right now, I just want my dog.
CHAPTER 19
A Book Fest
And at night I love listening to the stars.
It’s like five-hundred million little bells….
— Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
There’s a knock on the door.
Sam. “I brought you some dinner,” he says.
A tuna sandwich with macaroni salad and Cape Cod chips, a tall glass of soda, and a slice of Rosie’s scrumptious chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. For a second I think of JFK. Of the birthday cake that girl Lorna is surprising him with.
“Are you okay?” Sam asks.
“Mom told you?” I say.
“Yes,” Sam says. He sets the tray on my nightstand, smiling as he moves the mountain stack of skinny-punch books to the floor.
“Glad you’ve got a book or two to read,” he says.
I laugh. “You know me and my books, Dad.”
My voice breaks at the word
Dad.
I think of how Ispent the day with my new brother, Will, on a wild goose chase for our birthdad.
“It must have been quite a shock to hear you have a half brother,” Sam says.
I study his face. I can tell Sam doesn’t know I might have a father alive, too. He doesn’t know about Billy Havisham.
I hope Mother’s meeting doesn’t take too long. I can’t bear the waiting.
“It’s funny,” Sam says.
“What?” I say.
“Funny’s not the right word,” Sam says. “Just a strange coincidence. The other night, when your mom and I wanted to have dinner alone with you —”
“You were going to tell me something,” I say, remembering.
Sam nods his head with a sweet-sad smile.
“What, Dad? Tell me.”
“We were going to tell you that we have decided to start the adoption process. After the miscarriage, we thought long and hard about things. At our age, having a baby can be risky. And there are so many children already in the world just waiting for a family, praying every day that a family will adopt them.”
“Oh, Dad, that’s wonderful! Is it a boy? A girl? A baby or an older —”
Sam laughs. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says. “We haven’t gotten that far yet. Deciding to adopt was a huge decision. We’re still adjusting to that. One step at a time.”
When I finish eating dinner, I put my tray outside the door, feeling like a Bramblebriar guest rather than one of the owners.
Mother may be a while. I might as well have a little book fest while I’m waiting.
I check out my skinny-punch pile on the floor. The cover of
The Little Prince
by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry catches my eye.
It looks like a kid’s book, but shortly after I begin reading, I realize it is one of those ageless, timeless classics … like Shel Silverstein’s
The Giving Tree,
which holds meaning for every reader, no matter how old. I want to write a book like that someday. A skinny book with a punch.
There’s a good thought on page sixty-three that I copy into my book of quotes:
“One sees clearly only with the heart.
Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.”
I check the clock, still early. I take my crumpled bag of candy from my nightstand drawer—almost time for a refill. I pop a sticky red fish into my mouth, remembering Jimmy of the Gummy Worms, and choose another book:
The House on Mango Street
by Sandra Cisneros.
It is so beautifully written. It reads like poetry. I jot down lines I like in my journal.
Page 11:
“She looked out the window her whole life, the way so many women sit their sadness on an elbow.”
Page 33:
“You can never have too much sky.”
Page 61:
“You must keep writing. It will keep you free.”
Page 87:
“One day I’ll own my own house, but I won’t forget who I am or where I came from.”
Page 105:
“When you leave you must remember to come back for the others. A circle, understand?”
I love this book. Definitely makes the Willa’s Pix List.
I get up and dress for bed. Looking out my window, I gaze up at the stars.
I wish I may, I wish I might.
I try to hear them like the Little Prince does, but they are silent.
I unwrap the last three pieces of
CHAPTER 19
A Book Fest
And at night I love listening to the stars.
It’s like five-hundred million little bells….
— Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
There’s a knock on the door.
Sam. “I brought you some dinner,” he says.
A tuna sandwich with macaroni salad and Cape Cod chips, a tall glass of soda, and a slice of Rosie’s scrumptious chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. For a second I think of JFK. Of the birthday cake that girl Lorna is surprising him with.
“Are you okay?” Sam asks.
“Mom told you?” I say.
“Yes,” Sam says. He sets the tray on my nightstand, smiling as he moves the mountain stack of skinny-punch books to the floor.
“Glad you’ve got a book or two to read,” he says.
I laugh. “You know me and my books, Dad.”
My voice breaks at the word
Dad.
I think of how Ispent the day with my new brother, Will, on a wild goose chase for our birthdad.
“It must have been quite a shock to hear you have a half brother,” Sam says.
I study his face. I can tell Sam doesn’t know I might have a father alive, too. He doesn’t know about Billy Havisham.
I hope Mother’s meeting doesn’t take too long. I can’t bear the waiting.
“It’s funny,” Sam says.
“What?” I say.
“Funny’s not the right word,” Sam says. “Just a strange coincidence. The other night, when your mom and I wanted to have dinner alone with you —”
“You were going to tell me something,” I say, remembering.
Sam nods his head with a sweet-sad smile.
“What, Dad? Tell me.”
“We were going to tell you that we have decided to start the adoption process. After the miscarriage, we thought long and hard about things. At our age, having a baby can be risky. And there are so many children already in the world just waiting for a family, praying every day that a family will adopt them.”
“Oh, Dad, that’s wonderful! Is it a boy? A girl? A baby or an older —”
Sam laughs. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says. “We haven’t gotten that far yet. Deciding to adopt was a huge decision. We’re still adjusting to that. One step at a time.”
When I finish eating dinner, I put my tray outside the door, feeling like a Bramblebriar guest rather than one of the owners.
Mother may be a while. I might as well have a little book fest while I’m waiting.
I check out my skinny-punch pile on the floor. The cover of
The Little Prince
by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry catches my eye.
It looks like a kid’s book, but shortly after I begin reading, I realize it is one of those ageless, timeless classics … like Shel Silverstein’s
The Giving Tree,
which holds meaning for every reader, no matter how old. I want to write a book like that someday. A skinny book with a punch.
There’s a good thought on page sixty-three that I copy into my book of quotes:
“One sees clearly only with the heart.
Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.”
I check the clock, still early. I take my crumpled bag of candy from my nightstand drawer—almost time for a refill. I pop a sticky red fish into my mouth, remembering Jimmy of the Gummy Worms, and choose another book:
The House on Mango Street
by Sandra Cisneros.
It is so beautifully written. It reads like poetry. I jot down lines I like in my journal.
Page 11:
“She looked out the window her whole life, the way so many women sit their sadness on an elbow.”
Page 33:
“You can never have too much sky.”
Page 61:
“You must keep writing. It will keep you free.”
Page 87:
“One day I’ll own my own house, but I won’t forget who I am or where I came from.”
Page 105:
“When you leave you must remember to come back for the others. A circle, understand?”
I love this book. Definitely makes the Willa’s Pix List.
I get up and dress for bed. Looking out my window, I gaze up at the stars.
I wish I may, I wish I might.
I try to hear them like the Little Prince does, but they are silent.
I unwrap the last three pieces of
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