Once Upon a Toad (7 page)

We walked just past the entrance to our dead-end street, then turned onto the muddy path that led into Forest Park.

“Good thing I wore my hiking boots,” said my great-aunt.

I had to smile at that. My great-aunt always wears hiking boots. Last time I was in her RV, I'd counted seventeen pairs of them.

“Eighteen,” she said absently, poking at one of the shrubs we passed. “Ah, eighteen rhododendron buds, I mean. They'll be blooming before you know it. Dogwood, too.”

We continued on, with her taking note of all the trees and plants we passed. It was almost like going for a hike with my father. I'd
had no idea that my great-aunt knew so much about the outdoors, but then again, it made sense, what with her obsession with the national parks and everything. We emerged into a clearing, and she paused to catch her breath, then turned to me, abruptly changing the subject.

“So what's all the fuss about, Catriona? I must say, when I spoke with your mother last night, I was expecting a life-and-death situation. It looks to me like you have it pretty good here in Portland.”

“It's not all that bad,” I admitted grudgingly. “Except for Olivia.”

Great-Aunt Abyssinia gave me a shrewd look. “A bit of a pill, isn't she?”

I looked up at her, surprised. Most grown-ups think Olivia is perfect. That halo of blond curls fools them every time.

“It does, does it?” said Great-Aunt Aby.

I started. Had I spoken that last thought aloud?

Great-Aunt Aby inspected some moss on the side of a nearby tree.

“Why don't you tell me what's going on between you two,” she said, and listened quietly as I told her everything that had happened over the past week. She chuckled at my description of how I'd sabotaged the diorama and dunked Olivia's toothbrush in the toilet, and scowled when I got to the “Catbox” tap dance.

“Little weasel,” she muttered.

Encouraged by this reaction, I told her about the stuff that had happened when we were younger, too, like the time back in third grade when Olivia cut off my bangs while I was sleeping. “She swore up and down that she'd had nothing to
do with it, and that I had been sleepwalking and had cut them myself.”

Great-Aunt Aby's big teeth peeked out from between her lips, took a look around, then vanished as she squelched a smile. “She did, did she? And did your father and Iz believe her?”

I wrapped my arms around myself. The sun had disappeared behind the clouds again, and the wind was picking up. “I think maybe Dad thought it sounded fishy, but he didn't say anything. I know they really want us to get along, so sometimes they kind of ignore things, you know? But it's not fair!”

“Not everything in life is fair, Catriona,” Great-Aunt Aby replied. “However, sometimes it's possible to stack the deck a little in one's favor.”

“Really?” I replied cautiously. I wasn't sure if this was an offer to help or not. I hoped she wasn't going to pull another plastic bag out of her pocket. Stepsister-B-Gone that doubled as antiperspirant or flea powder or something.

“I understand that Olivia doesn't have the most generous of spirits, but it seems to me that what you two need is to find some common ground.”

I snorted.

“Surely there's something you two share that you can build on?”

I shook my head. This conversation had taken a disappointing turn. I'd been hoping for something with a little more oomph, not just a piece of lame advice. Like maybe an offer to spirit Olivia away in the RV. That would serve her right. See how she liked living on pickled eggs and seaweed.

Great-Aunt Abyssinia smiled, her eyes glinting behind her glasses again. “You have a delicious sense of humor, Catriona. You're very like your mother was at your age—and like the Catriona for whom you were named.”

I looked at her in surprise. “You knew my great-great-grandmother?” Exactly how old was Great-Aunt Aby, anyway?

“Very,” she replied, then coughed. “I mean, of course I did. I mean—oh, never mind.” She cocked her head sharply, suddenly alert. “Your father's heading home early,” she announced. “We'd better go back.”

My mouth dropped open. How could she possibly know that? Ignoring me, Great-Aunt Aby turned abruptly and charged back down the Wildwood Trail. I had no choice but to follow her, my head spinning from all the strange twists and turns of our conversation.

“Such a lovely little cottage,” my great-aunt said as we emerged onto our street again. “And such a lovely family.”

“Except for Olivia,” I muttered under my breath.

Great-Aunt Abyssinia gave me a fleeting smile that told me she'd heard what I'd just said. She might be old, but she had ears like a hawk.

“Would you like to come in for a minute?” she asked, gesturing at her RV. “Archibald would love to see you again.”

I nodded. “Sure.”

Archibald stretched and hopped down from his perch on the sofa when we came in. He's the best thing about Great-Aunt Abyssinia's RV. He's huge, twenty pounds at least, which could be why Great-Aunt Aby picked him. “Big woman like me needs a big cat,” I remember her telling me back at Mount Rushmore.

“Hey, Archie,” I said, scratching him under his chin. “Remember me?”

He twined himself around my legs and blinked up at me, his bright green eyes glowing like traffic lights against his coal black fur. When you talk to my great-aunt's cat, he cocks his head to one side like a dog. You could swear he understands every word you say.

“Have a seat,” said Great-Aunt Aby. “Help yourself to anything you'd like in the fridge.”

Fat chance,
I thought, but I checked anyway, more out of curiosity than anything else. Sure enough, there were half a dozen bottles of Great-Aunt Aby's favorite breakfast beverage, the green stuff my mother and I had dubbed SuperGloop, along with a half-eaten burrito, two lemons, some prickly pear yogurt (I didn't know it came in that flavor), the ever-present pickled eggs, and what looked like leftover fish sticks but which I was pretty sure had never been anywhere near the ocean. Surprisingly, there was also a can of root beer. I reached for it and sat down at the table.

