Call Me Amy (12 page)

Up ahead—great thrashing sounds mixed with the crunching of twigs and pine needles as though under a heavy step. Was Pamela still playing her spying games? I peered up through the trees. Only blackness. Up towards the left was where the moon should be but it was almost as though some giant creature blocked the light. My chest started heaving, and my hands shook.

I tried to scold myself. You're being ridiculous, Amy. Pull yourself together. It's probably just a squirrel in the old elm. I edged over to the nearest tree on my right and slid behind it, willing my breathing to silence. The crashing got louder and closer. I shut my eyes tight. My teeth chattered, so I clamped my hand over my mouth. Sweat dribbled down my back. Thud, thud, as though the very ground shook. Then I heard a snort.

Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh, please don't let this be how I end! I cracked open one eye and watched the massive shape approach. A gross, musky smell filled my nose as the thing ambled by, so close I could have touched it. The short tail swished. It was a moose!

I continued to hug the tree as I tried to make out the giant shape moving down the hill to the road. When I could no longer see it, I counted to ten and then ran as fast as my shaking legs could move me.

I shoved through the front door, slammed it shut behind me and collapsed on the floor of the entrance-way.

Nancy paused mid-step on her way upstairs. “Now what?”

“A mooo”—pant pant—“I saw a . . . ”

“You saw a moo?” Nancy laughed. “Yes, there are cows out at Drake's farm. What were you doing way out there?”

I shook my head furiously and slowed my breathing. “No. I saw a moose.”

“Ah, you finally got your wish! I've seen plenty. No big deal. Really.” She gave a slight shake of her curler-covered head and continued to climb the stairs.

I pulled myself together and flew to my diary.

As I was starting to fall asleep, I remembered it was the night of the Twist Twirl. I glanced at the glow-in-the-dark numbers on my clock. 10:30. The dance would be in full swing and almost over. I pictured the
music, decorations, and happy kids. I wondered if Craig was home, too. Or was he at the dance—slow dancing with some other girl? My mind spun with what could have been. I found myself acting like Nancy, wishing that he would call me someday. But I was praying for the wrong thing.

R
EPORT CARD DAY
was the day before the last day of school. Our teacher, Mrs. Marston, passed them out in the usual way, alphabetically. I peeked at my good grades and then turned it upside down and waited for Craig to get his. I crossed my fingers that he would at least get promoted.

As Mrs. Marston moved towards him, Craig's leg started bouncing more than usual. He glanced out the window, looking cool as ever, but now I knew better. Knew he was worrying as much as me. Mrs. Marston stopped at his desk and broke into a rare smile. Craig glanced at the report, his eyes wide, then he leaped up onto his desk chair, raised the report high overhead, and shouted.

“Yahoo, I did it!”

Never one for disorder, Mrs. Marston's smile faded faster than the island in fog, but Craig was already jumping down and heading towards me. “Look at that,” he said pointing out the C+ in English.

“Nice job,” I said, as he moved on towards the open window.

“I did it!” he shouted again to the outside world. Luckily, the dismissal bell rang before Mrs. Marston could send him to the office to spend his last minutes of the school year confessing to the principal. I'm sure she was thrilled Craig was moving on to another teacher.

T
HAT EVENING
, I was washing the dishes after supper when the phone rang. Two long rings and one short—our signal on the party line. Nancy ran to answer since it was always for her. I turned off the water and heard her say, “Amy?” Two seconds later she burst into the kitchen.

“Amy, phone,” she announced and then added in an amazed whisper, “It's a boy!” From the look on her face, you'd think I had just won a million dollars. I yanked off my yellow rubber dishwashing gloves, figuring there was some mistake, like a wrong number.

“Hello.”

“Amy? Craig. I'm at Miss C's.” I felt my face get hot as I glanced up to see Nancy still hanging around the doorway. I waved my hand at her to get lost, so I could concentrate. Nancy rolled her eyes as she backed around the corner, all but one foot anyway.

“She fell,” continued Craig.

My mouth opened, yet no words came out, only unwelcome images as I waited for his next words.

“She's okay, but I need help getting her up.”

