Sophie's Stormy Summer Read online

  “Let’s get you into the house, Kitty-Cat,” Dr. Bunting finally shouted to Kitty.

  “It hurts to move!”

  “That’s why I’m going to carry you. Up we go.”

  Dr. Bunting was as lean as the runners Sophie had seen on the sports channel, but she stood up with Kitty in her arms as if she were lifting a bag of sponges. Genevieve shifted Rory onto one hip and took Izzy from Fiona and planted her on the other.

  “Heads down, everyone!” Genevieve called out. “Plow right through!”

  The two little ones squealed happily. But the Corn Flakes were a solemn group as they plodded after them, faces cowering from the bite of the storm.

  When they got to the house, Dr. Bunting and Kitty disappeared. Genevieve led the group inside. “Showers, ladies,” she said over her shoulder.

  “I want to see Kitty,” Maggie said. Her voice was thudding.

  Genevieve turned and walked backward. “I know you do. Get showered and I’ll find out from the doctor when you can see her.”

  “I want to see her now,” Maggie said.

  “Just give it a few — ”

  “I have to make sure she’s okay.”

  “My mom’s a doctor, Mags!” Fiona said. “Of course she’s okay.”

  “I don’t think it’s as bad as it looks.” Genevieve continued to back toward the downstairs hall. “You know our Kitty has a strong sense of the dramatic.”

  “What does that mean?” Maggie said as the Corn Flakes climbed the stairs to their suite.

  “It means Kitty’s a drama queen,” Fiona said. “Which is our own fault. We made her that way.”

  “She’ll be up making our film with us before supper,” Sophie said to Maggie. “You know she will.”

  “No, I don’t,” Maggie said. “And neither do you. You didn’t see her when she fell down. She went limp — like this.”

  Maggie demonstrated on the stair landing. We made HER a drama queen too, Sophie thought.

  “I did that when I had a bad dose of flu,” Darbie said.

  “Yeah, I bet she’s got the flu,” Fiona said. “She was sick the week before we came. Her mom almost didn’t let her go with us, but since my mom’s a doctor she said it was okay.”

  Maggie looked at each one of them as they spoke, but nothing on her face was moving.

  Darbie put her hand up to her mouth. Sophie could hear a laugh bubbling up her throat.

  “It’s not funny,” Maggie said.

  “Not that! Look at us!” Darbie said. “We’re all in flitters — we look as if we washed up onshore and some old beach bum dragged us in!”

  Sophie looked at the four of them and started her own fit of giggles. Their hair was all soaked and matted to their heads, and their suits and T-shirts drooped on them like hung-up laundry.

  “Do I look as funny as you guys do?” Fiona said. She ran to the mirrors on the closet doors and shrieked at herself. “I’m hideous!”

  “I’m a sea witch!” Sophie squeaked at her own reflection.

  Even Maggie’s lips twitched as she stared at her wilted self. “I’m taking a shower,” she said. “I’m gross.”

  Clean and combed and equipped with juice boxes and tortilla chips and the homemade salsa Maggie’s mom had sent along, the girls were in the big second-floor sunroom watching the ocean whip into a frenzy when Genevieve came in. She looked as if she’d never even been in the storm. She was in jean shorts and a stretchy T-shirt with lime green flip-flops to match.

  “Can I go see Kitty now?” Maggie said.

  Genevieve smiled at her. “You have a mind like a steel trap. Dr. Bunting’s still with her. What’s good to eat?”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Maggie said.

  “She’s not sure yet,” Genevieve said, smiling again and scooping a handful of chips.

  “But you know something.”

  Sophie thought Maggie was right. Genevieve was acting the way adults did when they were trying to change the subject — being all thrilled over something like chips and making their voices cheery.

  “Someone’s perceptive,” Genevieve said. She sighed. “Kitty’s running a fever. Mr. Bunting is calling her parents to see if they want to come get her to take her to her own doctor.”

  “My mom’s a great doctor!” Fiona said.

  “The best. But she doesn’t have all the equipment here to run tests.”

  “Why do they have to run tests for the flu?” Fiona said.

  “It must be a REALLY bad dose,” Darbie said.

  Maggie shook her head. “It’s not the flu.”

