“I like that part, too.”
Emma opened the book to a photo of Edith looking sad and lonely. “Someday I’ll have a friend,” she said. “And then I won’t be lonely anymore.”
“Silly,” I said. “You must have friends. Everyone has friends.”
She shook her head. “Not in New York. Everybody I know there is grown up. And grownups can’t be your friends.”
“Can I be your friend? Or am I too old?”
Emma gave me a solemn, considering look. “It would be better if you were five or six or even seven,” she said, “but I guess you can be sort of a friend.”
“Thank you, Princess Emma.” I gave her a little tickle in the side. “I’m greatly honored by your majesty’s decision.”
She giggled. “Will you read now?”
When we were about halfway through the story, we were distracted by rising voices in the kitchen.
“We’re adults now,” Mom was saying. “I don’t have to do everything you say. Ali’s my daughter. I’ll raise her the way I see fit!”
“It must be nice to own a child,” Dulcie replied.
“‘Own a child’? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re so overprotective, you might as well keep her on a leash. Sit, Ali. Heel, Ali. Roll over, Ali.”
“How can you say that?” Mom’s voice rose. “I love Ali and I want her to be safe. She’s not going to spend the summer running wild, swimming, going out in boats—”
“Don’t hold on so tight,” Dulcie interrupted. “Ali’s growing up. She has to start making her own decisions. It might be good for her to get away from you. She—”
“You always took everything away from me when I was little!” Mom shouted. “And now you want my own daughter! Can’t I have anything?” She started sobbing.
“Oh, that’s right,” Dulcie said. “Cry when you can’t think of anything else to do.” There was an edge of cruelty in her voice I’d never heard before. “Grow up, Claire. You’re not a little kid anymore.”
Emma put her arms around my neck and pressed her face against my chest. “Make them stop, Ali.”
The voices in the kitchen dropped so low that I couldn’t hear what Mom or Dulcie was saying.
“I think they stopped all by themselves, Emma.” I patted her back, but my mind was racing. Dulcie was right. Mom did over-protect me; even Staci thought so. She never let me do anything—not even spend a night at Staci’s house or go the mall with my friends. I really did need to get away from her for a while.
But at the same time I was agreeing with Dulcie, I was feeling bad because she’d upset Mom. I was confused, as well. Why did Mom think Dulcie wanted to take me away from her? What else had she taken? It was enough to give me a headache.
Emma nudged me. “Read, Ali. I want to hear the part where Little Bear and Edith play dress-up, and Edith writes, ‘Mr. Bear is just a silly old thing!’ on the mirror with lipstick and Mr. Bear gets cross.” She giggled. “And then Edith calls him a silly and he spanks her and she’s scared Mr. Bear will take Little Bear and go away and she’ll be lonely again.”
“You sure know this story well.”
“Edith is lonely like me, and she has blond hair like me, and she lives in an apartment in New York like me. And she wishes so hard for a friend that Mr. Bear and Little Bear come to her house just to be her friends. And that’s what I wish for, too. A friend. Somebody who likes me best of all.”
I started reading again, and Emma pressed against me, mouthing the words silently as if she knew the story by heart.
While I read, I kept one ear tuned to the kitchen, but I couldn’t hear what Mom and Dulcie were saying. If Emma hadn’t been sitting on my lap, I would have tiptoed to the door and listened.
3
At the end of the story, Mr. Bear promised Edith he’d stay with her forever.
“‘Forever and ever!’” Emma shouted along with Little Bear.
We said the book’s last three words together: “And they did!’”
“When I was little, I wanted a doll just like Edith,” I told Emma.
“I want one, too,” Emma said, “but Mommy says they’re very, very expensive.”
I sighed, thinking about things that cost too much to own—a horse, a mountain bike like Staci’s, a swimming pool in the backyard, even a doll….
The front door opened, and Dad stopped at the threshold to grin at Emma, who ran to him.
“What a nice surprise!” Dropping his briefcase, he scooped Emma up and gave her a hug. “Look at you—just as beautiful as your mommy!”
Emma laughed and kissed Dad’s nose.
The kitchen door swung open. Mom and Dulcie seemed to have made up after their quarrel, but Mom still looked tense, worried, uneasy.
“It’s good to see you, stranger.” Dad put Emma down and gave Dulcie a hug and a kiss. It was a long hug, I thought. I glanced at Mom. She was watching the two of them, but I couldn’t read her expression—except that I could tell she wasn’t happy.
“What brings you here?” Dad asked Dulcie.
“I’m in a group show at a D.C. gallery next fall,” Dulcie said. “Emma and I took the train down so I could talk to the owner. Since we were so close, I called Claire, and she picked us up at the station. We’re going back to New York tomorrow morning.”
Emma grabbed Dad’s hand. “Mommy wants Ali to baby-sit me at the lake, but Aunt Claire says she can’t.”
Dad turned to Dulcie and raised his eyebrows. “Sycamore Lake?”
“I drove to the cottage a couple of weeks ago,” Dulcie said. “Considering how long it’s been empty, it’s in pretty good shape. A couple of broken windows, a few leaks in the roof, and a dozen or more mice nesting in the cupboards.”
Dulcie glanced at Mom. “A trap will take care of the mice, and I’ve hired a contractor to fix everything else. By the time he’s done, Gull Cottage will have electricity, indoor plumbing, fresh paint inside and out, a new roof—and the old boathouse will be my studio.”
“In other words, it’ll be better than new.” Dad turned to Mom. “So why can’t Ali baby-sit Emma?”
“You know I hate the lake.” Mom’s voice rose a few notches, tense, anxious. “Ali could drown, she could get Lyme disease from a deer tick, she could get bitten by a snake, she—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Ignoring Mom’s whimper of protest, Dad looked at me. “How do you feel about the idea, Ali?”
“I want to go,” I said. “Staci will be away all summer. I’m sick of the swimming pool and the softball team.” And of Mom watching me all the time, I wanted to add, keeping me on a leash, owning me. Instead, I said, “The lake would be fun—an adventure, something different.”
“Please, please, pretty please?” Emma begged. “I’ll be so lonely without Ali.”
“Let her go, Claire,” Dad said. “She loves Dulcie and Emma. And they love her.”
“I’ll take good care of Ali,” Dulcie put in. “I won’t let her or Emma run wild. I promise.”