that her mother might be with her father when he returned, Clara made Ham stay on the floor, and she made sure that all the dishes were done before she lay down with her homework.
It was hard to do homework so late at night, and Clara kept popping up to do one more thing that would make the house look inviting to her mother: hanging her coat in the closet, scrubbing the kitchen sink with cleanser, dusting the mantel. Then she would do a math problem and hear a car that seemed to be slowing down outside the driveway. But the car always turned at the next street instead.
She couldnât believe all this huge stuff was happening and she couldnât even tell Gerri. During the course of the evening, Clara called Gerriâs number three or four times, but on all but one occasion, she hung up when the machine came on. The other time she waited for the beep and in a small voice said, âHi, itâs me, Clara.â She waited for a few seconds, but nobody picked up. Which meant Gerri either had gone for the weekend or was out doing something with other friends or was at home not wanting to talk to Clara.
When it was almost ten and sheâd finished the last five math problems, Clara pulled out the reading she was supposed to do for English. They were reading
Great Expectations,
and the words were so difficult that she had to have a dictionary nearby. Tonight she was too tired to get the dictionary, and it was a chapter where Pip went to an old womanâs house and was asked to lead her around and around a rotten wedding cake. On and on they circled the old cake, and when Clara woke up, her father was trying to lift her off the couch.
âDid Mom come with you?â Clara asked.
âNot this time,â he said. He sounded tired. âSheâs having a good time visiting with her sister, and now they wonât have to call each other every day.â
âOh, Dad, you didnât fight about the phone bill again, did you? Is that why she wouldnât come?â
âNo, Polkadot,â he said in a weary voice. âWe didnât fight about anything.â
Clara wrapped the quilt around her arms and allowed herself to be steered toward the stairs. âSheâs already been gone for six days,â she said miserably, almost to herself. How could her mother stay gone like that when her father wasnât even out of town? She always complained about her fatherâs long trips, and now she was doing the same thing. What if she didnât come back to see Clara in the school play?
She didnât even know about Amosâs wonderful letter.
The worst part about going to bed every night since her mother had left was passing her parentsâ bedroom. Since her mother had cleaned up after the midnight picnic and swept everything into hiding, and since her father had come home and left his suitcases standing half-emptied by the bed, it looked more like a motel room.
âSing that song, Dad,â Clara said as she entered her own bedroom and dropped onto the bed. âThe one about the teacup and the whale.â
Sit up to the breakfast table
And cry about your troubles.
Let your tears fall in a teacup
That flows into the ocean,
Where theyâre swallowed by a whale.
He sang for a little while, and she pretended to fall asleep, thinking about the time she and her parents had gone to Washington, D.C., on vacation. They had driven until late into the night, and her mother had fallen asleep in the front seat while Clara slept in the back, waking only once to hear her father singing that song to himself, driving the three of them safely and snugly through the night.
In the morning, things didnât seem snug at all, even though her father turned up the heat. He built a fire, too, and then sat in front of it without a book or any music on. Even Ham sat at a distance from his chair. It was an overcast Saturday outside, the kind of day when the clouds seemed to reach all the way down
It was hard to do homework so late at night, and Clara kept popping up to do one more thing that would make the house look inviting to her mother: hanging her coat in the closet, scrubbing the kitchen sink with cleanser, dusting the mantel. Then she would do a math problem and hear a car that seemed to be slowing down outside the driveway. But the car always turned at the next street instead.
She couldnât believe all this huge stuff was happening and she couldnât even tell Gerri. During the course of the evening, Clara called Gerriâs number three or four times, but on all but one occasion, she hung up when the machine came on. The other time she waited for the beep and in a small voice said, âHi, itâs me, Clara.â She waited for a few seconds, but nobody picked up. Which meant Gerri either had gone for the weekend or was out doing something with other friends or was at home not wanting to talk to Clara.
When it was almost ten and sheâd finished the last five math problems, Clara pulled out the reading she was supposed to do for English. They were reading
Great Expectations,
and the words were so difficult that she had to have a dictionary nearby. Tonight she was too tired to get the dictionary, and it was a chapter where Pip went to an old womanâs house and was asked to lead her around and around a rotten wedding cake. On and on they circled the old cake, and when Clara woke up, her father was trying to lift her off the couch.
âDid Mom come with you?â Clara asked.
âNot this time,â he said. He sounded tired. âSheâs having a good time visiting with her sister, and now they wonât have to call each other every day.â
âOh, Dad, you didnât fight about the phone bill again, did you? Is that why she wouldnât come?â
âNo, Polkadot,â he said in a weary voice. âWe didnât fight about anything.â
Clara wrapped the quilt around her arms and allowed herself to be steered toward the stairs. âSheâs already been gone for six days,â she said miserably, almost to herself. How could her mother stay gone like that when her father wasnât even out of town? She always complained about her fatherâs long trips, and now she was doing the same thing. What if she didnât come back to see Clara in the school play?
She didnât even know about Amosâs wonderful letter.
The worst part about going to bed every night since her mother had left was passing her parentsâ bedroom. Since her mother had cleaned up after the midnight picnic and swept everything into hiding, and since her father had come home and left his suitcases standing half-emptied by the bed, it looked more like a motel room.
âSing that song, Dad,â Clara said as she entered her own bedroom and dropped onto the bed. âThe one about the teacup and the whale.â
Sit up to the breakfast table
And cry about your troubles.
Let your tears fall in a teacup
That flows into the ocean,
Where theyâre swallowed by a whale.
He sang for a little while, and she pretended to fall asleep, thinking about the time she and her parents had gone to Washington, D.C., on vacation. They had driven until late into the night, and her mother had fallen asleep in the front seat while Clara slept in the back, waking only once to hear her father singing that song to himself, driving the three of them safely and snugly through the night.
In the morning, things didnât seem snug at all, even though her father turned up the heat. He built a fire, too, and then sat in front of it without a book or any music on. Even Ham sat at a distance from his chair. It was an overcast Saturday outside, the kind of day when the clouds seemed to reach all the way down
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