“Now, where the dickens did I put that rascal?” muttered Great-Aunt Aby, stooping down in front of the bookshelves that lined the short hallway leading to the back of the RV, and her bedroom.

I looked around curiously. Everything seemed pretty much the same as the last time I was here. Same knickknacks; same clutter. The wall of souvenir plates had expanded—I spotted one with a picture of Old Ironsides and another of the Alamo—and I was pretty sure she'd added another shelf over the dining table for her growing collection of fairy-tale snow globes. I would have remembered the Little Red Riding Hood one for sure.

And the books! Another of my great-aunt's hobbies is
collecting secondhand books, and there were piles of them everywhere, including on the table in front of me. I picked up the one on top, a dusty old volume with
PACIFIC NORTHWEST FLORA AND FAUNA
printed on the cover.

“Great-Aunt Aby, can I use your phone for a sec?” I asked, suddenly remembering I'd promised to call Rani about our science homework. “I left my cell in the house.”

“Sorry, honey, I don't have one,” she replied, distracted.

“How about your computer, then?” I could send Rani an e-mail or an IM that way.

She shook her head regretfully. “No computer, either, I'm afraid. And no VCR, DVD, or GPS. No alphabet soup of any kind—well, except for TV. I love the Food Network. Other than that, though, I'm off the grid.”

Great-Aunt Aby watched cooking shows? This was surprising news. You sure wouldn't know it by the contents of her fridge. Then something else occurred to me. “But I thought you said you talked to my mom last night.”

“Did I?” She straightened, blinking owlishly at me. “Oh—pay phone. Yep, that's it. Pay phone.” She turned back to the bookshelf and ran her fingers across the spines. “Perrault, Grimm, Andersen—it's got to be here somewhere.”

I sipped my root beer, puzzled. A pay phone? Did they even exist anymore? And how would my mother have known which one to call, anyway? Before I could ask, though, my great-aunt gave a cry of triumph.

“Aha!” She plucked a tome off the shelf and blew on it. Dust flew everywhere, and Archibald sneezed. The book's green leather cover was shabby and worn; the gold lettering on
its spine faded. I couldn't make out the title. Great-Aunt Aby leafed through the pages.

“No, no, not that one,” she murmured, scowling. “Nasty side effects.” She flipped a few more pages, then paused again. “This could work.” She tapped a large finger against the side of her equally large nose. “Hmmm. Perhaps not, though. Those scales were most unpleasant.”

What on earth was she talking about?

I opened my mouth to ask, but just then Archibald leaped up onto the fabric-covered bench beside me and started kneading my leg.

“Ouch, Archie! Quit it!” Distracted, I carefully detached his claws from my jeans and placed his paws on the bench instead.

“Now, this one,” continued my great-aunt, “this might just do the trick. Yes indeed, folks, I think we have a winner.”

“Winner of what?” I asked her.

She snapped the book shut, sending up another puff of dust. Beside me, Archibald sneezed again. “None of your beeswax,” Great-Aunt Abyssinia replied loftily. “Let's go say hello to your father.”

CHAPTER 6

Monday morning I was the first one up, which was unusual. Most days I'm awakened by the sound of my father rattling around in the kitchen or by the smell of his coffee. The two of us are early birds, but he's a
really
early bird. He's always first in the shower, then me, then Olivia. Except when Olivia decides to sneak in ahead of me and hog it.

Today, though, the house was completely silent. Well, except for what sounded like a flock of geese coming in for a landing behind Geoffrey's door but which was only his snoring, of course.

I figured my father must have been wiped out from the field expedition and all that driving yesterday, to sleep in past six. The two of us had had a long talk last night after dinner, and he'd managed to convince me to go back to school.

“I'm not saying it was okay for Olivia to call you that name, because it wasn't, but you don't need to do a belly flop into the puddle of self-pity because of it,” he'd said, using one
of his favorite expressions. “Suck it up, Kit-Cat. ‘Sticks and stones,' remember? We Starrs are made of strong stuff. Your ancestors came across the Oregon Trail in a covered wagon!”

I gave him a crooked smile. That's another of my dad's favorites, one he loves to trot out whenever he feels I need encouragement.

“Plus,” he continued, “the Hawkwinds need you. You can't bail on them the day before the talent show.”

He had a point.

I squinted at the clock by my bed, yawning. I had enough time to eat breakfast first, before it was my turn in the bathroom. Putting on my robe and slippers, I started to tiptoe out of the room, pausing by Olivia's bed. She was sound asleep on her back with her mouth wide open. I fought the temptation to do something, like maybe drop a dirty sock in it. Dad had read us both the riot act last night, though, and made us promise to shape up. So I left her where she was and crept quietly out of the room.

On my way downstairs I glanced through the stained-glass window on the landing. Great-Aunt Aby's RV was gone, just as she had said it would be. For a fleeting second I found myself wishing I could have gone with her. But maybe now that Dad was home things would be different. Besides, I was starting to look forward to the talent show. Great-Aunt Aby had asked me to play my bassoon for her, and she'd praised my Bach piece to the skies.

She hadn't asked Olivia to tap-dance, I'd noticed.

I was just sitting down at the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal when my little brother appeared, clutching his smelly blanket.