Holly's Heart Collection One (38 page)

She recognized me, too. “Hi, Holly,” she said, waving.

“Hello, Mrs. Myers,” I said, eyeing the wig. “You look pretty as a blonde.”

“Well, thank you.” She beamed. “If I were twenty years younger, I’d buy a blond fall down to my waist, like
your
hair. Now,
that’s
pretty.”

I could feel my face growing warm. “Thanks.”

“Danny says you hope to make the girls’ volleyball team.”

I nodded.

“He tells me you’re a natural at sports.”

“He does?” She was so easy to talk to. Like Danny.

“Yes, and he says you’re a writer. Maybe you can tell me more about that tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Danny wants to bring you over for refreshments after you practice at the school. Is that okay with you?”

“That sounds nice,” I said.

Nice? It was perfectly fabulous!

She studied the wig in the window. “Do you like this one?” she asked, coming near the showcase.

“It looks great on the model, but I doubt it’s my style,” I said.

“Well, you won’t know unless you try it,” she said, motioning for the sales clerk.

Before I knew it, I was wearing the wig. Mrs. Myers held up two mirrors behind my head. “Simply lovely,” she said.

I moved my head around, examining all sides of the new me. “I, uh, I don’t know. The color makes my face look pale.”

“And older, too,” the clerk said.

Mrs. Myers agreed. “You could get the same look with your
own
hair,” she said. “A simple French twist is easy enough.”

“Really?” I said. “It’s easy?”

“If you’d like, I’ll show you tomorrow,” Mrs. Myers said.

In the mirrors, I saw Carrie standing behind me. She’d abandoned the bikes and followed me inside. Picking up a short, curly wig, she held it high. “Here,” she said. “This one’s perfect for Mr. Tate.”

Danny’s mom nodded, smiling. “I hear congratulations are in order for you girls.”

Carrie piped up. “They are?”

“I saw your mother and Mike Tate at the courthouse this afternoon. They said they were picking up a marriage license.”

Carrie pulled the wig on, her own long hair hanging down out of it. The news hadn’t fazed her one bit.

For me, this bit of news meant hope. After all, a marriage license wasn’t a marriage. Besides that, it was good only for thirty days.

SEALED WITH A KISS

Chapter 10

Mr. Tate was waiting as Carrie and I rode our bikes into the garage. “Your mother’s ready to dish up supper,” he said sternly, moving Carrie’s bike away from Mom’s car.

“It was Holly’s idea to go downtown,” Carrie volunteered.

Just great…blame me,
I thought.

Mr. Tate stared, no…he actually glared at me. “Holly, you’re in charge of things while your mother’s at work. I’m quite sure you know when suppertime is around here.” He checked his watch.

There was no use arguing. Obviously, the man couldn’t remember having been a kid. Ever!

Yet he waited for my answer. Finally I said, “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“Well, I should hope not,” he said. “As soon as your mother and I are married, she’ll be here,
at home,
for you children. Now, before you do anything, you must apologize to her.”

Must…should.
This routine was too harsh. On top of that, Mr. Tate never cracked a smile. Was life so serious he couldn’t enjoy living? And what was this about Mom quitting work? Wasn’t that
her
decision?

Going inside, I washed up, thinking how to apologize to Mom.

A dark cloud hung over me at supper as Mr. Tate announced his wedding plans to my mother. Zach sat beside her while his father did all the talking. I noticed Mom’s ring finger was still bare. No sparkling diamond.

After supper, when Mr. Tate went into the living room to read the paper, I told Mom I was sorry about being late.

“No problem,” she said.

Surprised, I asked, “Did Mr. Tate talk to you about me being late for supper?”

“Not exactly,” she said, helping Carrie clear the table. “But Mike’s a stickler for promptness.”

No kidding.

“Did you see the letter from Hong Kong?” I changed the subject. “Carrie and I are dying to know if it was signed.” I put the leftovers away.

“No, as a matter of fact, it isn’t,” she said. “Which is strange.”

I was more curious than ever, but I kept quiet.

