Tangled Webb (18 page)

For a second I just gawked at her, with the floor falling out from under me. After all my rehearsing, all my looking her straight in the eye! “But it's the truth! Everything I've
said
is true! I mean everything I've said
this
time! I—”

“All right, lower your voice, we don't want the store detectives to come running.”

I lowered my voice. It was trembling, I was so much in earnest. “This time I can
prove
I'm not just inventing stuff. You can ask Sharonlee yourself. You can ask my daddy!”

“I intend to.” Blanche gave me a quarter-inch smile. “In
fact, I do believe you—more or less. And if the situation is anything like you say it is, I'm not going to ‘object.' It's Robert's mother who's going to do that.”

“Your sister?” I said—stupidly, I'll admit, but I hadn't even counted
her
as a problem. I mean, the way I always saw her in my mind was “out like a light, there in the back bedroom”—like Kelsey had said that time. But now she was in a state institution, drying out. That meant sober. Able to make people believe she was going to stay that way.

“Is it so strange?” Blanche said. “That she might object to giving her son up for adoption?”

“Yes, it
is,
” I told her, forgetting to keep my voice down. “She didn't want him when he was there!”
On her hands, in her way
I could hear Kelsey saying. “I can't see why she'd want him back! Except just—out of stubbornness.”

“Exactly,” said Blanche. “Because he's hers. Her child. And mothers have rights.”

“But that's so—”

“Unrealistic,” Blanche said, and I realized the harshness in her voice wasn't aimed at me. In fact, she was on my side. “My sister has never been a realist. But she's always been stubborn.”

“Couldn't we—all of us—sort of overrule her?” I asked hopefully.

Blanche stared into space a minute—or maybe into the past—then gave a doubtful little shrug. “She'd probably have to sign a paper of some sort, formally giving him up. It would be hard—very hard—to get her to do that.”

“I'll bet
you
could get her to,” I said.

For a second I thought I'd gone too far—she gave me a sort of put-down glance. But then she got to looking at me, and gradually the corners of her mouth deepened in what I
was beginning to recognize as her version of a grin. She turned away, shaking her head and muttering something under her breath that sounded like “living room curtains.” Then she said, “Maybe I could, at that. If I thought it right.”

Well, I suspected she already thought it right. Before I could say so she added, “First I must talk to your father and Sharonlee. If she won't meet at a lawyer's, maybe she'll come to my apartment.”

And maybe she wouldn't. Kelsey's mind was as shut about Blanche as Blanche's had been about her. So I thought fast and had one more idea—a wild one, but by then I was ready to risk anything. I said, “Come home with me! Right now. They'll both be there. You can talk to them all you want.”

“Just barge in on them?” Blanche looked tempted. But then she glanced at her watch. “No, I think not. It's three forty-five. By the time we got clear out to Northeast Stark—” She glanced at me suspiciously. “Or don't you live on Northeast Stark?”

“Oh. No. I forgot to—forgot I said that. I live right here in Hillridge. On Madrona Lane. We can walk it in fifteen minutes.”

She thought about two seconds and nodded briskly. “I've got my car. We'll drive.”

We got up as if the same string had pulled us, and headed for the escalator. Both of us walked fast. I don't know why Blanche was hurrying, but now I'd thought of just barging in I could hardly wait. I guess I mostly just wanted the first bit over with, before I got worrying too much about how it would turn out.

She had a little Ford Fiesta out in the parking lot—red, her favorite color, I guess. By the time we reached it I was already too nervous to keep quiet. “This'll be the best way, really,” I
babbled. “Because nobody can back out—you'll already be right there. Daddy won't mind. I'm sure he won't. And Kelsey—I mean Sharonlee  . . .” I swallowed. “And you'll get to see Preston! I'll take you up and show you his—”

“Preston?” Blanche echoed, stopping in the act of unlocking the car door. “Did you say
Preston?”

“Well, I mean Robert,” I said hurriedly. “I—we've always called him ‘Preston.' I guess I forgot to  . . .” Yes, I had, I could tell from her face. “Well, we thought it was his name. Kelsey had to  . . .”

Blanche wasn't really listening. Her expression had gone from disbelief to a sort of I-give-up-now-I've-heard-everything. “It's his father's name,” she said, unlocking the door.
“Her
father's, too, of course. How she can be sentimental about that good-for-nothing fly-by-night who never did anything for her—”

“He gave her that three hundred dollars,” I said.

“Yes, so he did. The one star in his crown. Let's just hope his little namesake turns out better. Get in the car.”

I got in. By now I was too uptight to talk at all, except to tell her which ways to turn. I kept thinking ahead, deciding I'd better knock, not just walk in—then hoping it wouldn't be Kelsey who opened the door. For all I knew, she'd faint dead away at the sight of Blanche. Or scream or something. About a block from our street I said, “Ms. Mitchell—listen—don't scare her, okay?”

“Scare her? What do you think I am, an ogre?”

“Well, you scared
me
that time. On the phone.”

“I meant to scare
you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Something about the way I said it must have amused her, because she glanced over at me with that minigrin. All she
said was, “Don't worry, Juniper. Leave it to the grown-ups now.” And all of a sudden I felt better. Though she'd hardly ever said a kind word to me, I decided maybe Kelsey's Aunt Blanche was my friend.

Well, it was Daddy who opened the door. And after the first minute, which he spent gaping at me standing there with a woman he'd never set eyes on, while I tried to untangle my tongue, I managed to explain who Blanche was, and he managed to step out of the way and let us in. We were about to tackle the second minute when Kelsey appeared in the hall doorway, carrying Preston.

She didn't drop him, but maybe only because I grabbed him fast. And she didn't have time to faint because Blanche walked right across and took her by the shoulders and started scolding. “You crazy girl, I would've helped you. I wish you had come to me. But you did a good job, and I'm here now, and we're going to make it work. You hear? Everything's going to turn out fine.”