  Genevieve’s eyes sparkled at Maggie as she nibbled on the tip of a chip. “You’re a doctor now too.”

  “Doctors don’t get all concerned about the flu,” Maggie said. “She’s bad-off sick.”

  “She’s not that sick, Mags,” Fiona said.

  “You don’t know.”

  “Guys — ” Sophie said.

  “You know a lot of stuff,” Maggie said. “But you can’t know this — ”

  “Guys — ”

  “We all get fevers. Darbie — when was your last fever?”

  “Guys!”

  They all stopped and looked at Sophie. She tried to wind her voice down out of squeak zone.

  “Maybe we should just pray,” she said. “That’s what Dr. Peter would say.”

  “But first — fill me in,” Genevieve said. “Dr. Peter’s your Bible study teacher, right?”

  Everyone started to talk at once — except Maggie — and Genevieve finally held her hand up to shush them all, and pointed to Sophie.

  “You tell, Cuteness,” she said.

  So Sophie told her everything about Dr. Peter, the Christian therapist her parents started sending her to see almost a year ago when she had been spending most of her time daydreaming. Now she was seeing him only once a month, but Darbie talked to him almost every week because she had a lot of things to deal with — like her father’s dying in Northern Ireland when she was just a baby, and her having to grow up with violence on the streets, and then her mother’s being killed in a car accident so that she had to come to the United States to live with her aunt and uncle in Poquoson. Dr. Peter was the best, the best, the best at helping kids work out their stuff. He’d even gotten Maggie to start eating again, back at the end of the sixth grade, when nobody else could.

  And now, Sophie explained to Genevieve, Dr. Peter had their new Bible study group at church, which they just called their Girls Group, where they were learning how to be close to God by getting to know Jesus — big breath — by studying the Bible and learning that it showed them how to live. All the Corn Flakes went to the class, except for Kitty.

  “Her parents don’t believe in church,” Sophie said.

  Darbie lowered her voice to a whisper. “We’re not even sure they believe in God.”

  Genevieve nodded. Not a single smirk or “isn’t that cute” had appeared on her face while Sophie was talking.

  “Then that’s all the more reason to pray for her,” she said. “Do you join hands or what?”

  They always did, and they did it now, and with Sophie starting they all asked God, one by one, to be with Kitty and not let her be afraid. Maggie just flat out TOLD God that he had to make Kitty better fast.

  When they all opened their eyes, Genevieve still had hers closed. Sophie waited until she lifted her eyelids.

  “What were you praying there at the end?” Sophie said.

  “I don’t think you can ask someone that, Sophie!” Darbie said, pronouncing Sophie’s name the way she always did, like it rhymed with “goofy.”

  Fiona grinned. “She’s just inquisitive.”

  “What’s ‘inquisitive’?” Maggie said.

  “I ask a lot of questions.” Sophie pushed her glasses up her nose. “Is that okay, Genevieve?”

  “It is absolutely okay. There at the end, I was just imagining Jesus.”

  Darbie practically knocked over the salsa dish. “That’s what Dr. Peter taug
ht us to do!”

  Genevieve daintily chewed a chip. “I learned it from my grandmother, my mother’s mother. It’s what got her through some pretty horrible times in her life.”

  “What happened to her?” Sophie said.

  Fiona nodded. “Definitely inquisitive.”

  Genevieve dusted the salt from her hands over the table and wiped it with a napkin. She made it look like a hand lotion commercial.

  “My grandfather — her husband — was Jewish. They lived in the south of France when the Nazis occupied France during World War II.”

  “Oh,” Fiona said. “The Holocaust.” She turned to the Corn Flakes. “You know, when Adolf Hitler tried to have all the Jewish people killed.”

  Sophie found herself inching closer to Genevieve.

  “Was your grandmother Jewish too?” Darbie said.

  Genevieve shook her head. “No, but she thought what the Nazis were doing was — ”

  “Heinous,” Fiona put in.

  “And she refused to abandon my grandfather.”

  “Was your mother born yet?” Fiona said.

  “No.”

  “Then we know it turned out okay, because if it didn’t, there wouldn’t be you.” Fiona nodded as if that took care of that.