“I'll be right there.” I hung up the phone and bolted out the front door, leaving Nancy standing with her mouth hanging open.

“What about the dishes?” she yelled after me. “I'm telling Mum!”

M
INUTES LATER
I pushed through Miss Cogshell's backdoor. She was sprawled the length of the kitchen. Craig, pale beside her.

“She won't let me call an ambulance,” he said.

“I'm fine,” said Miss Cogshell, panting. “I've gotten these little spells before, just need help getting up.”

“But how did you fall?” I asked. A shiver raced through me. My teeth chattered and I grabbed the table edge for support. There was something scary about seeing a grownup so helpless.

“I was reaching for my pen on the floor and the next thing I knew I was down here. If my arm wasn't feeling so useless, I'd probably have popped right up long ago.”

Craig and I exchanged glances as I took one side of her and he took the other. We slowly heaved her up onto a chair. Miss Cogshell's cheeks went pale with the exertion and her breathing sped up.

“There . . . the old coot's okay now.” She paused for a few breaths. “I don't know what I would do without you two.”

I glanced at Craig and wondered how he had happened to be here. His report card was lying on the kitchen table next to a messy pile of S & H green stamps.

“Can I make you some tea, Miss Cogshell?” I asked.

“Oh, I don't want to be a bother. I'll just rest.”

“You've done so much for us. I can at least make you tea.” I filled the flowered teapot with water. The early evening sun bounced off the curio cabinet and I studied the small animals while the water heated up. So much had happened since I first discovered the porcelain moose.

After placing Miss Cogshell's teacup on the table, I looked over at Craig, who was quiet for once.

“I think she's asleep,” he said.

I watched Miss Cogshell for a minute. She seemed comfortable in the high-backed chair. Her breathing was even, and her face with its color returned, seemed almost beautiful in the dim light.

I glanced back at Craig and found him watching her, too. “Thanks for calling me,” I said softly. It felt odd to be the smallest kid in my grade lifting the largest woman in the Port.

Craig seemed to read my mind. “You're not exactly Hercules, but who else am I gonna call?” He laughed
too loud at his own joke. We glanced at Miss Cogshell again. She slept on, and I was cheered by her recovery.

“I hope my report card wasn't too much of a shock,” he added.

I grinned. I drew my fingernail along the blue checks of the tablecloth, feeling shy and wishing Pup was around for us to talk about.

Miss Cogshell began to murmur. Her face went pale as I watched, almost gray now, and her words came out slurred. What a difference from just a few minutes ago. She didn't look like her old self now. I moved over to her.

“Are you okay, Miss Cogshell?”

Her eyes opened and fluttered a bit. It took her a moment to focus on us. “These spells are nothing new… but… if anything should happen,” she began.

I got a sick feeling in me waiting for her to finish. Already I was shaking my head, to tell her everything would be all right.

Miss Cogshell continued, “Make sure . . . ” she took a few deep breaths, “you develop the pictures.” It was hard to make out what she said as she pointed at her camera lying on the table.

“You'll be okay, Miss C.,” Craig insisted.

“Let me call your doctor,” I urged. She shook her head no. I took Clyde from his resting place by the door and placed him on the table within easy reach. “Or maybe you could stay with a friend?”

I waited for her answer. A plump robin flew past the open kitchen window and landed on the lilac bush. Its sweet fragrance reached me. As if in greeting, the cuckoo clock called out seven times.

Miss Cogshell shook her head again, regaining a little strength, but still speaking slow. “Been in this house eighty years… won't be leaving 'til they have to carry me out. Just need to rest now.” She waved her hand and made a feeble attempt at shooing us away.

Craig pocketed his report card and we both squeezed through the door, peering back at her.

“Should we get help anyway?” said Craig.

I nodded. “Let's tell my mom.” We broke into a run at the bottom of the hill and arrived at my house, gasping.

“I'll wait here,” Craig said as I shoved open the front door. I flew into the house and found my mother dusting in the living room. I blurted out all that had happened since the phone call.

