Waiting for the Magic, Page 3

I took a deep breath so I could say what I wanted to say in one breath.

  “I don’t think it is fair for you not to tell Papa about the baby.”

  Neo stirred next to me. Bitty sat up.

  I was quiet for a moment.

  “I don’t know how to say it . . . ,” I began.

  And then it happened. I heard.

  Neo

  I don’t think it will help him to be the father he can be.

  I stared at Neo. Then I began to talk, almost without thinking about it.

  “I think that it doesn’t help him to be the father he can be,” I said.

  Mama stood still for a moment.

  “You’re right,” said Mama flatly.

  Mama didn’t kiss me good night. She disappeared the way that Grace or Bryn would appear and disappear at my bedside.

  Neo sat on the bed, looking at me with those eyes.

  I reached over and stroked his head.

  “I heard you,” I whispered.

  Neo

  You did.

  “Why now?”

  Neo

  You were brave.

  Brave. Gran had said that word once. I felt goose bumps come up along my arms.

  “I have to do something,” I said.

  I got up and walked into Elinor’s bedroom.

  I knelt down by her bed. Grace lifted her head to look at me.

  “Elinor,” I whispered.

  “What?” she whispered back.

  “I heard Neo.”

  She smiled. I could see it in the light from the window.

  “I knew you would,” she said sleepily.

  “The magic is real,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Elinor.

  I stood up and looked down at Elinor, her eyes closed.

  “Night,” I said.

  “Night,” whispered Elinor.

  Grace

  Good night.

  Chapter 9

  IN THE MORNING, when I woke up, Neo was looking at me. Bitty’s eyes were still closed.

  “So Elinor heard you from the beginning?” I asked Neo. I couldn’t believe I was asking Neo this question.

  Neo

  Yes.

  Bitty

  She’s four. Four-year-olds always hear.

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  Bitty

  I don’t know. I’m just a dog.

  Bitty said that to make me smile. I did.

  Bitty

  I hope your grandma makes me a red coat.

  “I’ll tell her.”

  And then I remembered.

  “You can tell her yourself, Bitty!” I said, laughing.

  A week later we had a half birthday for Elinor. She loved half birthdays, almost more than full birthdays.

  Gran and Grandfather came, and Marvelous, and Mavis and Max. All the Ms, Mama called them. There were balloons and a half birthday cake with candles. No Papa. He had been gone for two months now.

  Gran had knitted Elinor a purple cape that reached the floor, and Marvelous brought her a crown with jewels.

  Grace

  Beautiful!

  “Thank you,” said Gran. “And I have a gift for you, Grace.”

  Gran took out a blue coat and put it on Grace. Grace walked proudly around the room. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror in the dining room. Then she went to Gran and put her head in Gran’s lap.

  “Ah, you like it!”

  She took some bright red yarn and needles out of her knitting bag.

  “This is for you, Bitty. I’ll finish it soon.”

  Bitty stared at Gran.

  “Speechless, Bitty?” I whispered.

  Elinor heard me and laughed. And then the front door opened. The dogs, every one of them, sat up. Bryn, for the first time since at the shelter, curled her lip and showed her teeth. We turned.

  It was Papa.

  “Papa!” said Elinor.

  “No!” I said loudly.

  Papa looked at me, but didn’t say anything. I could feel my face get hot. There was a big silence, except for Bryn’s low growl.

  “Bryn, hush,” warned Mama.

  Then, as if a movie had stopped for a moment and started up again, Elinor ran to Papa.

  Papa picked her up and whirled her around.

  Elinor, in Papa’s arms, waved her wand.

  The dogs lay down. All except for Bryn, who moved closer to Mama.

  “Wow,” Max spoke as softly as Mama had. “Hello, Mr. Watson.”

  “Hello, Max,” said Papa.

  “I knew you’d come,” said Elinor, her arms around Papa’s neck.

  “Hello, Janey,” said Papa. “Thank you for the phone call.”

