Dawn's Book Read online

  “I feel it,” Jeff said. He was still nervous.

  When I pointed out that no one else in the restaurant was acting as though this were an earthquake he finally relaxed. “Oh, neato,” Jeff said with relief.

  The revolving restaurant was “neato.” The whole evening was “neato.” Between appetizers (I had stuffed mushrooms) and the main course (I ordered chicken divan) we gave Granny and Pop-Pop presents. Jeff’s and my presents were individual school pictures in gold frames. “When we send our pictures next year you can change the picture and use the same frame,” I explained.

  “Neato,” Granny said with a grin.

  My parents’ present was the trip to San Francisco and Saturday matinee ticket series to the Metropolitan Opera in New York City. “What a perfect gift,” Granny said. “Going to the opera and the ballet are things that we both like to do.”

  “I suppose you’re going to drive me crazy humming all those arias,” Pop-Pop teased her. I was beginning to see that the way they were treating one another was loving teasing. Especially when Granny shot back, “My singing’s a lot better than your imitations of the ballerinas we saw last month.”

  Pop-Pop winked at me and whispered, “The old girl’s got a point.”

  I was wondering if my grandparents had gotten one another anniversary presents when Granny reached into her purse and pulled out a small square box, gift-wrapped in gold paper and tied with a gold ribbon. “I should have given you this present before,” she told Pop-Pop when she handed it to him. “You could have used it.”

  Pop-Pop opened the package and took out a gold watch. “Put on your reading glasses and take a look at the back,” Granny said.

  He turned the watch over. “Don’t need glasses to read this, my dear,” he said.

  “What does it say?” I asked.

  Pop-Pop didn’t hear me. He was too busy kissing Granny thank you. I turned the watch over and read it myself. “C.T.P. & R.R.P. Time passes. Our love endures.”

  “Did you get Granny a present?” Jeff asked Pop-Pop.

  “Jeffrey Charles Schafer, where are your manners?” my mother scolded.

  Pop-Pop reached over and tousled Jeff’s hair. “What do you think?”

  “I think you forgot,” Jeff said.

  Pop-Pop laughed, then turned to Granny and said, “Rita, it’s warm in here. Why don’t you have some water?” I figured Jeff was right. Pop-Pop didn’t have an anniversary gift for Granny.

  Granny looked at Pop-Pop and said, “Oh, Charlie, you didn’t!”

  I thought she meant, “Oh, Charlie, you didn’t get me a gift!” But that’s not what she meant at all. “Oh, Charlie,” she repeated as she lifted her water glass to the light.

  “Need your glasses to see it, old girl?” Pop-Pop asked.

  “I certainly do not,” Granny said as she put a spoon in the glass and took something out. She held up a sapphire and diamond ring for us to see.

  While Granny was putting on the ring and thanking Pop-Pop, my mother told us that Pop-Pop had given Granny her engagement ring the same way over fifty years before. “He dropped it in her water glass when she wasn’t looking and then said, ‘Rita, it’s warm in here. Why don’t you have a drink of water?’ ”

  I had no more doubts that my grandparents loved one another — and always had. I thought how lucky I would be if I had such a happy marriage some day. I was also thinking how lucky I was to have parents who loved one another.

  Just then Pop-Pop said, “We’ve been married fifty years. But there’s another couple at this table who have been married fifteen. Sharon, Jack, I wish you two the happiness that Rita and I have had.”

  “Here, here,” I said as I raised my ginger ale in the toast.

  My parents had thirty-five years to go. But that weekend I had no doubt that they’d make it.

  One of the ways I tried to shut out my parents’ constant arguing was to spend as much time as I could away from home. After school and on weekends I’d mostly hang out with Sunny doing the things most seventh-graders do: fooling around, doing homework, going to the beach with our friends, and baby-sitting. Sunny and I liked baby-sitting and we had some clients who called on us a lot. I especially liked to sit for Clover and Daffodil Austin who lived next door to me.

  Even though my parents were fighting I wasn’t afraid they’d get divorced. My big fear that fall was that our house would burn down.

