Staying Together (10 page)

Hilary shook her head. “But you play if you want to.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing. Just wait.” Hilary stood in the yard of Camden Falls Elementary and took a good long look at her school. It was smaller than the one she had attended in Boston, a fact which at first she had found troubling. She remembered saying to her mother, “What are Spencer and I supposed to
do
in this tiny little place?” Then she had toured CFE and found that her dinky new school had an impressive library, a sprawling playground, a cafeteria,
and
an auditorium.

“This isn't so bad,” Hilary had confessed.

In fact, fifth grade with Mrs. Caldwell had turned out to be Hilary's best school year ever.

“Where will you wait?” asked Ruby now.

“In our classroom.”

“Can I wait with you?”

Hilary shrugged. “Sure.”

She and Ruby made their way to Mrs. Caldwell's room (they were the only ones there), and Hilary sat at her desk and looked around at the bulletin boards, and leftover science fair projects, and the aquarium containing tropical fish, and the turtle Ava Longyear had brought in but that Mrs. Caldwell insisted would have to be returned to his natural habitat that afternoon.

“You're kind of acting like this is the last time you're going to see our room,” said Ruby after a few moments.

Hilary shrugged again.

“Well, even if your parents decide to sell the diner, you aren't going to move
tomorrow
.” Ruby sounded just the teensiest bit cross.

“I don't know when we might move,” Hilary replied.

Ruby said she was going to go outside and play softball after all, so Hilary was left alone, mentally bidding farewell to room 5A.

One of the best things about Mrs. Caldwell, Hilary thought, was that she was full of surprises, and that day brought yet another surprise.

“Class,” said Mrs. Caldwell when everyone was settled at their desks and the morning business had been attended to, “we've had an exciting year. Last week I was thinking about our year and all that we've done — the things we've studied, the trips we've taken, the science fair, our correspondence with our pen pals in Florida — and I thought it might be nice to have a program for your families on the last day of school. It would be an opportunity to share our year with —”

Ruby's hand shot up before Mrs. Caldwell had finished speaking.

“Yes, Ruby?”

“What kind of a program? A play?”

“As a matter of fact I am thinking of a play — just a small one that we can put on here in our room.”

“When are auditions?”

Mrs. Caldwell smiled. “No auditions. We're going to put your names in a hat and assign roles that way.”

“Oh.” Ruby scowled.

“And we're going to do that right now. We'll need a narrator — that's the biggest role — and ten people to tell our guests about our projects, and a small group to perform a song.”

To Hilary's delight, her teacher produced a hat from under her desk and began pulling slips of paper out of it and writing names on the board. When Mrs. Caldwell said, “And for the narrator … Hilary Nelson,” Hilary's eyes opened wide.

Once again, Ruby's hand shot in the air. “Mrs. Caldwell, did you know that Hilary might —” Ruby started to say before she glanced at Hilary, closed her mouth, and turned red. “Um, never mind.”

“What?” said Mrs. Caldwell, looking puzzled. She glanced at Hilary.

“It's okay,” Hilary told her, even though she dreaded having to walk into school the next morning and tell her teacher that she'd be in Boston on the last day of school. Mrs. Caldwell would have to draw names again to find a new narrator and then switch everyone else around.

Twice during the afternoon Hilary almost asked Mrs. Caldwell if they could have a private conference. She planned to suggest that Ruby be given the role of narrator, since she wanted it so badly. But she was afraid she would somehow jinx her parents' decision. On the other hand, accepting the role of narrator when she probably wouldn't be able to keep it was kind of selfish.

Hilary couldn't figure out
what
to do, so she did nothing.

She left school that afternoon with a headache — and a heavier heart than she could have imagined. When she entered the diner, which she was pleased to see was fairly crowded, she ran to her father. “Did you and Mom make a decision?”

“Not yet, honey. We've been busy today. We'll look at everything tonight, I promise.”

The butterflies returned.

That evening, as soon as the diner had closed and the Nelsons had eaten dinner in their apartment, Hilary's parents sat down at the living room table, which was strewn with papers. They sat together for a full hour, murmuring, studying bank statements, and sifting through receipts. Hilary was completely unable to concentrate on her homework. She sat and watched her parents, her heart thudding, her headache in full swing.

At one point Spencer leaned into the room and said to Hilary, “They could probably work faster if you weren't staring at them.”

Hilary reluctantly moved to her bedroom, where she sat at her desk and thought darkly about living in her grandparents' house, sharing a bedroom with not only Spencer but her parents. Or sleeping on a couch in the living room. Then she pictured herself approaching Mrs. Caldwell's desk the next morning and breaking the news to her about the class program. Mrs. Caldwell had never gotten angry with Hilary, or with any of her students, but maybe she would get a disappointed grown-up look on her face, one that said, “You've let me down. Now we have to draw names again and start over.”

“Hilary! Spencer!” she heard her mother call from the living room.

Hilary shot up so quickly that she knocked her chair over. She didn't bother to right it. She tore down the hall to the living room, bumping into Spencer on the way, and stood breathlessly in front of her parents.

“Are we moving?” she asked.

Spencer stood at her side.

Her parents looked at each other. Then they smiled.

“We're staying,” her father said.

“At least for the time being,” her mother added.

“Yes!” cried Hilary. “Yes, yes, yes!”

Spencer let out a whoop. “Are we rich?”

Hilary's mother laughed. “Far from it. But we're doing okay.”

“And that's the best we can ask for right now,” added her father.

“Did I help?” asked Hilary. “You know, the crayons, the poster contest?”