  “Thank William,” said Mama.

  “I thank you, William,” said Papa.

  I didn’t answer Papa.

  “I knew you’d come,” repeated Elinor.

  The guests had gone home, the dishes washed, the living room cleaned. Balloons hung near the ceiling, moving slowly around the room like ghosts. Elinor had gone to bed long ago.

  Mama stood in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the wall. Papa sat on the couch, facing the four dogs, who watched him closely.

  “I never had a dog,” said Papa softly.

  He looked up at Mama, then back at the dogs.

  “Dogs. So . . . many . . . dogs.”

  “They don’t have anything to do with you,” said Mama, her voice strong. “They have everything to do with us.”

  Mama sounded different somehow. She sounded more like the day she’d packed Elinor and me into the car and driven off to get four dogs and a cat.

  I backed away and went to my room. No dogs followed me. I knew what they were doing. Papa knew what they were doing. I lay down on the bed without turning on the light.

  The dogs were there to protect Mama.

  I slept. And it was only much later, no moon, that I reached out to touch the soft familiar fur of Neo.

  Chapter 10

  I WOKE EARLY. I could hear the birds beginning to sing, so I knew it was just after five thirty. I turned and looked for Neo and Bitty. No dogs. No Lula.

  I got out of bed and wandered into the living room.

  Papa was on the couch, a quilt thrown over him. He wasn’t asleep. He was staring at the four dogs as they stood morning guard in front of him.

  “You slept here last night?” I asked.

  Papa nodded. He pointed.

  “She was in the bed and wouldn’t leave.”

  I nodded.

  “Bryn. She loves Mama. She protects her from bad things.”

  “Like me,” said Papa in a flat voice.

  I didn’t answer him.

  “Do you know if there’s coffee made?” asked Papa.

  “I’ll make it,” I said. “I learned how when you left.”

  I walked away from Papa and stopped at the kitchen door.

  “They won’t hurt you, you know,” I told him. “They’re very gentle.”

  “So you say,” said Papa, as if he didn’t believe me. When I came back with his coffee, Elinor was perched on the couch next to Papa. She had on her pajamas and her see-through fairy wings. Lula was wearing a white onesie with TOTTENHAM HOTSPUR written in red across the front.

  “Are you flawed?” she asked Papa.

  “Elinor!” I said. I was shocked and interested at the same time.

  Papa laughed. Then he saw my face and was serious.

  “Probably so,” he said. “Probably so,” he repeated.

  I handed him his coffee.

  “I have a list of bad woods,” said Elinor. “Want to hear them?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Papa.

  Elinor listed them.

  “One, fat, two, stupid, three, idiot,” said Elinor, holding up her fingers.

  “Hmm,” said Papa. “I wonder if any of those have to do with me.”

  “Yes,” said Elinor happily.

  “I thought so.”

  He sighed.

  “I’m sorr
y I went away.”

  “You came back,” said Elinor, smiling.

  Papa looked at me. I shrugged.

  “I had reasons,” said Papa. “But I don’t think they were good enough reasons. And it was very very wrong of me not to talk to you before I went away.”

  “It was,” I said. “You should have called earlier. Elinor wanted you to.”

  Papa looked quickly at me.

  I waited, but Papa didn’t seem to have any more to say.

  Elinor didn’t care. Papa was back home. He was forgiven in Elinor’s world.

  But I cared. And I had not forgiven him.

  Papa drank his coffee. We all sat quietly.

  I took a look at Neo. He had told me I was brave.

  “I care about the reasons you left,” I said, my voice sounding shaky.

  The dogs all turned to look at me.

  Papa sighed.

  “I owe you that, William.”

  He lifted his shoulders and took a deep breath.

  “I wanted to write a book. Maybe some poems. I’ve always wanted to. I thought maybe if I went away I could do that,” he said.

  “Do we get in the way of it?” I asked.

