Prince Tennyson (2 page)

Mom and I really liked that—to dance together, all of us. It made us giggle like crazy.

I also wrote about how Prince Tennyson used to read me bedtime stories and then tickle me until I shouted, “Uncle!”

That drove Mom crazy. She would come into my room every night with her hands on her hips, saying, “Ryan! How is she supposed to go to sleep with you tickling her to death?” But my mom wasn't really mad, I could tell. She always had a smile when she said it.

The part that I guess I shouldn't have written, and the part that I think made my teacher mad, was that I said Prince Tennyson flew off to battle. Maybe I should've just said that he was normal and went to work on computers somewhere in a bank or something. I don't know. It couldn't have been anything else, because Mrs. Sheridan wouldn't let me read the rest of it.

She just said, “Chelsea! That is enough. You will not read out loud anymore.” Then she walked over and asked for my paper.

Not that anyone would've heard what I said, anyway—the class was laughing too much. I guess no one ever thought of their dad as a prince before.

After Mrs. Sheridan snatched up my paper, she walked to the front of the room and tore it up. That made me sad, especially when the class laughed more. Then my teacher said really loudly to everyone else, “I don't want to hear any more fairy tales, do you understand? School will be taken seriously, or I will call your parents, just like I'm calling Chelsea's.”

I sat down and put my head in my arms for the rest of the time the kids talked about their favorite people. I didn't care if I got into trouble for not listening. It's all because it was a stupid Wednesday, anyway. If it was Thursday, this never would've happened.

I really needed to talk to the principal about Wednesdays.

Grandma was very mad when we drove home. She kept swearing under her breath and saying how she hated the arrogance and rudeness of some people. I just looked out the window and didn't say a word. I couldn't. Grandma was almost crying and my heart hurt really badly.

When we got home, I let Grandma tell my mom. I knew she was going to be really sad. She was. When I walked by later, I heard her sniffling into her pillow on her bed. Her door was open, so I peeked inside.

She looked like a little girl, with her pink frilly bed and ruffly curtains hanging around her.

I wanted to tell my mom I was sorry, that I didn't mean to make her cry. But then I heard her whisper, “Prince Tennyson, Prince Tennyson, Prince Tennyson…” over and over again. I decided now was not a good time.

Instead, I went and found my little brother in my Uncle Jeremy's old room. He was playing with a whole bunch of cars, the Hot Wheels kind. Cameron was just a baby when my dad left for battle, only a few months old. Now he was two and two months. Dad was supposed to come back the week before Cameron's first birthday. We were going to have a huge party for my brother and my dad all on the same day. Except Dad never came home.

It was Wednesday when they said my dad wasn't coming home.

I hate Wednesdays.

If God is real, I wonder if he hates Wednesdays too.

Chapter Three

GRANDMA SAYS THE GOOD Lord loves Wednesdays just as much as any other day. I never thought about it before—Wednesday being the same as any other day. It seemed weird somehow.

Since today was Thursday, I decided I was going to tell her what I thought, but my mom came into the room while I was eating my breakfast.

She got some cereal and sat at the table right next to me. I was surprised to see that she was all the way dressed with makeup on and everything. She looked really pretty with makeup, but she hardly ever wore it anymore.

“Mom, where are you going?”

“Going?” She looked at me funny and smiled before she brought her arm around my shoulders and pulled me toward her. I felt a kiss go on my head, just like how Dad used to kiss me. “Honey, how are you feeling?” She gave my shoulder another squeeze and pulled back to look in my eyes.

“Good. Why?”

Mom shrugged. “I don't know. I was just wondering if you wanted to skip school and do something with me today.”

“Do something with—”

“You know, in case you don't feel like going back there.”

“What?” Mom was acting different than I'd ever seen her before. I couldn't believe what she was actually saying. I watched her eyes for a moment to see if she was playing some sort of trick. They weren't exactly happy eyes, but they weren't sad, either. In fact, Mom's brown eyes looked perfectly serious. “Um, okay.”

“Great.” My mom smiled. I waited until the smile lit up her eyes, too—it didn't. Instead, she asked, “So, where do you want to go?” and then took a deep breath and smiled again.

I could tell Mom was trying to be brave. As I sat there at the breakfast table, for the first time it actually hit me that she wasn't. All at once, I wondered how hard it must've been for her to move us from California to Grandma Haney's house here in Arizona. She must've been very scared and worried about it.

“I don't care. We could go to a park somewhere, maybe?”

Mom thought about the park and then she nodded. “Yeah, that's a good idea. And since it's February, it's not too hot.” She patted the table and took another deep breath. “Well, let me get your sister ready for school and Cameron fed, and then we'll head out, okay? Grandma has already offered to watch little Cam for us while you and I have a special day. Does that sound good?”

I couldn't believe she was asking my opinion. “Sure.” And it did sound good. It sounded
really
good. I didn't remember the last time me and my mom had spent a whole day together. As I went to put my bowl in the sink, my tummy got a little bit nervous until I remembered that today was Thursday and Thursdays were always better than Wednesdays.

In the room that me and Hannah, my sister, shared, I quickly put my backpack on the floor by the closet and changed my P.E. shoes to my purple sparkly flats. Then I put on my new blue jacket. I buttoned it up over my shirt and looked in the mirror to see if I looked nice.

I loved my new jacket with the purple butterfly. It looked really pretty with my light brown hair that I got from my mom.

Grandma said that I looked more and more like my mom every day. I scrunched up my nose and leaned into the mirror. I hoped so.

“Hey, Mom wants to know if you're ready.” Hannah skipped up behind me.

“Yep.” I scrunched my nose up one more time and looked down at her in the mirror.

