Soldier Mom Read online

  I go to my room for a nap. I’m not very good at writing letters. It’s far, far easier to sleep.

  Sunday is a strangely hollow, flat day. The water in the cove is milky white and still. Andrew is fussy. His gum is swollen and red in the back, where one of his one-year molars is trying to push through. He’s always had a hard time teething.

  “Think he’s sick?” Jake asks for the tenth time.

  “He’s teething.” I show Jake the sore place in Andrew’s mouth. “See?”

  “Well, what does your mom do? Should I call the doctor?”

  “Yeah. If you want. But Mom just gives him baby aspirin and Popsicles to calm him down.”

  Jake just about tears the bathroom apart looking for the little bottle of baby aspirin. Of course he doesn’t find it there because it’s in the top drawer of Andrew’s dresser in Andrew’s bedroom. I have to go find it for him.

  I don’t have any energy today. I feel so bad for the way I treated Mom at the bus station yesterday that my stomach is in knots, and I have a pounding headache.

  I am lying on my stomach in the living room, reading The Black Stallion for the millionth time. I’m going to read through the whole Black Stallion series again. Whenever I’m upset, I reread books over and over. I like doing it. A lot of kids like doing it. For some reason, teachers hate it.

  A little later, Jake comes back into the living room, pulling a sweatshirt over Andrew’s head.

  “I’m taking Andrew for a walk in his stroller. You want to come?”

  “Huh? Oh. No.”

  He stands there, not satisfied, staring down at me.

  “Listen. I want you to write your mother today, since you didn’t do it yesterday.”

  “Are you kidding? She just left! She didn’t even get there yet.”

  I uncoil my sarcasm as though it were a venomous snake, a coiled cobra raising its head. I think both Jake and I know that if there’s going to be a fight, I am going to win.

  He turns away from me.

  “I still think you should write her. Imagine how she feels right now. Can you think of that for two seconds?”

  I, the cobra, stay poised, head raised, the whole time he’s in the house. When he leaves, I droop, rest my aching head on my arms. I want to write to Mom so badly. But I won’t. She has to be punished.

  I wait till Jake has left the house. Then I call Shawn.

  “Hey, it’s me. Jasmyn. I’m sorry about being in a bad mood the other day. I really like the card you gave me.”

  “Oh, yeah? You do?”

  “It’s nice.”

  “So, what are you doing?”

  “I’m supposed to write my mom a letter.”

  “That’s a good idea. I bet she misses you already.”

  “Yeah, but, Shawn, I can’t. Want to know what I have down so far?”

  “Sure.”

  “ ‘Dear Mom’—that’s it. And I did that yesterday. Maybe I should send her a postcard.”

  “No. No way. Mothers don’t want that. She wants you. Anything from you. Put the letter under your pillow for a while. Maybe it will smell like you.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Well, anyway. That’s all I’m doing.”

  “I better go. Eric’s over at my house right now.”

  “Okay. See ya.”

  All right, Jasmyn, write this letter. The tough get going, right? I’m writing it. Right now. Even if I don’t have anything good to say.

  Dear Mom,

  I am so worried. Jake says it’s not a war right now. But why are we sending weapons there? What if you get hurt? Did you think of that? Andrew has been very, very fussy. I think it’s his back tooth. Jake took him for a walk.

  Love,

  Jas

  I get an envelope, fold the letter, put it inside—but then what? I don’t even have an APO yet. My mom is lost somewhere in Spain or the Arabian desert. I don’t really know where she is.

  10

  Next morning, Monday, Jake is tapping at my door. He’s holding Andrew, whose red cheeks creased with lines from the folds in the sheet mean he just woke up, too. Maybe we can sleep for a few weeks until Mom gets home. It’s nine-thirty.

  “I gotta get ready for work now, Jas. I’ll take Andrew to day care. But you’ll have to walk down and pick him up. When does your mom usually get him? Four-thirty? They close by five, right? I get off work at six, but by the time I punch out and drive across town, it’s at least six-fifteen.”

  “Six-fifteen? Mom got home at four-thirty, no matter what. I have basketball practice this afternoon until five. Remember? I told you in the car. I’m team captain.”