  “Oh no,” said Papa quickly. “Not you. I was just trying to gather some courage. Some . . .” He searched for a word. “Magic.”

  “Magic?” Elinor looked at Papa. “You didn’t have to go away for magic!” she said.

  Papa smiled at her.

  “Do you believe in magic?” asked Elinor.

  “I guess I’ve been trying to believe in it,” said Papa.

  “But, I was told,” I started, “by a good friend . . .” I looked at Bryn. “That writing is not about magic. It is about hard work.”

  There was a great silence in the room. Papa looked at me. His eyes were very shiny.

  “You know,” said Papa, “I think you are much smarter than I am, William.”

  Neo spoke then, his voice almost too low for me to hear.

  Neo

  Yes.

  Bitty

  Yes.

  Papa didn’t hear them. But I did.

  Chapter 11

  EVERY NIGHT PAPA SLEPT on the couch. He seemed to be home for good. Or not. Who could tell?

  The dogs did not have much to say. They were watchers, listeners, spies; gathering information. Mostly they watched Papa.

  Neo

  He’s not so afraid of us anymore.

  Bitty

  He doesn’t walk way around us anymore.

  Grace

  He petted me this morning. And gave me a dog biscuit.

  Bryn

  Really? Where was I??

  “I never had a dog,” Papa told me. “When I was a kid. I remember wanting a dog. But it never happened.”

  “That’s too bad,” I said.

  “It is,” agreed Papa.

  “What would you have named a dog?” Elinor asked. “If you had gotten one?”

  Papa tilted his head as if remembering. “Scooter,” he said. “I would have named a dog Scooter.”

  He was quiet for a moment.

  “Scooter,” he repeated.

  Papa cooked many dinners for days and days. He was a better cook than Mama, and Mama was tired a lot of the time. He made spaghetti and hamburgers and soups and different dinners with strange things, such as pineapple, raisins, and chocolate.

  Bitty

  If he’s a good cook, maybe he’s a good writer, too.

  Neo

  I’m not sure that the two go together. Cooking and writing, I mean.

  Grace

  We should get him writing.

  Bryn

  How?

  Bitty

  Quiet, please. I’m thinking.

  “Joe,” said Mama once at dinner, “what is this?”

  “Chocolate chicken,” said Papa. “I made it up.”

  Mama laughed. And when we heard Mama laugh, we laughed too. We loved chocolate chicken, and the dogs would have loved it. Papa wouldn’t let them eat it, however.

  “I’m studying up on dogs,” he said. “Chocolate is very dangerous for them.”

  Studying up?

  Neo

  I had a tiny taste of chocolate once. I took it off a table. And I didn’t get sick.

  Bryn

  I used to find M&M’s in the cushions of the couch when I was fast enough.

  Papa got Elinor and me to help clean up the kitchen after dinner.

  “I can help too,” said Mama. “I’m not sick, you know. I’m just getting big.”

  “Sit down,” said Papa. “You can talk to us and tell us stories. Or we can talk about great philosophical topics.”

  “What’s that?” asked Elinor.

  “Important things,” said Papa.

  Elinor thought a moment. She stood on a chair at the counter, wiping dishes with a dish towel.

  “I have an important question,” she announced.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “If you kiss someone,” said Elinor, “do you have to marry him?”

  Mama looked at Papa.

  “What?” I asked.

  There was something about the way Papa and Mama looked at each other that left me out.

  “Well, your papa and I kissed each other when we were in fourth grade,” said Mama.

  “Fourth grade!” I said loudly. “That’s terrible!”

  “I think it is nice,” said Elinor.

  Bryn

  I think it’s romantic. It’s too bad dogs don’t kiss.

  Bitty

  I kiss sometimes. But humans think it is licking.

  Elinor and I burst out laughing.

  “What’s funny?” asked Papa.

  We shook our heads, laughing harder, knowing that not Papa, not Mama could hear Bitty’s words.

  Papa decided that he needed exercise, and thought that walking all the dogs would be good for him.

