Holly's Heart Collection Three (44 page)
Stan smirked. “I’m not into kids . . . or babies . . . right now.”
Glancing around, I played into his ridiculous comment, paving the way for my own comeback. “I don’t see any babies around. But there sure are a bunch of sleeping kids in this house.”
He shook his head arrogantly. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re the girl, and I’m the guy. Girls are supposed to do this stuff.”
“Since when?”
“Since the beginning of time,” he said. “Since Adam tilled the soil and Eve raised the kids.”
“So . . . why aren’t you out plowing or planting? What’re you waiting for?”
“You’re carrying this too far, Holly,” he retorted. It was obvious he had no logical, sane response. His deceased mother would be turning over in her grave about now.
“Someday, if God permits, and I almost pray He doesn’t, you’ll probably marry some nice young woman. The two of you will eventually want to have children, but that’s where the picture goes blurry. The nice husband and father . . . where is
he
?”
Suddenly he got up, almost knocking over the barstool. His abrupt movement startled me. “Are you finished?” he demanded. “Because if you are, I’m going to bed.”
I didn’t have the nerve to continue. My message had been loud and clear. I could only hope my ignorant brousin would take it to heart.
My dream, and possibly my future, depended on it.
IT’S A GIRL THING
The sound of birds awakened me the next morning. Imagine! Birds this early in Colorado high country.
I was so disoriented that I nearly forgot Mom and the baby and my dilemma about the choir trip. Glancing at the clock, I discovered that I had a good twenty minutes before the alarm was scheduled to sound off.
Instead of nestling back down under the covers, I got up and tiptoed to Mom and Uncle Jack’s bedroom. No one was there—Uncle Jack had spent the night in the hospital, it appeared.
I closed the door and hurried to the phone, dialing the hospital—directly to Mom’s private room.
Uncle Jack answered on the first ring. He sounded groggy, and I could almost visualize him having slept in a chair all night. Probably at Mom’s bedside.
“I was going to give you a call later, but you beat me to it,” he began after we exchanged greetings. “Your mother, stubborn gal that she is, was so determined to have this baby naturally. But along about three-thirty this morning, she and the docs decided it was best for the baby to be taken by surgery.”
“So my sister’s already born? She’s here . . . and perfectly okay?”
“She certainly is,” he said, pride bursting from every word. “And wait’ll you see her. April Michelle is an absolute apple dumplin’—a real charmer.”
“And Mom? How’s Mom?”
“Kind of out of it,” he explained. “She’ll probably stay here over the weekend, at least. I won’t be surprised if they keep her longer.”
There goes the choir trip,
I agonized.
“I really do wish the timing had been different,” he said apologetically. “I’m counting on you, Holly-Heart.”
“I know” was all I could muster.
“Well, I have a feeling there’ll be other choir trips.” He said it out of sympathy. Nothing else. What he didn’t know was there would probably never be another moment in time like this for me. Not for the Dressel Hills High School Show Choir.
And Sean? I knew I might as well forget about seeing him again for a very long time.
“Holly? You still there?”
“Oh . . . uh-huh.” I felt torn between the missed trip and the announcement about my new baby sister. “How much does April weigh?” I asked.
“Eight pounds and eleven ounces . . . she’s filled out beautifully . . . and pink! I don’t know when I’ve seen a prettier newborn baby.”
“I can’t wait to hold her.”
“Stan will have to bring all of you up to the hospital after school.”
With the mention of “school,” my alarm clock went off in my room. I could hear its muffled yet shrill tones coming through the door.
“I think I’d better spread the news here,” I said. “Besides, I’ve never had to get this many kids off to school by myself.”
“What do you mean?” He sounded irked. “Isn’t Stan pulling his share of the load?”
Do I dare tell on him?
I sighed, trying to decide what to do.
“Holly? What’s going on?”
Desperate for some adult intervention, I struggled. “I guess . . . I think things’ll be okay.”
“You think?”
“Oh, it’s probably no big deal.” I could feel myself caving in. “But Stan and I are kinda on the outs right now. He doesn’t see why he should have to help so much—it’s ‘women’s work.’”
Uncle Jack chuckled. “Stan said that?”
“In so many words.”
“Well, that’s going to stop, and I’ll be the one to see to it.”
I groaned. “Stan will never let me live this down.”
“Don’t you worry, kiddo. I’ll handle this.”
We said good-bye and I made a mad dash for the bathroom. I figured if I showered before Carrie and Stephie got up, most everything else would go smoothly.
I thought wrong.
First of all, nobody wanted to get up. Secondly, I looked everywhere for the plug-in—the electric frying pan didn’t work without it—but found nothing. This meant nobody would be having any protein, as in bacon or sausage, with their breakfast. Not today.
“Why don’t you make waffles, like Mom does?” Carrie hollered from the nearest barstool.
“Why don’t you keep your ideas to yourself?” I snapped. “We don’t have time.”
“Yeah, you didn’t get up quick enough,” Stephie said, pouting.
“Neither did you.” I motioned for her to wash the toothpaste off her chin. “Today’s going to be a cereal and toast day, and if anyone has a problem with it, he or she can sign up for extra chores.”
Mark’s eyes bugged out, and he marched out of the kitchen and into the dining room, obviously upset.
Phil adjusted his wire rims and gave me a pensive, academic stare. “Has anyone seen the
Wall Street Journal
?”
“It’s probably still out on the driveway,” I replied. “If you want it, go get it.”
“Eew, she’s mad,” Stephie whispered to Carrie, showing her dimples.