“I don't like the sound of it.” My mother put her feather duster aside. “It can't be too healthy to carry all that extra weight around for so many years. I'll call up Mary. She can meet me over there. Mary's had some medical training, and she and Howard go to Miss Cogshell's church. If that doesn't work out, I'll call the doctor myself. Sometimes you have to ignore stubborn people and do what's best for them.”

“She'll be okay though, won't she?” I asked, as I watched my mother flip through her phonebook. She gave a helpless shrug and started dialing the phone number.

A few minutes later, the three of us were hurrying towards Miss Cogshell's. I glanced back at our house and saw Nancy's silhouette withdraw from her upstairs window. We stumbled down the hill in silence. Mary's car was already pulling onto the side of the yard when we arrived.

Just before going in, my mother turned to us. “You can go home, kids. I'm sure she'll be fine.” We both nodded.

“Well, see you,” I said, turning to Craig.

“Yeah, see ya.” He continued to stand there.

“Aren't you leaving?” I asked.

Craig shrugged. “Aren't you?”

Neither of us made a move. We stood outside Miss Cogshell's door, about ten feet apart, watching the moon coming up low over the ocean. All was quiet except for the distant creaking of boat lines. Gentle waves slapped the pier posts and the scent of pine filled the air.

I still couldn't get my teeth to stop chattering and the cool evening breezes didn't help. I rubbed my arms, feeling so alone, when suddenly I felt a weight fall across my shoulders. The army jacket. I glanced at Craig, narrower in his tee shirt than I'd seen him in a
long time. Shyness overwhelmed me, but Craig didn't seem to have any trouble finding a subject.

“Hey, Shrimp, I didn't see you at the Twist Twirl,” he said easily. I started to cringe at the nickname. I looked at Craig and saw no hostility, just friendship. Then I realized what the rest of his words meant. I looked down fast as I felt my stomach sink. I should have known.

“Did you go with Pamela?” I whispered.

“I did. I waited to give her an answer for a couple of weeks. Then I figured since no one else asked me, why not.” Craig gave his usual big grin. “Wanna know the truth?” he added. “I'd heard the band did a wicked version of “Layla,” so I had to check it out.”

I breathed a silent sigh of relief. Was he telling me this for a reason? Or was it just my crazy imagination again? I pictured flashy Pamela and pimply Shrimp standing beside each other. “Was it good?”

“Yeh, they didn't butcher my favorite guitar piece too much.”

Miss Cogshell's door opened, and Mom came out.

“You kids should have gone home long ago,” she said, as I quickly slipped out of Craig's jacket and tossed it to him. “Miss Cogshell seems fine now. I guess she's had this problem before. She says she's got a few more years in her, and Mary's going to stay with her tonight.”

My mother and I said bye to Craig, and he went off in the other direction, while we turned towards our hill.

“So what did you think of her house?” I asked, glad to have shared my special place.

“Didn't really notice too much except that it does need a good cleaning.”

“Oh, Mom.” I rolled my eyes. “You'll never change.”

L
ATER THAT NIGHT
, the wind picked up and the shadow of the old pine tree swaying on my window shade drove me crazy. Maybe tonight would be the night it would come crashing through. And worse, what if Miss Cogshell wasn't back to her cheery self, come morning? I just lost Pup. No way could I lose Miss Cogshell, too. I watched and worried, flipping my pillow over and over in search of a cool place to rest my head.

W
HEN
I
PASSED
by Miss Cogshell's house the next morning on the school bus, everything seemed as usual. My mother had talked with Mary and apparently all was well.

Before the first bell rang, Craig and I were at our lockers when Pamela and Claire came stumbling along on their platform shoes. I had planned on saying hi to Craig before they came. As I closed my locker I realized how ridiculous I was. Why shouldn't I say hi to my friend, no matter who was around? This was the last day of school; it was now or never. I straightened, turned, and started past them, then forced my head around and said “Hi, Craig.”

“Hi, Shrimp,” he answered.

Pamela and Claire stared at me. Then Pamela said, “Hi, Shrimp,” mocking Craig's words.

I ignored her and focused on my task. “You know, Craig.” I paused and took a breath. “I really don't like
that name.” I almost didn't recognize my strong, clear voice.