Call Me Amy (13 page)

Craig lifted one eyebrow. Then he snapped his fingers a few times like he was trying to place me. Finally he pointed and said, “You will be Amy from now on.” He smiled that great grin of his, followed by a mock salute in my direction.

What a goof. I had to smile.

As I walked away I heard Pamela and Claire exchange whispers and giggles, but I had a super sure feeling inside me that I would never hear the name Shrimp again.

S
O THE DAY
had started well, but sometimes things change quicker than a storm at sea. Riding home on the bus that afternoon, an ambulance passed us, lights flashing. It pulled into Miss Cogshell's yard. The bus was silent for once as we watched the ambulance workers rush in.

Craig got off at his usual stop and I saw him sprint down the lane to Miss Cogshell's. I jumped off at the next stop and ran back to stand beside him. I doubted there was anything either of us could do, but I wanted to be there.

Finally her back door swung open. They lugged Miss Cogshell on a stretcher past her beloved lilac
bush, finally in full bloom. An oxygen mask hid her face. Her white hair, still so full of life, swung down in long strands on either side of her. A sheet almost covered the mask. What were they thinking?

“Get that off!” I tried to shout, but only air escaped my gasping breath. I wanted to storm over and pull the sheet off, so she could breathe.

Craig must have read my mind. With a firm hold, he grabbed my arm. “I think we lost her,” he said.

I shook my head no, back and forth. I felt Craig's grip release as they lifted her into the ambulance. Mary climbed in after them. Through blurry eyes I watched them speed up the road. I stood still while what just happened processed in my mind. When I looked back at the little gray house, I realized Craig had disappeared as fast as the ambulance.

It took me forever to climb our hill that day. I spent the night curled up on my window seat. I clutched the little porcelain moose for luck, and prayed my heart out for good news. Maybe there had been a mistake. Maybe Miss Cogshell was chuckling right now about the joke she had played.

My mom came in with a cup of cocoa. “You okay?” she asked. I nodded, unable to trust my voice. The cocoa went cold long after she left the room. I continued to stare out into the darkness. My weepy eyes turned the night sky into shooting stars.

T
HREE DAYS LATER
I sat with my mother at Miss Cogshell's funeral, held in her tiny church. After the series of small strokes, the most special old woman in my world had encountered a massive one—one she could not survive.

I was a wreck in my scratchy blue dress, waiting for the service to start. I whispered to my mother, “I don't know what to do.”

“Why, you don't have to do anything.” She patted my hand as the minister took his place at the front of the church. I peeked behind me one last time at the half-empty pews and spotted Craig's blond head coming in through the big arched doors. I didn't dare look at his face. I figured he'd sit at the back alone, but next thing I knew, I was shoving in to make room for him. I noticed the usual fresh grass scent of his jacket, mixed with a soapy smell.

Howard and Mary were there. Mary was one of several who stood up and spoke about Miss Cogshell. It made me wish I had known her even better.

“A lot of people in town had a problem with the books she used to assign to her students,” said Mary, “but I'll tell you, that woman put the love of reading in us, well at least in me.” She glanced at her husband with a warm smile.

“Howard used to sit behind me in her class and pull my braids. It was Miss Cogshell who gave me permission to turn around and sock him one if he ever did it
again, but he never did.” There was a trickle of chuckles and her husband's face turned crimson.

Craig and I exchanged looks. His hair was actually smoothed back like he had dragged a wet comb through it. The corner of his mouth twitched. I think we both remembered Howard's red face on the day we let Pup go.

“Anyone else?” asked the minister.

Craig's leg started bouncing beside me and a minute later he was standing at the front of the church in that old army jacket.

“I don't, I mean . . . I'm not used to churches, but I just want to thank Miss C. for all she's done.”

Craig glanced at Howard and then with a who-cares shrug, he started in on the story of finding a helpless little orphan seal pup. He told it well, right down to the last farewell splash. The first time he mentioned my name, he nodded at me and everyone turned to stare. My mother raised her eyebrows at me and then took my hand as I slid further down in the pew.

“So that's the whole story,” he said with a laugh, glancing again at Howard, who shook his head in dismay. Then Craig looked around at the flowers, and the solemnness of the occasion seemed to hit him.

“She also helped me with personal things, and I'm gonna miss . . . ” Craig's face crumpled.

A few coughs and sniffles sounded from the small congregation. I squeezed my eyes shut. The church became
so silent I thought I could hear the beating of my heart, but it was Craig's sneakers pounding up the aisle, out the door.

For me, a gray cloud settled in the church despite the sunlight still pouring through the stained-glass windows. The organist accompanied a small choir, who sang:

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see.

I felt a big lump form in my throat and I wanted to cry, but I didn't let myself because I knew if I did, I might never stop. If I cried, I might be admitting Miss Cogshell was really gone and that I'd never see her again.

The hymns ended with a long
Amen
that seemed to go on forever, before the organ went silent. After the service, people said how nice it had been, how the flowers were beautiful, how lovely the casket was, and other stupid things.

I raced home, changed into my jeans, and then wandered down to the dock to clear my head.

Moist salt air rose from sun-splashed waves. I sat at the end of the pier, as usual, and kicked my feet. The ocean spread out before me and I thought about how it
was always here waiting and always would be. Seagulls were still flying, fish still swimming. Just like when I was small. Just like they would be if I sat here again in fifty years. And in a hundred years, all new people, but still that old ocean would be slapping the shore.