  For as long as I could remember I’d been afraid of fire. When I was little my mother didn’t have to remind me not to play with matches. I wouldn’t go near them! I didn’t like when people lit candles either. And whenever I heard fire truck sirens I’d worry that my house was on fire.

  I knew that I was more afraid of fire than most people, so I didn’t talk about it much. But one day I began to think that my fear of fire wasn’t so unreasonable after all.

  It was a Sunday evening and my parents had invited the Winslows for a barbecue supper in our backyard.

  I was a little worried that my parents would start bickering in front of the Winslows, but things went along smoothly at first. Mom, Mrs. Winslow, Sunny, and I were inside skewering chicken and vegetables. My dad, Mr. Winslow, and Jeff were in the backyard in charge of the grill.

  Through the kitchen window I saw my dad light the coals. I always hated the big swoosh of fire when the fluid is lit. I kept an eye on the flames that were darting out of the grill.

  “Are you finished skewering the peppers and onions?” my mother asked me.

  “Almost,” I mumbled distractedly. The fire in the grill had subsided. Now my father was moving the coals around with his big barbecue fork. That was also dangerous, I thought. Suddenly a hot coal popped out of the grill and landed on a pile of newspapers. In an instant the papers were in flames.

  “Fire!” I screamed. My mother was already running out the door with the pitcher of iced tea. Sunny and her mother also grabbed liquids. But I was too panicky to act sensibly. Sunny later told me that I ran outside with them and just stood there screaming, “Fire! Fire!” while she and the adults easily put out the flames.

  I do remember all of us standing around the charred papers. “Wow!” Jeff said. “That was neato.”

  “Neato?” I shouted at him. “The house could have burned down! The whole neighborhood could have been destroyed! People could have been killed! What’s so ‘neato’ about that?”

  “Calm down, Dawn,” my dad said. “It was just a little fire. Everything’s under control.”

  “It was an accident,” my mother added.

  “Right,” my father mumbled to my mother. “Some accident. You said you were going to take those newspapers to the garage.”

  “And who knocked the hot coal out of the grill?” my mother asked.

  They glared at one another for a second before remembering they had company and a meal to prepare. Things returned to normal for the rest of the evening. Normal for everyone but me. I was busy figuring out how I could protect our home and family from another accidental fire.

  Before I went to bed that night I made a list of the steps I would take to insure our safety.

  I began fire prevention instruction at dinner the next evening. First, I read my checklist aloud so Jeff and our parents would have an overview of what we would be doing.

  “How come I have to close my eyes when I climb out the window?” Jeff asked.

  “Because during a fire there might be a lot of smoke and you wouldn’t be able to see,” I explained.

  “Oh,” Jeff said as he pushed back his chair. “I’ll go try it.”

  “Eat your dinner first,” my mother said.

  “What if a fire starts right now and I don’t know how to get out?” Jeff asked.

  “Jeff, if a fire started right now,” my father said, “it wouldn’t make a lot of sense to go to our bedrooms and climb out the window with our eyes closed. We could go out the back door.”

  “It would sure make sense if the back door was on fire!” Jeff said with a grin. “Go
tcha!”

  “In that case, please use the front door rather than climbing out the window with your eyes closed,” my father said.

  “We’ll work on escape routes later,” I said. “Now, Jeff, here’s a question. What would you take with you if there was a fire in the house?”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” he replied. “First my video games and model airplanes. Oh yeah, and my bank. Definitely my bank. And — ”

  “Nope,” I said. “Wrong answer. You know what you should take?”

  “Don’t say clothes, Dawn. My video games are more important.”

  “The correct answer is, don’t take anything. When you are escaping a fire just get yourself out. Don’t worry about your stuff.”

  “Dawn’s right, Jeff,” my mother added. I flashed her a thank-you smile.

  “You mean you just let all your stuff burn?” Jeff said in amazement.

  “It’s the safe thing to do,” I told him.

  My mother assured me that the batteries in the smoke alarms were okay.