  “You’ll have to skip it, Jas. Be reasonable. You can’t be captain this time around. I’m sure your coach will understand. It’s not your fault. And what’s the point of this summer league anyway? It’s August. You should be lying around in a hammock reading comic books or . . . or selling lemonade or picking blueberries. Your first real game isn’t till November 15, right? So give me a break.”

  I try to be patient, but I want to scream. Jake acts so incredibly old.

  “Maybe you used to read comic books and stuff, but that was the old days. It’s not like that now. Basketball is really competitive. Coach Campbell scheduled us for gym time all week. Then we have games. I have to be there. He’s counting on me.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, we’re all counting on me, so you’ll have to call him and tell him you can’t come.”

  I jump out of bed and follow him into the hall. “I won’t do that. I can’t do that.”

  “If you won’t call him, then I will.”

  “No! No.”

  Jake frowns and turns away, heading toward the kitchen. “I’m going to be late for work. We’ll have to talk about this later.”

  I follow him. He picks up Andrew’s diaper bag and slings it over his shoulder. He’s not even going to discuss it.

  “Jake!” I yell. “Come on! I have to be there.”

  “Sorry, Jas. You’ll have to call him. What am I supposed to do? Leave work so you can go to practice? Think about that for two seconds.”

  Out in the driveway, he straps Andrew into his car seat.

  “Why should I? Why should I think about that? You don’t think about me. Ever. You wanted to send me to Japan.”

  “Yeah. And you know why? This. This is exactly why. How can I possibly take care of both you guys and go to work? My first day doing it, and I’m already screwed. I’m late.”

  He gets into the VW and slams the door, then pokes his head out the window.

  “If I don’t work, we don’t eat. Right? By the way, I put Andrew’s stroller in the shed.”

  “Hey!” I shout at him. “How were you going to pick up Andrew if you sent me to Japan?”

  “I didn’t send you, did I?” he says, not answering the question. He gives me a little wave as though nothing’s wrong, then drives off with Andrew.

  I sink down on the back steps. What am I going to do? We have practice every afternoon this week from three to five. And after that we have six games, two a week. I have to be there, that’s all there is to it. Maybe—maybe—it would be all right to leave practice fifteen minutes early to get Andrew. But it would not be okay under any circumstances to leave a game fifteen minutes early, and we have four away games. If I give up being captain, I know Coach will give the job to Bridget. He’ll have to.

  Back in the kitchen, I fix myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Looks like Jake did the same thing. He didn’t clean up at all this morning! The sink is full of dirty dishes now, cereal bowls, spoons, gooey knives. I should rinse them and put them in the dishwasher, but I don’t. By dinnertime, the kitchen will be a total mess.

  And what are we going to do for dinner tonight? Mom always had dinner lined up in advance, so that when she got home, she just had to warm things up for a few minutes in the microwave. I open the refrigerator, hunting for signs of dinner. Pasta sauce? No. A fish chow
der? No. Hamburger patties all ready to go? No. Carrot sticks in a little plastic tub? Nowhere in sight.

  Nice going, Jake. I slam the door. It’s true that he sent out for Chinese food for the weekend, but he sure isn’t prepared for a day when he has to work.

  I wander into the living room. The TV sits like a big, dark-screened monster in the corner. A scary black crystal ball full of killings. Real ones, not cartoon ones. I don’t want to watch it, but I flick it on anyway and flop onto the sofa. Back to the news channel. I’m addicted. I have to know what’s going on.

  American ships are already in the area in a show of force to warn Saddam that the world means business. The army has called this marshaling of resources “Desert Shield.” Its goal is to protect other Arab countries such as Saudi Arabia and Egypt, as well as Israel, from possible attack. Over 100,000 U.S. troops will be flying to the region in enormous C-5 transport planes, while aircraft carriers and other warships are streaming into the Red Sea.

  One hundred thousand troops. One of them will be Mom. I stare at the TV. The C-5 plane is huge, as big as the football field behind the high school. They show it loading. The front of it opens up, and big trucks and tanks drive right inside. How can something so big and heavy fly in the air? Why couldn’t Mom fly in a plane for people? I hate to think of her in that thing. If they fill the plane with tanks and trucks and weapons, how can the soldiers fit? There aren’t any seats inside.