As I was about to leave I noticed a small black ball bobbing far off to my left. Then another further out. Old tires perhaps. The first one moved closer. Were my eyes playing tricks on me? I stood up and raised my hand to block the sun. My breath came faster. I walked backwards, not taking my eyes off the object. I leapt off the pier and ran to the little beach just as he was reaching the shore.

“Pup! Is it really you?” I knelt down and spread my arms wide. He hesitated. The little heart shape above his left eye sparkled in the sun. He nuzzled me and nipped my arm. I pulled his heavy body close and held him for a brief moment before he wiggled and splashed with two strong flippers. The cool water struck me and dripped into my eyes. I dashed it away.

When I could see clearly again, Pup was further out in the water beside the other shape. Yes, there were two! Another seal, a bit smaller and darker than Pup was by his side.

“Oh, Pup, I'm so happy for you.” Tears of relief finally pushed the sad tears out. I cried. And cried.

Pup and his friend splashed around a while and then took off. “Come back again, Pup,” I called. “I love you!”

I
WENT AROUND
in a daze for the first two weeks of summer vacation.

One night, bored out of my brain, I glanced at the local newspaper. It was filled with articles about the annual port picnic. Our town picnic was always held in the field down on the other side of the pier, across from Miss Cogshell's house. I supposed I would go. All of Port Wells turned out each 4th of July. There was usually watermelon and three-legged races. That sort of thing. For the last few years they had added a small stage and hooked up a microphone to a generator, so people could sing and dance and make fools of themselves. It was usually pretty funny.

There was also an interesting story in the news about a project where young puffins were being transplanted from Newfoundland to Eastern Egg Rock, a tiny island in Maine. I smiled. New little friends for Pup.

I skimmed an article about Skylab 1. The three astronauts were back from a record breaking 28 days in space. A month ago when they were sent up, I had thought it wasn't really such a long time. Now I realized a lot could happen in a month.

I turned to the next page of the newspaper and spotted a public auction notice. The small blurry photo below the notice showed none of the beauty of the little house by the sea. I thought I was going to be sick. How could the town sell Miss Cogshell's special home to just anybody? I threw down the paper and ran to find my father.

Dad was in his study, as usual, and we had strict orders not to disturb him when the door was closed. Except for emergencies. I turned the knob after a quick knock.

He placed his index finger on the work in front of him, slid his glasses further down his nose and then greeted me over the top of them with a
this had better be important
look. “Yes?”

I foolishly begged him to buy the house, sharing one wild scheme after another. “We could even rent it out to vacationers,” I insisted.

He shook his head. “I'm sorry, Amy. There's just no way I could afford another place even if I wanted to. And that house has definitely seen better days.” His finger hovered over his papers and I knew he wanted to get back to work.

It was no use. I closed the office door quietly behind me. Then I went to my room and climbed onto my window seat.

The next day, early, before anyone else was up, I ran down the hill. The salty air was dense with morning fog. A startled heron flapped its way out of the marshy area by the beach. Tears streamed down my face as I watched it soar overhead. It had been a long night.

I plunked myself down on Miss Cogshell's back steps. Only a few withered blossoms clung to the lilac bush, but the lupines were going strong. Their bright rainbow spikes let out a peppery scent.

My head ached as I dwelled on my problems. The auction was set for July 10th. What could I do to stop it? I closed my eyes and pictured the inside of the house. I went through each room with its special things. I thought of all those books, just lying there rotting. A plan formed in the back of my mind.

L
UCKILY
, C
RAIG ANSWERED
on the first ring or I probably would have chickened out and hung up. It had been a while since we'd talked. He was thrilled to hear I had seen Pup and his pal at the pier. Then, I blurted my scheme of how to save Miss Cogshell's house. I finally stopped to take a breath and heard silence. Even over
the phone lines he could make my face redden. “I guess it's a stupid idea,” I said.

“No,” said Craig quickly. “I'm just thinking you should announce it at the picnic next week.”

“Announce it? In front of the whole town? Yeah, right.”

“I'm serious,” said Craig, “If you tell them just the way you told me, it might work. And there's not much time. I was down at Al's this morning and some city people came in talking about Miss C's house. They wanna tear it down and squish in a hotel.”

“That's stupid,” I snapped. “A hotel wouldn't fit on that little . . . ”

I heard Craig's mother yell in the distance.

“I've gotta go,” said Craig, and he hung up. I wondered about his mom and decided I would ask about her when I saw him at the picnic. In the meantime I had to figure this out.

I went up to my room and started pacing, just like in the cartoons. Part of me said, “They are not going to get her house.” My other half said, “Forget it, there's no way a stringy-haired kid is going to make any difference.” One thing I knew for sure was I couldn't make a town announcement. I finally decided to find Craig at the beginning of the picnic and convince him to give the speech.

Day after day I moped around my room. I didn't read any books, or do any cross-stitching. I sat in my
window seat, stared out into the backyard, and waited for the picnic—my only hope.

My exasperated parents threatened to send me off to summer camp.

“This one has lots of activities for girls
and
boys,” said my mother. “Oh, when I was your age I dreamed of going to a co-ed camp.” Mom got a faraway look on her face while she went off in a reverie of canoe races, crafts, and campfires.

But I couldn't snap out of it. All I could think about was Miss Cogshell's beautiful home getting smashed to smithereens.

Even Nancy attempted to be nice to her poor, sorrowful sister. I caught her looking at me the day before the picnic. She shook her head, her pink lips in a frown.