Kelsey just sobbed, “Oh, Aunt Blanche!” and fell into her arms.

As for Daddy and me, we looked at each other and finally began to relax.

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 23

Nearly two months since I opened this Blankbook! It's not blank now. I filled it clear up with the Kelsey Mystery. Only a few pages left. I might as well finish, then start a new book for eighth grade.

Actually I meant to finish long before this, but after that Sunday when I brought Aunt Blanche home we all got so busy with the lawyers, and me baby-sitting while Daddy and Kelsey went downtown to sign papers and things, besides which Pete insisted I keep him filled in on every single legal move everybody made so he'd know how it was done. Then Alison came home and I didn't write stuff because we were
talking
about it so much, then school started, and I don't know, the time just flew.

I sound like Gramma. She's always saying time goes faster the older you get. I
am
older. I'm thirteen now. I've caught up with Alison until next March.

So let's see. What all has happened?

Well, Preston's ours now—Kelsey's and Daddy's and mine—legally and truly. I don't know what Aunt Blanche said or did, but she went to Boise just after Labor Day and when she came back she had her sister Ruth's signature on the dotted
line. And the judge we all had to appear before was nothing like the stern old Grinch Kelsey had kept dreading. In fact she was a
woman
. Judge Alice Darling! I mean, not even Kelsey could be scared of somebody named Judge Darling. We weren't even in a courtroom, just in Judge Darling's chambers, which was lots nicer, somehow. I mean, she had pictures of her grandkids on her desk, and everything. She did lecture Kelsey a little about her rescuing methods, and made her turn over all her fake ID and told her never to do that again, and to get true ID right away. But then she said it was a good thing
somebody
had stepped in to right the wrong being done that child, and indeed it was a sibling's duty. Then she picked up Preston and sat him on her lap a while and let him play with her paperweight, which was a cube of clear plastic with a fuzzy dandelion head trapped somehow right inside it.

Afterward she awarded Preston to Kelsey and Daddy, as their adoptive child. And that was that.

Kelsey was just walking on air when we went home—we all felt great (except Preston who'd wanted to take the paperweight along)—and I decided it was a good time to apologize for all my butting in. Kelsey just said, “Oh, Juniper, I'm so
glad
you did!” and I said I couldn't help being glad too, now that it was over, but I'd sworn a deep, solemn swear
never
to meddle in anybody else's business ever again. Then I said I'd try hard to learn to call her Sharonlee, now that she couldn't be Kelsey Morgan Blockman any longer.

She said, “Forget it! I don't want to be Sharonlee Shelby ever again. Nobody said I couldn't just give myself a new first name. I want to be Kelsey Webb.”

So that's who she is now, on her new ID and the adoption papers and everywhere. And Preston is going to stay Preston—which
makes Aunt Blanche get a certain
look
on her face, but suits everybody else just fine.

I think Daddy's got used to the idea that his wife is still not quite twenty—or else he's just decided to live with it. I don't see what difference it makes, and Kelsey doesn't either. She's the same person he married, whatever her age. And they're going to stay married, I'm sure of that.

I'm
not
so sure he's ever understood why she was afraid to trust him, or that he'll ever feel
exactly
the same about trusting her. He doesn't say anything, but he studies her sometimes, and I can see it come over him again, and he has to get busy at something to shove it away.

She knows she hurt him. We talked about it once. She said, “Juniper, nobody can wipe out what's past. But I'm gonna make certain of the future, you can bet your ten million bucks on that. He'll find out he can trust me, because I'll show him. I'll never tell him another lie—not this year, not next year, not ever again. And even if it takes a long, long time, he'll finally know he can count on it.” That's what she said, and I could tell that's exactly what she'll do.

We talk a lot, now, Kelsey and I. I tell her things, and she tells me. She's helping me with math. In fact I took algebra instead of regular math because she said she thought I'd like it. The funny thing is, I do—so far, anyway. I think it's because it's mostly full of letters instead of numbers. Letters are Juniper-friendly. I'm trying to get better with numbers, too. Alison says why torture yourself unless you have to, but Kelsey says it's time I got busy and learned some math skills, because I'll need them in high school. Pete decided she had a good point and signed up for algebra, too.

The new baby's due in March, maybe right on Alison's
birthday. She's hoping so, anyway. She and Pete and I are in most of the same classes—though he took speech for his elective instead of journalism like us, and of course Alison always takes band. And later this month another author's coming to speak to eighth grade English. This one writes fantasy romances. Alison says they might be easier to write than mysteries, and why don't we try one? I mumbled, “Well, I'll think about it,” but the fact is, I've had enough if not too much of inventing fantasies. Anyway, I plan to be too busy with that algebra. And plain real life.

Kelsey and Preston are both looking different nowadays because their dark-dyed hair has nearly all grown out. She cut hers real, real short to get rid of the brown ends, and the new style looks great on her. Daddy loves her as a redhead. Well, he loved her as a brunette, too. But she's more special her natural way. And Preston! With those red-gold curls and big brown eyes—I wish Margo could see him, she'd lose her mind.

I still think about Margo a lot.

Well, I always will. But it's got so it doesn't hurt as much. I mean, I used to think: If Margo could see us—Daddy and me—living here all alone in her house with the red door, she'd feel so lonesome for us, so sorry she'd had to leave. But I don't think that anymore. Now, I think if she could see us—Daddy and me and Kelsey and Preston, all of us here together, she wouldn't be sad at all.

I believe she'd say things were starting to go just fine.

By the same author

The Seventeenth Swap

The Money Room

Hideaway

The Trouble with Jacob

The Striped Ships

(Margaret K. McElderry Books)