  “Depends on what you mean by ‘okay,’ ” Genevieve said. Her smile was turned down at the corners. “They weren’t killed, but they went through horrible things that haunted them for the rest of their lives.”

  Sophie felt Darbie shudder beside her. “Could we not talk about this right now?”

  “Actually,” Genevieve said, crossing her legs in front of her, “I was thinking we should watch a movie. Who’s up for Ice Age?”

  Sophie didn’t catch much of the movie. She was busy in the south of France —

  Huddling with her mother in the dark, wet alley, the young woman trained her eyes to see at least the outline of her father. Her brave father, who had crept out to see if the Nazis were coming. “Father!” she hissed into the eerie mist. “Come back — they’ll see you!” But there was no answer, no sign of her papa. “Mama,” the French girl who didn’t have a name yet said, “put your shawl over your head. Like this. Stay warm.” She pulled the rough woolen shawl over her mother’s head and tried not to see the frightened look in her eyes. She must stay brave.

  “Sophie, why do you have that beach towel over your head?” Maggie said.

  “Leave her alone, Mags,” Fiona said. “It’s our next film.”

  It was dark and they were starting Ice Age for the third time when Dr. Bunting let them see Kitty.

  She was lying very still in the guestroom bed downstairs, just the way she had on the beach. When Fiona bounced onto the mattress beside her, Kitty winced as if Fiona had punched her out.

  “She’s achy,” Dr. Bunting said.

  “Like the flu,” Darbie said.

  Fiona looked at Maggie. “It IS the flu, right, Mom? I told Maggie it was.”

  “It hurts more than the flu,” Kitty said. Sophie could barely hear her voice.

  “Bad dose, then,” Darbie said.

  Maggie, meanwhile, was shifting her eyes between Kitty and Dr. Bunting.

  “She has flu-like symptoms — ” Dr. Bunting started to say.

  But Fiona’s father appeared in the doorway, looking tanned from the golf game he must have gotten rained out of, and tall and sort of ropey as if he were all long, tight muscle. “Your dad’s on his way, Kitty,” he said.

  “In this storm?” Maggie’s eyebrows were twisted.

  “I think your mom would do the same thing if you were sick,” Dr. Bunting said. “Hey, why don’t you guys keep Kitty company for a few minutes?”

  She patted Kitty’s hand and made her exit with Mr. Bunting right behind her. Sophie knew there was going to be a no-kids-allowed talk. It made her stomach uneasy.

  “I don’t want you to leave, Kitty!” Darbie said. “Sophie has a new idea for a flick. You should have seen her dreaming on it when we were watching Ice Age!”

  “For the second AND third times,” Fiona said.

  “I’m sorry you missed it,” Sophie said. “I know it’s your favorite — but OUR film is going to be even better — ”

  “I don’t want to go home,” Kitty said.

  At least she hadn’t lost her whine. That’s probably why she’s been thinking everybody’s yelling at her, Sophie thought. She’s been sick the whole time.

  “So beg your mom to let you stay,” Fiona said. “My mom will take care of you.”

  “She’s the one who said I have to go home.”

  “No way!” Fiona said. “Stay right here — I’ll take care of this.”

  Fiona charged for the door, but her dad was already standing there. “It’s a done deal, Fiona,” he said. “So don’t start giving me a five-point proposal.”

  “Let me just ask this one thing,” Fiona said. “Why won’t Mom take care of her? Will it interfere with her tan?”

  Sophie sucked in a breath. She could picture herself talking to Daddy in that tone. She could also picture being grounded until she was in college.

  But Fiona’s father just said, “Step into my office and we’ll discuss it.”

  Fiona turned to the Corn Flakes and gave them a thumbs-up as she followed him into the hallway.

  “Do you think she’ll get him to let me stay?” Kitty said in her tiny voice. “If I go home, I’m going to miss everything!”

  “No worries,” Darbie said. “We won’t have a bit of fun without you.”

  “I know I won’t,” Maggie said. Sophie could tell she meant it.

  “It isn’t fair!” Kitty said — and once again she started to cry. But it looked like it hurt to do that, and so she cried even harder.

  “It’s okay, Kitty,” Sophie said. She got as close to the bed as she could without touching it. “We’re only going to be here four more days. That’ll give you time to get well so you can be in the film. We’re all going to be French — what do you want your name to be?”