I turned around, handed her a full carton of milk, and smiled as sweetly as I possibly could under the circumstances. “Not mad, sweetie, just ticked OFF!” Somehow my voice had taken on a life of its own, creating its very own crescendo.
And Stephie jumped back in response to it, spilling milk all over herself. And I mean all over.
“Hurry, somebody get some towels!” Then I began to shriek for Stan, who had not yet made his morning appearance. “Get your tail out here and help me!” It wasn’t just any plea; it was a full command.
Of course, Stan didn’t appear on cue. Not our too-good-to-lift-a-finger-when-most-needed eldest sibling. Nope. He sauntered into the kitchen a good three minutes later while Carrie, Stephie, and I were down on our hands and knees mopping up the floor with bath towels from upstairs—with a little help from Goofey, too.
“Mom’s gonna have a cow if you don’t get this milky smell out of her good towels,” Carrie informed me.
“It wasn’t my idea to use the best ones in the house,” I shot back. “Besides, you know where the washing machine is, right?”
She got the message and whined as she carried the drippy, milky towels, all rolled up in the largest mixing bowl I could find, downstairs to the laundry room.
“Whew, what a morning,” I said, trying to avoid eye contact with Stan as I stood up.
He was tiptoeing around the yucky floor, heading for the dining room with a bowl of dry cereal in hand. “We all out of milk?” he had the nerve to ask.
I didn’t even justify his stupidity with an answer. The guy was a washout! As a stepbrother . . . as a human being!
Turning my attention to Stephie, I guided her back upstairs to the bathroom, where she began to undress. I drew some warm bathwater to expedite things.
“Will I be late for school?” she asked tearfully.
“Not if I can help it.”
“Will you write a note for my teacher if I am?” she pleaded.
I thought about that. Did I have the right to do such a thing? “We’ll see,” I said, attempting to reassure her. “Maybe Daddy will come home and surprise us. I’m sure he’ll be needing a warm shower and a change of clothes this morning.”
She smiled. The thought of her dad showing up on a hectic school morning must’ve warmed her heart. I know it did mine.
And as it turned out, Uncle Jack made it home in time to kiss all of us good-bye.
“We’ve got us a new baby.” He beamed.
I wanted to ask if maybe, just maybe, I could possibly start thinking about packing for the choir trip tomorrow—that maybe he and Stan could alternate running the family until next Wednesday, when Mrs. Duncan and our show choir flew back home to Dressel Hills.
But no, I was overcome with shyness and a bit of dread. And not wanting to confront Stan with my brain wave right in front of our dad, I kept my mouth shut and headed off to school.
IT’S A GIRL THING
Andie was a whirlwind of chatter when I caught up with her in the hall. “What’s the deal?” she asked, almost demanding an answer. “I mean, your mom’s had her baby, so what’s keeping you here?”
“It’s complicated.” I sighed, not wanting to rehash things.
She stared at me, wrinkling up her face. “I don’t get it. What’s the problem?”
“Let’s just say: Be glad, be very glad, you are not Stan’s girlfriend.”
“Huh?” Her face wore a giant frown. “Holly, you’re not making a bit of sense.”
“Take it from me: He would be an unfit husband if you and he ever ended up married. And that’s all I’m saying.” I turned to go.
“Whoa. What’s this about?”
I glanced back at her, spouting over my shoulder, “Stan’s the key. He’s the reason I can’t go.”
“Stan?” She was running after me now. “Why him?”
“The boy’s got no sense of responsibility. He refuses to help at home. I’m stuck here because I’m the only mature offspring presently able to handle things for my parents.”
She stopped with me at my locker. “What if I had a little talk with Stan?”
Shaking my head, I made her vow not to breathe a word. “Don’t you dare. He’s already a royal pain, and if you start hammering away at the shoulds and shouldn’ts of his life, it’ll just cause more trouble for me.”
She reluctantly agreed. “When will you know if you’re going or not?”
“As it stands this minute, it’s been decided—I’m not.”
“So”—her dark eyes grew wide and she twisted a curl with her pointer finger—“are you saying we have one day to turn this whole thing around?”
Leave it to Andie. I hugged her hard. Never, ever had there been a better friend.
Suddenly I remembered the promise Uncle Jack had made on the phone earlier. “I’ll work on Uncle Jack,” I said, “if you’ll pray . . . really pray!”
“And you’re positive I shouldn’t say anything to Stan?”
“Absolutely.” I fumbled for the cell phone in my pocket. “Sorry to cut this short, but I have to make a quick call.”
“No problem,” she said. “I’ll catch you later.”
I flipped open the phone and hit the speed dial.
“You have reached the residence of a very proud father,” Uncle Jack said first thing.
“Hey, that’s a nice touch.” I laughed.
“Holly? Is everything all right at school?”
“Sure is.” Now that I had him on the line, I didn’t know how to begin or what to say.
“Something on your mind?” he asked.
I said it. Came right out and asked, “Did you talk to Stan this morning about, uh . . .” I paused, suddenly at a loss for words.
“Oh that. Yes, we intend to work things out after school, probably sometime tonight.”
Tonight? Too late.
“Oh.”
“Well, if that’s all you called about, kiddo, I’m real anxious to get back to the hospital.”
“Okay, well, bye.” I hung up. Nothing had been settled. I’d have to tell Andie that things looked bleaker than ever. As far as I could see, it would take more than a miracle for me to be on the plane to Washington, D.C.
Tomorrow.
I was attempting to follow one of Mom’s outstanding recipes for chicken and rice when the phone rang.