She giggled. “Come on, let's get out of here.”

She was already out the door when I turned around.

***

At the park, Mom found a really nice shaded spot under a big tree. We sat on the bench together and watched the old people walk their dogs and some moms push their babies in strollers. It was strange to see what people did when I was at school. It was like a whole other world.

After a few minutes of silence, my mom sighed and put her arm around me again, like at breakfast. She pulled me close to her and I rested my head on her shoulder. It was nice. Then she started to draw lazy circles on my shoulder with her fingers, and that felt really good.

“Chelsea?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled into her shoulder. I didn't want to get up, which was nice because Mom didn't make me. Instead, she just kept rubbing my shoulder and arm.

“How do you like school?”

“School?” I shrugged. “It's okay, I guess.”

“Is your new teacher always mean?”

“Mrs. Sheridan? No.” I didn't know why my mom was talking about my teacher. I hoped it wasn't because she was still sad with me. “Well, I mean, yesterday she was mad, but usually she's nice.”

My mom nodded. I know she did, because her hair brushed up against my face. Up and down. Up and down. “I'm sorry she was mad at you,” my mom whispered, and then kissed the top of my head again.

That was two head kisses in one day. I liked it.

I didn't know what to say, so I said, “It's okay.”

“Well, she didn't understand, honey.” She rested her chin on my head and tucked me closer to her. “Your teacher didn't understand how special your dad was.”

I waited for my mom to start crying. She always started to cry when she talked about her prince. After a couple of seconds of silence, Mom took a deep breath and her voice got all wobbly.

“She didn't know what a good man he was. And what an awesome father and—and husband he was. If she knew, Chelsea, if Mrs. Sheridan knew—like your old teachers did—then she wouldn't have ripped up your paper. And she wouldn't have told you to stop reading about him, honey. She wouldn't have.”

My heart started to hurt again. I missed my dad so much.

Mom rubbed her chin on my hair, and I felt a little spot of wet hit the top of my head. She was crying.

“She just didn't know your dad. If she did, she would've called him a prince too. Right in front of the whole class. She would've told everyone he was a prince—just like your old school, remember?”

I nodded. I could remember. I could remember all the ladies at the old school—even Mrs. Tibbets, the grouchy librarian—all those ladies called my dad Prince Tennyson. They liked it when he came in his uniform and opened the doors for them and quickly ran to catch them if they were carrying something heavy so he could hold it instead. They liked it when he smiled and waved at them, even when he was super busy, or super late. They liked it when he gave me piggyback rides and carried me out to the car. All the kids liked that. Everyone wanted a dad like Prince Tennyson.

I missed my dad.

I could feel my eyes getting wet too.

“Chelsea, I want you to really listen to me, okay?”

I nodded my head again.

“No matter what anyone else ever tells you, your dad was a prince. Okay, honey? Don't you listen to anyone else telling you that it was made up and a fairy tale. Your dad was the most special prince in all the world. And he loved you, and loved our family more than anything else. Everyone saw it too. They saw your dad was special. Just like Mrs. Sheridan would've if she had met him.”

Mom brought her arms up closer and squeezed me to her as I brushed at my wet eyes. Then she whispered really quietly, “I love you, honey. You are very special too, just like your daddy.”

I cried then. Two big tears came down my cheeks. I didn't even try to stop them.

“I just wish to God that he didn't leave us,” Mom said.

Chapter Four

I SNIFFLED ONCE AND wiped my eyes. Then I pulled back and looked at my mom. There was something I needed to know right then. “I know I asked you this before, but I want to ask you again. Can I ask you something very serious, please?”

Mom looked at me real quiet for a minute, then she said, “Um, okay. What's up?”

All at once, I couldn't look at her. Instead, my hands played with the button of my new jacket. “I was just wondering if you thought—maybe even the tiniest bit—that God was real. What do you think, Mom?” I glanced back up. “Do you think He's real?”

“God?” Mom pulled me close to her again. This time I felt her rock gently back and forth. She waited a long time before she asked, “You really want to know, don't you?”

“Yeah.” I nodded my head, because I really did want to know.

“Well, I—I…”

I held my breath and waited. It took a while, but Mom finally answered.

“I don't know. I don't think He is, honey, but I just don't know.”

I let my breath out in a loud swoosh. This wasn't good. It didn't make sense. I pushed myself out of her arms. “Well, how do you find out if He is or isn't?”

“I—”

“There has to be a way to know the Lord is real, right?”

“Uh, maybe. Why does it matter so much?”

She didn't get it. I couldn't believe that my own mom didn't understand why it was so important for me to find out if God was real or not. I thought that would be obvious to anyone. I guess not.

I closed my eyes and rubbed my face.
I will not cry. I will not cry
. After I had talked myself into being rational, I opened my eyes again and looked right at my mom. Right into the same big brown eyes that I had.

“When people die, where do they go?” I didn't wait for my mom to answer me. Instead, I just kept talking. “They go to heaven, right? Heaven is where God is, right?” Mom's eyes flashed, but I kept talking fast so she wouldn't say anything. “So if God is real, then Dad is with Him, right? Then if Dad is with Him, then when I'm old and I die, I'll go there too, right? So then I'll be with Dad again. Then I'll see him and he can hold me again. And he can dance with me and give me piggyback rides and read me funny stories—right, Mom?

“Except—except, if it isn't true, and there is no Lord, or God, or Jesus, or anything, then where is my prince? Where did he go? See, Mom? See? I have to know if God's real or not. I have to find out. I have to. So that way I know what happened to Dad. And—and, I bet once I do, you'll be happy too. Because I'll tell you, I'll show you, and then you'll know with me, and then you'll—”