cold that much, but I love the holiday season. I love all the decorating! Finding the perfect tree and then putting all the special ornaments on it is my favorite thing ever. We have one ornament from my mother’s mother, my grandmother Rosemary. It’s made of pink glass and has a kind of glitter all over it that looks like sugar frosting. It’s my absolute favorite ornament. I hope that when I’m older and have my own tree, Mom passes it down to me. But if she doesn’t want to, I’ll understand.
This year for Christmas I’m asking for a hardcover copy of THE GOLDEN COMPASS. It’s the first in a trilogy called His Dark Materials by a writer named Philip Pullman. I read it last summer and loved it. I kept imagining that I was Lyra, the heroine, though she’s an awful lot braver than I am. Anyway, it was a library book, so of course I couldn’t keep it. I’m going to read and someday own the other two books in the trilogy, too. The second one is called THE SUBTLE KNIFE and the third is THE AMBER SPYGLASS. How do people come up with such interesting titles? How can a knife be subtle? That sounds so interesting. Maybe someday I’ll meet an actual writer and ask how they come up with titles and how they find their ideas.
I should go now. I really want to watch this special about the Vatican art collection on TV tonight, but I won’t be allowed unless my homework is done. I am so going to Italy when I’m older. Mom went to Italy and to France for almost the entire summer between college and graduate school and I love looking at all the pictures she took, though I can hardly recognize her with such short hair. I can’t wait to visit the Louvre in Paris and see the Mona Lisa up close and to see Michelangelo’s statue of David, the original one, in Florence. And the food in France and Italy is supposed to be amazing and you know how I love to eat!
Arrivederci! Au revoir!
Your friend, Rosie
November 17, 2011
Dear Diary,
Thanksgiving is next week. Every time the holidays come around I think about how it would be nice to have a big family. You see those commercials on TV with everyone gathered around a big table, kids and grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins, and everyone’s laughing and joking and teasing each other and it all looks like a lot of fun, people pretending to fight over the last crescent roll. (I love crescent rolls!)
I’m not complaining. I love my mom and dad. I just wish we had more family. I don’t know why Mom didn’t have more kids after me. I’ve never asked and I don’t think I should, at least not until I’m older. Maybe someday she’ll tell me on her own. Maybe she and Dad just didn’t want any more children. But if that’s the case, I wonder why.
My dad’s brother and his wife live outside of Boston, but Dad and Uncle Rob aren’t close and now that Uncle Rob and Aunt Jean have a baby—my cousin Alison, who I’ve never even seen!—they don’t want to come to Maine, especially in the bad weather. At least, that’s what Mom says. I guess I can understand that. Who wants to get caught on the road in a snowstorm? (Dad keeps all sorts of stuff in our car in case of an emergency in winter, stuff like blankets and flashlights and bottled water.)
I also wish I had a dog. I really want one but Mom says I’m too young for the responsibility of a pet (I am NOT too young! I’m fourteen!). Dad never had a pet, not even a goldfish, growing up so he just doesn’t understand why a dog is so important to me. Sigh. When I’m an adult and living on my own I’ll have three dogs and three cats and maybe a ferret. Unless cats eat ferrets, in which case I guess I won’t be getting a ferret! I’ll get all my animals from a shelter, of course. Just thinking about those poor animals in those cages, waiting to be adopted, breaks my heart. When those commercials come on TV, showing all those poor abused animals and asking for support for shelters, I have to close my eyes and put my hands over my ears. A few months ago Mom and I gathered up some old but clean towels (it was my idea after I saw an appeal in the paper) and took them to a shelter in South Portland. The shelter uses the towels as beds for the animals in their cages. Mom went inside with the towels while I waited in the car. I just knew I would start to cry if I went in with her and couldn’t leave with a dog.
We got our history papers back today. Ms. Moore told me that I got the only A in the class. The only one I told about the A—aside from my parents!—was Meg because we always share our grades and stuff. She got a B+, which is also pretty good. She usually does way better than me in math class, even though I study like mad. I guess math just isn’t my strong point. She’s the only person I know who’s actually looking forward to learning calculus! I’m trying to figure out a way to avoid it.
This is kind of weird. Meg told me that Ginny Doherty (a girl in her advanced math class) told her that Michael Perkins thinks I’m pretty. I don’t believe it. Michael Perkins is really cute and besides, he’s a sophomore. He could go out with any sophomore girl he wanted to, and lots of them are way prettier than I am. Like Mackenzie Egan, though I don’t know if she already has a boyfriend. I’ve never seen her with a boy. I hope word doesn’t get around about Michael Perkins thinking I’m pretty, because it has to be a lie. He’s never even looked at me! I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m being stuck-up because a boy supposedly likes me.
Anyway, it was a pretty good week. I hope I get an A on the next history paper, too. I would hate to slip back a grade, or even half a grade. Ms. Moore would be disappointed, not to mention Mom and Dad. And me! One of my father’s favorite expressions is “There’s no excuse for laziness.” I guess he’s right.
About Thanksgiving again. I was hoping that Meg and her family would be coming here for dinner, but Meg told me they have to go up to Norridgewock for the day to see her father’s older sister who is really sick. Meg’s only met her aunt Linda once or twice but her mom thinks going to visit is the right thing to do because even though Mr. and Mrs. Giroux are divorced, they’re still in some way family. And besides, this might be the last time they get to see Aunt Linda. She’s got some aggressive cancer, which is very sad, especially because she’s only around fifty. (Meg says that’s old but it’s not. I think the idea of older people frightens her in some way.) Meg’s not happy about going, but unless she pretends to be sick on Thanksgiving morning, she’s going to have to go. Besides, Mrs. Giroux is way too smart to fall for a lie!
So that means it’s just Mom, Dad, and me for Thanksgiving. They don’t have any close friends they could invite, and neither do I, other than Meg, of course, so ... I wonder why Mom and Dad don’t have other good friends. They’re nice and smart and all and they each know lots of people through their businesses. But even the women in Mom’s book club aren’t really her friends. Two of them are clients and one woman she knows from back in Boston, though she says they weren’t close. They took a class together once at the MFA, that’s all.
I know why I don’t have other good friends. Meg is the only friend I need.
You know what I just thought about? I wonder if Mom had a best friend growing up like I have Meg. She’s never told me about anyone. Maybe I should ask her. But if something bad happened between them she might not want to talk about it, so maybe I won’t say anything.
Oh, well. On Thanksgiving we’ll watch the parade on TV, the big one from New York, and Mom will make her famous apple pie and those mashed turnips I love and we’ll have a nice time. Dad’s not so into the turnips, but he’ll eat some for Mom’s sake. And he’ll have two pieces of pie! He has such a sweet tooth, just like Meg. Mom doesn’t know this but I know that he keeps a box of Count Chocula in his office! He hides it in the bottom drawer of his desk. It’s fun to have a little secret with Dad.
I have to go and do my homework now. Mr. Wall, our science teacher, gave us an extra-credit assignment that I’m going to finish before the weekend. Meg thinks I’m crazy to voluntarily take on more work, but Mom and Dad are glad about it (they say any extra work might help me get into a good college) and I really don’t mind. I probably don’t do enough extracurricular stuff, though. Maybe I should be worried about that. But I really don’t like sports. Maybe I should check out ways I could volunteer. There’s some sort of nursing home in Wells. Maybe I could volunteer there. I like older people. I wish I had grandparents. The only problem is that Mom or Dad would have to drive me to the nursing home and back, and I don’t want to cause trouble for them. I’ll have to think about it.
But first—homework! See you soon.
Your friend, Rosie
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