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Not in a Party Mood
“Ella, that’s impossible. The house was built before the turn of the century. That would make Mrs. Hallovich . . . “ Mom stops and calculates, “ nearly 130 years old.”
“Yes. I already did the math.”
I’ve just given Mom and Dad a brief summary of some of the story Mrs. H. told me about Willow House.
“You know that just can’t be true. Right?” Mom continues. “She may look good for her age but, even with a stretch of imagination, I wouldn’t put her a day over 70.”
I don’t know what to think. I want everything to be true. I don’t believe that Mrs. Hallovich would lie. She probably just has the details and the years mixed up. Maybe, though, she really is losing it. This thought makes me sad. Like I’ve just lost someone. I look over at Dad who’s quietly eating his food and listening to our conversation.
“Don’t let it bother you, Sweetheart. She’s probably just confused about the details, . . . and the years.”
Is Dad reading my mind too? Can anyone just walk up and read my mind?!
I nod. “Yeah. Maybe I misunderstood some stuff too.” I ask to be excused from the table. “I think I’m gonna go lie down for awhile before the party.”
“I’ll be up to check on you in a little bit,” Dad says.
I am so confused. I’m sad because that was our last day at Willow House. I’m worried that Mrs. Hallovich is losing her marbles. I’m anxious about the tea party invitations. I’m disgusted with myself for lying to my best friend. I want to crawl into a hole and not come out until school starts again at the end of August. My life is terrible. How am I going to face my friends tonight?
A few tears sneak out and run down the side of my nose. A few others follow. Tears scurry down my face.
There’s a knock at the door.
I sniffle as much of the tears up my nose as I can, and wipe my face with my moose’s ear.
“Come in,” I say.
I know Dad can tell I’ve been crying. Sometimes I watch myself cry in the mirror. My nose gets bigger and turns red. There’s no hiding that. He sits down on the bed next to me and pulls me into a hug.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Dad asks. “I know you can’t be this upset that Mrs. Hallovich got a little carried away with her story.”
“It’s not just that,” I say.
He waits for me to go on, but my words are all stuck in a jam in my throat. There’s too many of them and they can’t decide who’s first, so they’re just clogged up. I have been such an idiot lately. All I can do is shake my head and start to cry again. Not even Dad can help me now.
Dad grabs a tissue from my nightstand and holds me close for a while. He lets me cry until I’m pretty much cried out.
“You are going to go and have a good time with your friends tonight, and when you wake up tomorrow morning, I promise you, things will not look so bad.” Dad stands up and faces me. “Your face is a different story.”
It takes me a second to realize he’s talking about my big red nose and the scratch on my face, and not any unappealing facial features. This makes me laugh a little. No one can make me feel better like my dad can.
He lays his hands on my shoulders. “If you decide you want to talk about something, you know where to find me.”
I’m still sniffling a little but at least now I can smile. “Thanks.”
He turns to go.
“Dad?” I say.
He turns back around.
“Why did you move us here?”
“Where did that come from? I thought you loved it here.”
Truth is, I did love it here, until I messed things up. Once again my words aren’t sure who wants to come out. I think Dad knows I just want his company for a little while longer, so he sits back down beside me.
“I moved us here on the advice of my Grandpa.”
“Grandpa Frank.”
“Yes. Grandpa Frank.”
I’ve heard this story before, but I’m in the mood for hearing stories. I tell Dad to go on.
“I never knew much about my Grandpa’s past,” he started. “I spent a lot of time with him, but he didn’t really share much about his childhood, and since I was a kid, I never thought to ask. I don’t even know when he was born.” My dad stops and looks at me. “You know, now that I think of it, your great-grandpa had to have been pretty doggone old. Maybe there’s something in the water here. Maybe Mrs. Hallovich really is 130.” He laughs at his own joke, but when he sees that I’m not laughing, he stops. “Too soon?” he asks.
I nod, and he moves on.
“When he got sick a few years ago, I spent his last days in the hospital with him. There was nothing to do except talk, so I started asking him questions. I found out that he came from Saint Clair, and even though he didn’t share a lot of personal stuff about living here, he told me enough about the town itself to get me interested. It sounded like a great spot to get my landscaping business off the ground, so I came to see it for myself. He was right. I loved it when I saw it! It’s a beautiful town.”
Dad looks down at me. “You are happy here, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I say. That’s the truth.
“Good. Now, why don’t you splash some water on your face, put on a fresh bandage, maybe one with sparkles, and get ready for the sleepover. You’re going to have a fantastic time. And you’ve still got a whole summer to look forward to.”
I was thinking the opposite. The summer seemed like it was never gonna end.
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