  We watched him through the living room window, Mama, Elinor, and I.

  “I’m very impressed,” said Mama. “For someone who never knew dogs before.”

  I looked at Mama for a moment until she looked at me.

  “What?” she said.

  “You’re forgiving Papa,” I said.

  She stared at me.

  “I guess I am,” she said. “It’s important to forgive.”

  “Not when you don’t understand,” I said.

  We could see the dogs misbehaving for Papa, so that he had a couple of bouts of tripping and getting tangled up, and almost falling down. At one point Grace changed places with Bryn to make it easier for him.

  They did it on purpose, those dogs.

  Elinor had seen that too.

  “They like him,” she whispered.

  Mama heard.

  “Yes. How about that?” she said softly. “They like him too.”

  “That word ‘too’ doesn’t mean me,” I said.

  “I know,” said Mama. “That’s all right, William. Maybe you have to come to that in your own way.”

  Or not, I thought.

  Chapter 12

  ELINOR AND MAVIS WORE Mama’s dresses and heels, playing “schoolteacher.” Lula was their only student, wearing a yellow shirt with LOVE THAT BABY printed on it.

  “Excellent, Lula,” said Elinor.

  “Stupendously excellent,” echoed Mavis, making Papa smile.

  “Stupendously excellent is pretty good,” he said to me.

  Papa wandered around the house, followed by Neo and Bryn.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I’m looking for a place to write. A quiet, peaceful place.”

  Bryn

  My writer wrote all day long with the television on. Loud music sometimes.

  I smiled.

  “What?” asked Papa.

  “I’m smiling at Bryn,” I said.

  “I smile at Bryn too,” he said, petting her.

  Bitty

  What about the attic room? I like the attic room.


  “The attic room?” I repeated.

  “The attic room? I haven’t been up there for a long time,” said Papa.

  He went up the stairs and we all clattered up, the sounds of dog feet on wooden stairs behind me. All except Grace, who had not yet gotten used to stairs, being a racing dog raised in a crate.

  “Ah,” said Papa at the top of the stairs. “You’re right, William.”

  Bitty

  I’m right.

  “Yes,” I said to Bitty and Papa.

  “A large window,” said Papa, walking into the room. “I’ll put my desk there.”

  Bitty

  I watch that silly Boston terrier next door from this window.

  Bryn

  That’s Ruby. She’s peppy.

  Neo

  She barks at toads.

  Bryn

  And cars, and the mailman.

  Neo

  And clouds and rain.

  “This is perfect,” said Papa happily.

  We heard the soft uncertain sound of Grace coming up the stairs—Grace being brave.

  “Good girl, Grace,” said Papa.

  He looked at the dogs, who all stared back at him.

  “You,” Papa said suddenly, “you are such a good family. Better than I have been. You took care of Janey and Elinor and William when I was”—he waved his arm as if trying to find the words—“somewhere trying to find out what was best for me. Me. When all the while it wasn’t ever really about me at all.”

  I stood very still, not daring to move.

  “Eyes,” he said suddenly as if he were making a speech. “Eight eyes turned into me when I was away; eight eyes became one beacon that reminds me who I am.”

  It was quiet for a moment. Papa looked a little surprised at what he had just said. Neo nosed my hand.

  I jumped.

  “What?” I said out loud.

  Neo

  That’s the beginning of a poem.

  Papa stared at Neo. Neo nosed my hand again.

  Neo

  Tell him.

  “That’s a poem,” I said.

  “I heard Neo say it,” Papa whispered.

  Papa sat down on a chair and stared at the dogs.

  Neo

  A poem. You could call it “Eyes.”

  Papa didn’t say anything for a moment.

  “Do they all talk?” he finally asked, his voice cracking.

  Bitty

  Only to some people.

  “Does Mom know?” he asked.

  Neo

  No.

  Grace

  Not yet.

  Papa was quiet for a long time. Then he lifted his shoulders.