  My father said I was right about putting important documents in a fireproof box and that ours were in one.

  Before we left the table my parents promised to buy two fire extinguishers.

  While my father and I cleared the table Jeff went to his room to do homework and my mother made a phone call. After I put the dishes in the dishwasher, I sat at the kitchen table. I drew the layout of our house and added arrows to indicate the evacuation routes to take if there were a fire in the front of the house.

  My mother came into the kitchen for a cup of tea. She looked over my shoulder and asked, “How’s it going?”

  “I’ll make a chart with different evacuation routes in case of a fire in the back of the house,” I told her.

  “What if the fire is in the hall?” she asked.

  “Good thinking, Mom,” I said. “I’ll make one for that, too.”

  “Don’t encourage her,” my father told my mother. I saw him give her an evil look as if it were her fault that I was trying to save their lives.

  That night I stayed awake until I was sure that Jeff was asleep and my parents were in bed. Then I stood in the front hall and screamed at the top of my lungs, “Fire! Fire! Fire in the kitchen!” I made my old Minnie Mouse alarm clock go off at Jeff’s door to be certain that he woke up. My parents rushed out of their room.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” my father asked. “It’s almost midnight. You have school tomorrow.”

  “This is a fire drill,” I explained. “You’re supposed to go out the front door if there’s a fire in the kitchen.”

  “Dawn, you can’t expect me to go outside in my nightgown,” my mother said.

  “You’re getting a little carried away here,” my father added. “This really isn’t necessary.”

  “Not necessary?” I cried in disbelief. “Jeff is sleeping through the fire drill. If that happened when there was a real fire — ”

  Just then the front doorbell rang.

  “You probably woke the neighbors,” my mother said.

  “Dawn, you better answer it,” my father said. “You’re the only one who’s properly dressed.”

  I ran to the door all the while thinking that I would expand my fire prevention program to the whole block. I’d photocopy my list …

  I opened the door. Jeff walked in. “I went out the window like you said,” he told me, “but I kept my eyes open.”

  Looking over his shoulder I saw that he was carrying his Gameboy behind his back. I didn’t mention it. After all, he was the only one in the family who even responded to the fire drill.

  “That was fun,” Jeff told our parents. “Can we do it again tomorrow night? Is it my turn to decide when to shout fire?’

  “No,” my parents replied. That was the first thing I’d heard them agree about in weeks.

  On Saturday I was in the kitchen reading the directions for using the new fire extinguisher when my dad returned from playing tennis. “I want to go over these directions with you,” I said to him. “I already showed Jeff and Mom how to use it.”

  “I know how to use a fire extinguisher, Sunshine,” he said.

  “Well, okay, if you’re really sure you know how.”

  “What’s going on here today?” he asked.

  “I’m baby-sitting for the Austins in a few minutes.”

  “You mean there won’t be any fire prevention lessons today?” he asked with a grin.

  “I guess not. But you should all review the evacuation routes. They’re on the refrigerator door so you can look at them a lot.”

  Jeff wandered into the room. “I already know them by heart,” he said.

  Just before I left for my sitting job my mother came into the kitchen. She took something out of the fridge, stopped to look at the evacuation charts, just the way I’d planned, and said, “Well, let’s see, what shall we have for dinner tonight? Barbecued kitchen or broiled living room?”

  Jeff totally cracked up. “Now that’s funny, Mom,” he said. “That’s really funny. Let me tell you why.”

  I had to laugh myself. Instead of fire prevention my parents were going to get a not-very-funny lecture on what makes a joke funny.

  Since the Austins live in the house next to ours I only had to walk across our two yards to get to my sitting job. Five-year-old Clover burst out of the front door and ran to me shouting, “Dawn’s here!” Eight-year-old Daffodil was right behind her.

  “Can we play school, Dawn?” Clover asked as I led the girls inside. “We’ll be the students and you be the teacher.” Clover was five and had just started kindergarten, so she was pretty enthusiastic about school.