  “Hey!” Danielle is at the back door.

  I leap up and run to open it.

  “So! Tell me about Saturday. Sorry I couldn’t call you. We went to New Hampshire for the weekend. What time did your mom leave?”

  “Really early. Six o’clock in the morning. We had to go to the bus station in Portland. It was so terrible. Everyone was crying.”

  Danielle hugs me.

  “My mom sent you this.”

  It’s a free ice cream cone coupon to Golly Polly’s ice cream.

  “Thanks. How was the mall?” I ask.

  “Great. It was really fun. We went to the arcade and then had pizza. And we went to a movie. It was awesome.”

  I nod. I can’t believe I’m jealous, but I am. Besides, at some point I should go to the mall. I have to get some stuff for school.

  “Hey, how’s Jake?”

  “He’s . . . he’s . . .” Now I start to cry. I’m not tough. I’m a marshmallow. I wonder if Mom cried on that big ugly C-5 airplane.

  “What?” Danielle asks. “What happened?”

  “He went to work, right? But he doesn’t get out until six at night. He works from ten till six, and so he wants me to go get Andrew with the stroller. I’ll have to leave practice by four-thirty.”

  “You can’t do that! You’re the captain. Coach will go ballistic!”

  “Yeah, I know. I tried to explain, but you know Jake. I can’t talk to him about anything. He just left and told me that’s what I have to do.”

  “No, it isn’t. I’ll talk to my mom,” Danielle says. “She’ll pick up Andrew for you. I know she will. Jake doesn’t understand about practice is all. Maybe she can explain to him that if you miss practice, you’re in big trouble.”

  “No, Danielle, don’t talk to your mother about this. Please?”

  “Why?”

  “Because. Mom only left Saturday. And if you tell, then your mom’s going to think things are going badly here, and then maybe someone will call my father in Japan. I’m not kidding, Danielle. They already did that once. Jake, told my mom to because he didn’t want to take care of me. But I’m not going to Japan, Danielle. I’m staying here even if I have to run away.”

  “Wow, Jas. We have to tell my mom. I know she’ll help you today. She loves emergencies. She’s making you guys a macaroni and cheese casserole for tonight.”

  I heave a big sigh of relief. Danielle sits down at the table. I go to the refrigerator and pour us both Pepsis and blow my nose a couple of times. She’s thinking hard now.

  “Okay. You have to be our team captain. Can you imagine how bossy and show-offy Bridget would be? Oh my God, we’d kill her. It would be terrible for team morale.”

  “It’ll be great if your mom can get Andrew today, but what about tomorrow?”

  “Okay, tomorrow too. But then we’ll say that Jake is getting his hours changed at work.”

  “You mean he’d take an earlier shift?”

  “Uh, yeah. Is there one?”

  “There is, but Jake doesn’t like to get up early. He likes to sleep in.”

  “Well, too bad. You mean he’d be willing to send you to Japan so he wouldn’t have to get up early?”

  “I guess so,” I say softly as I realize that’s partly true. “But the real reason is he just wants Andrew, not me.”

  “That’s awful, Jas. That is so unfair.”

  Danielle’s stubborn lower jaw is set. She’s frowning, and with her hands she’s folding and refolding a piece of paper she found on the table.

  “I’m going to have my mother give Jake a lecture. He better learn to be a parent and quick. Now come on, let’s go practice. Know where your ball is?”

  I run to my bedroom closet and unearth my ball and the pump, in case it needs air. In June, Mom dug a hole, and we mixed our own cement. We have our own hoop at the end of the driveway. Basically we have to play in the street, but there are almost never cars, except for slow-moving tourists looking for unmarked beaches.

  The hoop is one reason the Parnells yell at us. Sometimes when the ball rolls out of bounds, it heads near their asparagus and marigolds. Then Muffy goes crazy, yipping her little brains out.

  “Want to play Horse to warm up?” I ask.

  “Sure. But we have to practice layups, too. I missed almost every single one the other night.”

  “Yeah, but you were great on defense.” Danielle is so quick.

  First we try a little defense. As soon as I crouch down, my knees let me know it.