“Definitely,” said her parents in unison.

“I'm going to call Ruby!” Hilary made a dash for the phone. On the way she called over her shoulder, “Oh, by the way, our class is putting on a program on the last day of school. You're invited. I'm going to be the narrator!”

Nikki sat on a stool behind the counter at Sincerely Yours, feeling very grown-up. She liked to pretend that she worked there. Robby worked there part-time and Olivia worked there once a week or so, and Nikki marveled at the way they talked to customers and wrapped packages and stocked the shelves.

But Nikki didn't work there, and on this particular afternoon, Olivia wasn't working there, either. The girls were there because they were avoiding Flora and Ruby.

“How long do you think their fight can possibly go on?” Olivia asked. She glanced around, slipped a plastic glove on one hand, reached into the candy display, and withdrew two chocolates.

“No sneaking food!” said Robby loudly from across the store. “You have to pay! It's the rule.”

Olivia blushed, and she and Nikki ate the chocolates in a big hurry.

Nikki wiped her mouth guiltily. “I have no idea how long it'll go on. It's been going on forever already.” She paused. “Maybe they'll
never
make up. Do you think that could actually happen?”

Olivia shrugged. “The whole thing is awful. Every time I'm with Ruby she asks me about Flora, and every time I'm with Flora she asks me about Ruby. You'd never know they live in the same house. Plus, it's really uncomfortable. They're putting me in a bad position.”

Nikki looked longingly at the trays of chocolates. “They're doing the same thing to me. I finally had to tell Flora I wouldn't talk to her about Ruby and vice versa. But that feels, I don't know, artificial. And also like I'm not being a good friend.”

“On the other hand,” said Olivia thoughtfully, “they won't tell us what the fight is about. That doesn't really seem fair.”

“I guess it isn't our business, though.”

“No, but if they won't tell us about it, then they shouldn't ask us stuff.”

Nikki grunted in frustration.

“Why can't things just be like before?” Olivia said, more loudly than she had intended, and two customers turned to look at her. She lowered her voice. “There were four of us. We were best friends. It was simple.”

“As simple as friendship can be.” Nikki eyed the chocolates again. “Can we have more if I pay for them?”

“Yes!” called Robby.

Nikki chose two more chocolates and handed one to Olivia, along with a dollar bill.

“Thanks,” said Olivia. She let her gaze wander out the window to Main Street. “Let's not talk about this anymore,” she said finally. “I mean, not right now.”

“Okay. But you know we're going to have to do something about it eventually,” replied Nikki.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

The next afternoon, Nikki had just arrived at Sheltering Arms when she heard someone say, “The first vans are on their way.”

“What vans?” Nikki asked Greta, another volunteer.

“There's a big rescue going on. At some farm — well, not really a farm — with all these dogs and puppies —”

“A puppy mill?” Nikki asked, and felt her stomach drop.

“I'm not sure. Someone called Animal Control to report bad odors and lots of barking coming from their neighbors' property. The officers made a call and found dozens of dogs and puppies living in tiny, cramped cages with almost no food, empty water bowls, you know.”

Unfortunately, Nikki did know. She'd seen it before.

Greta made a face and then continued. “Apparently, there are quite a few dead dogs, too.”

Nikki closed her eyes briefly.

“And a lot of the dogs are sick — eye infections, tumors, heartworm. One even has fur that's so matted he can't see. They're going to have to shave him completely. His eyesight is probably already damaged, though.”

“Oh, no,” said Nikki. “Are
any
of the dogs okay?”

The volunteer held her hands out. “Don't know. Maybe. There are two mom dogs with litters of newborn puppies. Maybe the puppies can be saved, at least.”

“How many dogs are there altogether? They aren't all coming here, are they?”

“I haven't heard the total, but no, they aren't all coming here. There are too many. Some will go to the SPCA, some will go to the shelter in Mechanicsville. I think I heard Harriet say that eighteen of them are coming here.”

“Okay,” said Nikki.

She stepped into the restroom and stood at the sink for a few moments. She needed to have a chat with herself. If you are going to work at a shelter, she said sternly (in her head), you have to get used to this. You have to have a strong backbone. She remembered something Harriet had told her: “Don't get callous, but don't get overwhelmed, either. You need a kind heart for this work, but you also need to be able to separate yourself from the cruelty you'll see. It's a fine balance.”

“Okay,” she said again. And she stepped out into the lobby of Sheltering Arms.

The first van arrived five minutes later.

Nikki stood by the front doors and watched as Ms. Hewitt, who ran Sheltering Arms, and Harriet and several of the other adult workers unloaded six crates from the back. She tried to peep into the crates as they were carried past her.

The crates had just been set inside when another van arrived. Sheltering Arms took on the feel of a hospital emergency room. Volunteers hustled back and forth, vets peered into the crates, Ms. Hewitt gave orders, doors slammed, phone calls were made.

“Wow,” said Nikki softly as she watched the activity, eyes wide.

By the time the third van had arrived and been unloaded, Nikki wasn't even sure where to stand.

“You look lost,” someone said, and Nikki turned around to find Harriet behind her.

“I don't exactly know what to do,” she admitted.

The dogs with the most serious problems had been hustled into examining rooms and were being seen to by the veterinarians and vet techs.

“Come with me,” said Harriet, smiling and extending her hand. “Let's take a look at the dogs who aren't in any immediate danger.” She led Nikki to a room that was lined from one end to the other, and on both sides of an aisle, with large pens. It was a room for dogs who weren't ready for adoption yet, dogs who needed to be treated and observed first.