  “I don’t want to play school,” complained Daffodil. “That’s boring. I want to paint with our new pencils. Dawn, wait until you see them. They’re pencils that turn into paint when you make them wet.”

  “If we played school,” I told Daffodil as we entered the house, “you could teach us how to use the pencils. You could be the teacher and Clover and I would be your students.”

  “Well, I guess that’s okay,” Daffodil said, “if I can be the teacher.”

  “Oh, boy,” said Clover. “We’re going to play school.”

  Mrs. Austin came into the living room. “Good going, Dawn. You’re a master at negotiation. I think you should run for public office.”

  “I’ll settle for baby-sitting,” I told her.

  She looked at her watch. “I better go or I’ll be late.”

  “Did you leave me the phone number where I can reach you?” I asked.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she said. “I’ve been so distracted today I almost forgot.” She searched through her purse and handed me a business card. “Some of my pieces are in a group show at this gallery,” she explained. “Today’s the opening. Mr. Austin and I will be there for the next two hours. Then we’ll come right home.”

  Mrs. Austin is a first-class weaver. She weaves creative, interesting pieces from different colors and types of yarns. You can hardly walk in the living room because of the looms Mrs. Austin has set out for her work. I looked around at the pieces that were still in the looms. Even half-finished they looked great. “Your work is so beautiful,” I told her. “I’m sure the show will be a big success.”

  “I hope so,” she said. “Maybe you’ll go see it.”

  “I want to. Mom and Dad want to go, too. Can I keep the card?”

  “Of course.”

  I stuck the card in my jeans pocket.

  Mr. Austin entered the living room and said hello to me. “All set?” he asked his wife.

  “I guess,” she said.

  “Relax, darling. The pieces you put in the show are sensational. People will love them.”

  Mrs. Austin looked into Mr. Austin’s eyes and smiled. “Thank you,” she said softly. She kissed him on the cheek.

  Seeing how much the Austins loved and respected one another reminded me of what was missing in my parents’ relationship lately. But I didn’t want to t
hink about my parents and their fights, so I was glad when Mr. and Mrs. Austin left and I was alone with my baby-sitting charges. If I kept busy with the kids I wouldn’t have time to think about the troubles at home.

  Clover and Daffodil had fun playing school with the new art supplies. So did I. One of the things I love about baby-sitting is how creative it can be. First you get to think up fun, interesting things for the kids to do and then you get to do the activities with them. Our “teacher,” Ms. Daffodil, told us to each make a picture that illustrated our first names. “It doesn’t have to be realistic, class,” she instructed. “For example, I don’t have to draw a picture of a daffodil for my name. I can just make an abstract painting with a lot of yellow and green in it.” I was impressed with how sophisticated Daffodil was when it came to art.

  When we had finished our pictures and admired one another’s work, Daffodil said, “Now, class, we will have physical education period.” She leaned over and whispered to me, “Can we have it outside, Dawn?”

  I nodded yes and our “teacher” led us out to the backyard. First we touched our toes ten times (with straight legs), then we played jump rope. After we’d all had a couple of turns jumping, Clover asked, “Teacher, when can we have snacks?”

  Daffodil looked at me and I gave her the okay sign. “Snack time is right now, class,” she said. “Line up behind me.” We marched into the kitchen. “Dawn, you’re in charge of snacks today.”

  “Okay, teacher,” I said. I opened the refrigerator and looked around. “Today for snacks we are having apples and cheese.”

  “And chocolate chip cookies,” added Daffodil.

  “And chocolate chip cookies,” I agreed.

  We sat around the table to eat our snacks. “I like this school even better than kindergarten,” Clover said.

  Ms. Daffodil was smiling and looking very pleased with herself.

  Suddenly I smelled something funny in the air. Was it smoke? I sniffed again. It was smoke. I looked around the kitchen. I didn’t see any sign of fire. Without letting the kids know what I was doing I quickly walked around the kitchen and checked the stove, toaster oven, and coffee pot. They were turned off. Only a minute had passed since I first smelled the smoke, but now I could see that the room was getting smoky.