“There’s another joke in the letter,” she said, looking for it on the desk nearby. “Here, listen to this. ‘What did the worker bee say to the queen bee?’ ”

“I give up,” I said. “What?”

Mom walked to the sink as she read, “ ‘Good day, your honeyness.’ ”

I laughed. “Why would someone write a joke about bees? Does this guy know you and Mr. Tate want to keep bees?”

“I have no idea,” Mom said. “It’s uncanny.”

Carrie seemed to be enjoying this. “And so spooky,” she said.

“And there’s more,” Mom continued. “The writer of the letter says not to worry. He wants to make sure there are many more happy times around here.”

“What’s
that
supposed to mean?” I asked, eager for another laugh about now.

“How would I know?” Mom said, a frown on her face.

Carrie wiped the table. “
I’ll
be happy if Stephanie can come over all next week. Please, can she, Mommy?”

Mr. Tate appeared out of nowhere. “Don’t beg your mother, Carrie. The question has already been settled.”

This news brought a smile to Carrie’s face. So Stephie must be coming to stay with us.

When I hung up the dish towel, I noticed Mom held the mysterious letter behind her back. “Time for family devotions,” she announced.

Zach, Carrie, and I followed Mr. Tate downstairs to the family room, like mice following the Pied Piper. Mom came down a few minutes later and sat beside Zachary.

The Scripture was from the first chapter of Romans, about encouraging each other in the faith. I listened as Mr. Tate read the devotional book. The story was almost humorous, especially because
he
was the person reading it.

The story was about a boy who complained and criticized his best friend, hoping to get him to do things his way: “Give your friend ten compliments for each negative thing you say to him,” the boy’s mother suggested. Sadly enough, he couldn’t think of that many good things.

My mind wandered, creating an instant list of negative things about Mr. Tate. Could I come up with ten
compliments
for him?

Mr. Tate wrapped things up with a long prayer. He prayed for every missionary I’d ever heard of, and some I hadn’t. I really wanted him to pray and ask if God’s blessing was on his and Mom’s wedding plans. Seemed to me the blessing was definitely missing.

After the prayer Carrie and Zach sat at the computer and played one of our family computer games. I ran upstairs, heading for my room. On the way, I spied Mom’s letter from Hong Kong sticking out of the phone book on the kitchen desk. That’s when my idea struck.

Disregarding Mom’s plea to keep the letter a secret, I went back to the family room and waved the letter in Carrie’s face. “Look, Mom opened her letter from Hong Kong,” I said, hoping to attract Mr. Tate’s attention.

Mom’s eyes widened. She leaned forward on the sectional.

Carrie wore a glazed expression as she maneuvered the buttons on the game pad. “Move! You’re messing me up,” she said.

Even though Carrie wasn’t interested, Mr. Tate watched my every move.
Perfect.
This charade wasn’t for Carrie’s benefit anyhow.

“C’mon, Carrie,” I begged, standing between her and the screen. “You
have
to read this letter from Mom’s secret admirer.”

She pressed the Pause button. “Did he sign it this time?” she asked.

“No, but the letter is handwritten, and he seems to think he can make Mom smile again.”

Mr. Tate stood up abruptly. “Let me see that letter,” he demanded, his hand outstretched.

I glanced at Mom, who was by now in third-degree agony. Her eyes warned me severely, but I ignored them. Instead I looked Mr. Tate square in the face. “Better ask Mom about it first,” I said, playacting for all it was worth.

Mr. Tate looked ridiculous standing in the middle of the family room with his hand reaching out for the letter.

“Mom?” I said, enjoying this repeat performance.

She kicked off her shoes. “Mike, it’s nothing, really. Most likely some practical joke. That’s all.”

I tossed the letter to Mom. She could decide what to do now that Mr. Tate knew a second letter had arrived.

Mission accomplished!

“I think you’d better go to your room, Holly,” Mr. Tate ordered.

Mom looked surprised. “Why, Mike? What’s the problem?”