  “Ooof. Do your knees ache, Danielle?”

  “No. You know what I have? Blisters. One on my heel and a long skinny one on the outside of my foot where my socks were bunched up.”

  I reach out and snag the ball from Danielle. It flips into the air and bounces one high bounce, then starts rolling down the hill toward the Parnells’.

  Muffy sees it at once. “Yap! Yap, yap, yap!”

  Mr. Parnell straightens up from weeding his asparagus. Mrs. Parnell is picking flowers. I see her straw hat tilt up as she glances at us.

  “Uh-oh,” I mutter, remembering the famous Muffy vs. owl incident Danielle and I witnessed last winter.

  Muffy is a really small dog. And one day a huge white snowy owl staked her out. The owl sat up in the big maple tree. Day after day the owl sat without moving. The Audubon Society came. The newspapers came. TV-3 came. Nobody could figure out what it was doing up there. Pretty soon everybody forgot about it, except me. But the owl was up there for two whole weeks.

  Then, late one afternoon, after school, Mrs. Parnell was bringing some grocery bags from her car into the house, when suddenly the owl swooped down and grabbed Muffy in its claws.

  The owl picked up Muffy and started to fly off with her. Mrs. Parnell ran out shrieking, running around the yard, flapping a dishtowel at the owl. The owl held on for a little while, but it was having trouble gaining altitude. Finally, it dropped Muffy. Muffy fell about fifteen feet, but she landed in a snowbank the Parnells’ plow had pushed up, and didn’t get hurt.

  For days afterward, we played at being Mrs. Parnell with the dishtowel.

  Together Danielle and I pound down the hill just as the ball is rolling onto the grass, heading for the jumbo-sized Golden Queen marigolds alongside the asparagus bed. The Parnells use the marigolds to ward off slugs and cutworms.

  Gasping for air, Danielle says, “Hi, Mr. Parnell. Hi, Mrs. Parnell. Hi, Muffy. Sorry about the ball. Is it okay if I get it?”

  “I’ll get it,” says Mr. Parnell, ambling after it.

  “How has Muffy been since her
adventure with the owl, Mrs. Parnell?” Danielle says.

  Oh my God, is she laying it on. I could never do this.

  “You mean last winter?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s fine, but I’m not sure Mr. Parnell ever quite believed I was telling the truth.”

  “But we saw it happen. We saw the owl grab her and everything!”

  “Well, there you are, Clarence. Two eyewitnesses. Would you girls like a cookie?” Mrs. Parnell is smiling, pleased as Punch.

  “We don’t want to bother you,” Danielle says, “but we’d love a cookie. Your zinnias are beautiful.”

  “Aren’t they? It’s been a good year for zinnias, no doubt about that. I’m making an arrangement for the library. Hold on while I go get some cookies.”

  I look at Danielle and roll my eyes. She grins and kneels down by the basket of zinnias. Red, hot pink, golden yellow—all double-blossomed and full.

  Mrs. Parnell comes out with four cookies.

  “Saw your mother leaving for the bus the other day,” Mr. Parnell says. “Real early. Six o’clock.”

  “We said goodbye to her the night before,” Mrs. Parnell says. “She came to tell us she was leaving.”

  I nod and bite off half my cookie. It’s a hermit spice cookie with fat raisins.

  “Were you a soldier? Were you in a war?” Danielle asks Mr. Parnell suddenly, making her eyes widen.

  “I was in World War II. Couldn’t let Hitler conquer the world, could you? Everybody went. Not like now. No one wants to defend their country. Everybody pitched in during World War II. They didn’t send women, though.”

  “What are you talking about, Clarence, you old fool? I went. Not as a soldier, but I was closer to the front than you ever were. I was a nurse with the Red Cross. In France for two years. All the work and none of the glory.”

  Glory? I don’t understand what she means.

  “Well, thanks for the cookies,” Danielle says.

  I take the ball from Mr. Parnell. “Yeah, thanks.”

  “Say,” says Mrs. Parnell, “why don’t you girls come use our pool next summer? Nobody’s swimming in it these days except frogs.”

  “Sure! Thanks,” I say, and Danielle grins at me in triumph.