  Kitty blinked. “Danielle. I always wanted to be called Danielle.”

  “I’ll write that down in the book,” Maggie said.

  “I was Antoinette when we did our Williamsburg movie,” Sophie said. “But I need to pick another name because this takes place during World War Two, so Antoinette couldn’t still be alive — at least, I don’t think so — ”

  Kitty just watched her.

  “We prayed for you,” Sophie blurted out.

  “It still works, even if you don’t go to church,” Darbie said. Then her face got blotchy-red and she gave Sophie a “Do something!” look.

  Sophie didn’t have to because Fiona came back in looking like something was pinching her face.

  “My mom says we have to let Kitty sleep,” she said.

  “I’m not leaving,” Maggie said.

  “What if we’re really quiet and we just sit here with her?” Darbie said.

  Sophie didn’t say anything. She knew Fiona. It wasn’t just that she’d lost the battle with her parents. Something was very, very wrong.

  Three

  Kitty’s father arrived, still in his U.S. Air Force uniform, and when he walked into the house, Sophie felt like they should all jump to attention. The Corn Flakes followed him silently into the bedroom where he scooped the sleepy Kitty up in his beefy arms, ignored her whining to please let her stay, and told the Buntings he was sure she was going to be fine. He barked when he talked.

  Only when they were gone and Maggie and Darbie were asleep did Fiona whisper to Sophie, “He told my dad he came to get her because he didn’t want my parents to have to be taking care of her while they were on vacation. But my mom said she made him take her because she’s sure Kitty has something worse than the flu.”

  Sophie propped herself up on her elbow. “Like what?”

  By the glow of the nightlight, she could see Fiona rolling her eyes. “She said she was not at liberty to say until the test results confirm her suspicions.”

>   “What does that mean?”

  “It means she knows, but she’s not telling because if she’s wrong she’ll look stupid.”

  “Oh.” Sophie flopped back onto her pillow. The wind was still slapping the windows with rain, making the night as dismal as she felt. “It’s not the same without Kitty.”

  “But, Soph — we have to try to have fun.”

  “Right,” Sophie said. “Maggie’s never even been to the beach before — and Darbie never went on a vacation her whole life, ever.”

  “Fun is what Corn Flakes do.”

  And the Corn Flakes did try. They built more beach huts and made necklaces out of shells that already had tiny holes in them. They made the best one for Kitty.

  They tossed around ideas for their film and Fiona wrote them down in the Treasure Book. Sophie was Sofia, and Maggie was Marguerite, and Fiona was Fifi, and Darbie was Daphne. But they named Kitty Danielle, just as she wanted.

  For the rest of their vacation, they filmed everything they did on Sophie’s video camera so they could show it to Kitty when they got home. But when the camera was off, every time anybody brought up Kitty’s name, they deflated a little, like air slowly being let out of a balloon.

  Maggie asked Dr. Bunting at least four times a day whether she’d heard anything from Kitty’s parents. Dr. Bunting always said no news was probably good news.

  On their last day at the beach, the Corn Flakes were down at the water, saying good-bye to the ocean, when Maggie said, “Hey, Sophie. Your little brother’s here.”

  Sophie whirled around to see six-year-old Zeke, dark brown hair sticking up in spikes, tearing down from the beach house with Izzy and Rory hot on his trail. Genevieve strode calmly behind them. Lacie, Sophie’s fourteen-year-old sister, was standing on top of a sand dune, her hand forming an awning over her eyes.

  “I see she’s back from her mission trip,” Fiona said. “Are you ready for her to be the boss of you again?”

  Sophie didn’t answer, because the sight of her sister made her want to run — not away from her, but to her. I missed her! Sophie thought. I actually missed her!

  She started toward the dune, but Zeke hurled himself at her and took both of them down to the sand, squealing like piglets.

  “Sophie! I got a new Spider-Man and it’s got a wall he can climb up and I can make him do it and I didn’t mean to use up your whole purple marker and Mama said I should say I’m sorry and I am and Lacie brought me a drum from Mexico and Daddy says I can play it on all the days that don’t end in Y — ”