He cleared his throat. “You and I need to…uh, discuss some things, I believe. Privately.” The man was a drill sergeant.

“I’ll go,” I said. “Gladly.”

Tingling with victory, I headed for my room. Now to make my list of ten Tate things, minus the compliments, of course.

I wrote:

Mr. Tate is:

  1. Bossy

  2. Unreasonable

  3. Too strict

  4. Bald

  5. Too serious

  6. Too old (for Mom)

  7. Unromantic

  8. Stingy (not even a diamond chip for a ring!)

  9. Strange (honeycombs for dessert? Give me a break!)

10. Pushy

With a flick of my wrist, I folded the list and hid it in my bottom drawer. There. I felt better with that out of my system.

Now for something
really
interesting. I found Lucas’s last letter and reread it. His idea about showing my short story to his aunt thrilled me. If the best mystery writer in the world thought I had promise as a writer, I’d definitely believe it.

Getting off the floor, I posed for the mirror. I swept my hair up, away from my face, like Danny’s mother had suggested.

She was absolutely right. I
did
look older with my long hair up. Forget the wig. I would spend my money on the snappy shorts outfit. First thing tomorrow. That is, if Mom let me. No way would she stand for ignoring her wishes about the latest mystery letter. The worst thing she could possibly do was ground me tomorrow. Poor timing on my part. If I didn’t show up at the school gym by two o’clock tomorrow, Danny and I could be history!

Early the next morning, my alarm jangled me awake. I stumbled out of bed and hurried to the shower, anxious for my afternoon practice session with Danny. But first—this morning sometime—I planned to stop at Footloose and Fancy Things and buy the cute outfit in the window.

Pulling on some jeans and a T-shirt, I stumbled back to my room. There sat Mom on my bed. Her eyes were sleepy, but not squinty. “You’re up early, Holly.”

“I’m going downtown,” I said, hoping she’d skip the questions.

“Shopping?”

“Just a little.”

“That’s something you and I need to do before school starts. Can we set aside some time, just the two of us?”

I liked what I was hearing, but I was puzzled with this nolecture routine. “Cool,” I said, towel-drying my hair.

“Honey,” she said slowly. “Who do
you
think is sending those letters to me?”

I perched on my window seat, thinking. “Are you saying you
don’t
think it’s a practical joke? You only said that to make Mr. Tate think…”

“Please don’t bring Mike into this,” she said, her eyes narrowing into a squint.

“I don’t get it, Mom. Why’s he so touchy? It’s just a letter. Besides, you’re not
really
engaged, are you?” I stared at her ring finger.

She touched my comforter lightly, tracing the stitching. “We had a slight disagreement last night,” she said softly.

Yes, the beginning of the end!
I thought.

“Are you okay, Mom? Did he say something to hurt you?”

“I’m not in the mood to talk about this,” she said, getting up. “But I do love you, Holly-Heart. It’s been so long since we’ve had a talk.” She looked gloomy now.

“Are you sad about Mr. Tate?” I asked.

“I’m not sad at all. Just missing the way things used to be before…”

“Please don’t marry him!” I blurted out. “He’s not right for us. I know it.”

“I have to think things through,” she said. “He and I are going to talk on Tuesday night. Will you watch Carrie and Stephie for a few hours then?”

“Sure, Mom,” I said, even though I didn’t want to make it easy for her to see Mr. Tate again.

“Thanks, sweetie.”

“Love you, Mom.” I fluffed my hair to dry it.

“Need a ride downtown?” she asked.

I grinned. “Sure, but I have to make a quick stop at the bank as soon as it opens. There’s a really cute outfit at Footloose and Fancy Things. You won’t believe how cool it is.”

Mom’s eyes twinkled. “Danny Myers must be someone extra special. When do I get to meet your friend?”

“You did, sort of. Last year at choir auditions, remember?”

She paused to think. “Is he tall with auburn hair?”

“And an amazing memory. Danny remembers everything—even my favorite soda. You should hear him quote entire chapters from the Bible. And he prays over his meals. Even at school.”