got,” she said.
Nate said, “Tell me about it.”
“Anyway,” she said, “I was supposed to be asleep but, like a lot of nights lately, I couldn’t. Too many thoughts racing around my head, bumping up against each other like bumper cars. Good ones, bad ones, happy ones, sad ones. Things I’ve seen already. Things I might never see. That was when I heard Mom and Dad from down the hall.”
Her mom was saying it was no problem, Abby could go to Perkins this year instead of the family going to Nantucket, to the house they’d always rented.
“My dad was angry, though,” she said. “He said there was going to be no summer vacation this year, with or without Perkins, and that she knew it. Summer vacation wasn’t the issue with Perkins, and she knew that, too. Then he started complaining about health insurance. I didn’t understand half of what he was talking about, some of it was like a foreign language, but I was sort of able to figure it out. He was worried about how he’d be able to pay for it.”
“ Your dad was worried about paying for something?” Nate said.
Abby shrugged. Then she said, “But then he finished up by telling my mom he didn’t care how much it cost, that I needed this.”
Nate told Abby then about the night he’d overheard his parents talking about money, about how much they could use the million dollars and all that.
“We’ve both got pretty awesome parents,” Abby said. “But I wonder sometimes if they’ll ever figure out that they end up telling us important stuff without even knowing they’re telling us.”
Nate nodded, and for a minute neither one of them said anything. Joe’s was starting to get more crowded, which meant the Valley High game was over. There was a Coldplay song coming out of Joe’s old-fashioned jukebox. Nate heard a burst of laughter from the high school kids in the back room. Every so often the front door would open again and he would feel a quick blast of cold air.
Not as cold as the blast of air he’d gotten from Abby about the Perkins School for the Blind, though.
“So you’re leaving tomorrow,” he said.
“Think of it this way, Brady,” she said. “Because I can still see, I’ll be a total star at Perkins. The Nate Brodie of the whole place.”
The Sunday Boston Globe was Nate’s favorite paper of the week. He loved the sports section because it was full of stories about the Patriots, pages and pages of stats about their game that day and their opponent, and more pages after that about all the college football games played the day before.
Nate always woke up first on Sunday, never needing an alarm clock to get him up for church, always beating his parents to the Globe.
But when he opened the front door this morning, he found more than just the Sunday paper.
There was a present from Abby.
He figured it had to be some kind of painting or drawing because of its size and shape, wrapped in brown paper with a string around it. There was an envelope taped to the front that read simply, “Brady.”
And Nate knew he’d better read the note or card or whatever it was first, imagining that Abby was spying on him to see if he did.
He didn’t even wait to get inside.
The note said:
Something to remember me by.
And something to remember you by.
Love,
Abby Wonder
It was her new nickname for herself, in honor of Stevie Wonder.
When he was back inside, he dropped the Sunday paper on the floor, because this was a day when the football stats and stories about the Patriots could wait. He lugged her present up the stairs, closed the door, and ripped off the wrapping paper.
Smiled.
Somehow she had drawn a perfect replica of the target he’d be throwing at in Gillette Stadium. The SportStuff logo was there, the hole cut in the middle.
Carrying it up the stairs, he had been surprised at how heavy the package was, and wasn’t sure what it was made of even after giving it a rap with his knuckles. But it looked and felt and seemed as heavy as
Nate said, “Tell me about it.”
“Anyway,” she said, “I was supposed to be asleep but, like a lot of nights lately, I couldn’t. Too many thoughts racing around my head, bumping up against each other like bumper cars. Good ones, bad ones, happy ones, sad ones. Things I’ve seen already. Things I might never see. That was when I heard Mom and Dad from down the hall.”
Her mom was saying it was no problem, Abby could go to Perkins this year instead of the family going to Nantucket, to the house they’d always rented.
“My dad was angry, though,” she said. “He said there was going to be no summer vacation this year, with or without Perkins, and that she knew it. Summer vacation wasn’t the issue with Perkins, and she knew that, too. Then he started complaining about health insurance. I didn’t understand half of what he was talking about, some of it was like a foreign language, but I was sort of able to figure it out. He was worried about how he’d be able to pay for it.”
“ Your dad was worried about paying for something?” Nate said.
Abby shrugged. Then she said, “But then he finished up by telling my mom he didn’t care how much it cost, that I needed this.”
Nate told Abby then about the night he’d overheard his parents talking about money, about how much they could use the million dollars and all that.
“We’ve both got pretty awesome parents,” Abby said. “But I wonder sometimes if they’ll ever figure out that they end up telling us important stuff without even knowing they’re telling us.”
Nate nodded, and for a minute neither one of them said anything. Joe’s was starting to get more crowded, which meant the Valley High game was over. There was a Coldplay song coming out of Joe’s old-fashioned jukebox. Nate heard a burst of laughter from the high school kids in the back room. Every so often the front door would open again and he would feel a quick blast of cold air.
Not as cold as the blast of air he’d gotten from Abby about the Perkins School for the Blind, though.
“So you’re leaving tomorrow,” he said.
“Think of it this way, Brady,” she said. “Because I can still see, I’ll be a total star at Perkins. The Nate Brodie of the whole place.”
The Sunday Boston Globe was Nate’s favorite paper of the week. He loved the sports section because it was full of stories about the Patriots, pages and pages of stats about their game that day and their opponent, and more pages after that about all the college football games played the day before.
Nate always woke up first on Sunday, never needing an alarm clock to get him up for church, always beating his parents to the Globe.
But when he opened the front door this morning, he found more than just the Sunday paper.
There was a present from Abby.
He figured it had to be some kind of painting or drawing because of its size and shape, wrapped in brown paper with a string around it. There was an envelope taped to the front that read simply, “Brady.”
And Nate knew he’d better read the note or card or whatever it was first, imagining that Abby was spying on him to see if he did.
He didn’t even wait to get inside.
The note said:
Something to remember me by.
And something to remember you by.
Love,
Abby Wonder
It was her new nickname for herself, in honor of Stevie Wonder.
When he was back inside, he dropped the Sunday paper on the floor, because this was a day when the football stats and stories about the Patriots could wait. He lugged her present up the stairs, closed the door, and ripped off the wrapping paper.
Smiled.
Somehow she had drawn a perfect replica of the target he’d be throwing at in Gillette Stadium. The SportStuff logo was there, the hole cut in the middle.
Carrying it up the stairs, he had been surprised at how heavy the package was, and wasn’t sure what it was made of even after giving it a rap with his knuckles. But it looked and felt and seemed as heavy as
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