Whispers are soft.”
“I love adverbs,” Maisie said. “I adore them.”
“You don’t yell loudly,” Felix continued. “Yelling is loud.”
The brick front of Anne Hutchinson Elementary School appeared down the block.
“I’m trying to tell you that Bruce Fishbaum is officially not my friend anymore,” their mother practically shouted.
With that, she pulled over to the side of the road, slammed on the brakes, and brought the Mustang to a screeching halt.
Maisie and Felix were stunned into silence.
“Mom,” Felix said finally, “isn’t it going to be kind of awkward working with someone who’s not your friend?”
Their mother turned around in her seat so that she was facing them full-on.
“Well,” she said, and then she got a funny lookon her face. She half smiled, and her eyes got dreamy and moist. “He’s not my friend, because he’s now my boyfriend.”
Maisie and Felix stared back at their mother, who looked suddenly young and girlish, in a way that made them both feel uncomfortable.
“What about Dad?” Felix asked.
“Although he’s your father, he’s my ex-husband,” their mother said evenly. “I am allowed, even entitled, to have a boyfriend.”
That weird half smile came back and she said, “And I do. Have one. A boyfriend, I mean.”
Her cheeks grew pink, and her eyes grew dreamier.
“Bruce,” she said as if the name itself was magical. “Bruce is my boyfriend.”
Felix could only stare at this person who was acting and sounding and looking nothing like his mother.
But Maisie moved into action. She unbuckled her seat belt and snapped the door open. She grabbed her backpack and, her eyes blazing, she announced, “I will never speak to you again, you…you…traitor!”
Then she got out of the car and stomped down the street toward school.
“Felix?” their mother said. “You understand, don’t you?”
Felix wanted to say yes. But his mind was full of all the things it meant to have a boyfriend. It meant his mother spending time with that boyfriend and holding his hand and kissing him. Those were the things his mother did with his father. And now she was doing them with Bruce Fishbaum.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I don’t.”
The school bell rang, and Felix slowly gathered his things.
“He’s wonderful,” his mother said. “Just wait until you get to know him.”
Felix just shook his head and got out of the car. Up ahead, Maisie had already disappeared into the crowd of kids going into school. Felix hurried to catch up.
Ever since Great-Aunt Maisie died, Felix found himself liking the escape of school and all its activities more than being in Elm Medona. For a brief time, after Great-Uncle Thorne had movedthem out of the servants’ quarters and into the mansion itself, being at home had seemed like a mysterious adventure. Even though Felix felt weird having maids and cooks and a butler, he still liked eating at the enormous Dining Room table on the Pickworth china and doing homework in the Library, with its burgundy leather walls and bookshelves lined with first editions of books by writers like Mark Twain and Nathaniel Hawthorne and Emily Dickinson.
But now it seemed to Felix that everywhere he looked in Elm Medona reminded him of Great-Aunt Maisie. At school, the smells of chalk dust and floor wax and sweat comforted him. He liked sitting around the table with the other class officers—Lily and Bitsy and Avery and Jim—discussing replacing the snacks in the vending machines with healthier choices and when to hold a car wash to raise money for the class trip to Washington, DC, and what the theme of the sixth-grade dance should be. Sometimes, Lily Goldberg caught him staring at her and smiled. That was always a good thing. He liked baseball practice, changing into his red-and-white uniform and running out to the field behind the school. Andhe liked walking home in the late afternoon with Jim Duncan, who would tell Felix the elaborate plots of
“I love adverbs,” Maisie said. “I adore them.”
“You don’t yell loudly,” Felix continued. “Yelling is loud.”
The brick front of Anne Hutchinson Elementary School appeared down the block.
“I’m trying to tell you that Bruce Fishbaum is officially not my friend anymore,” their mother practically shouted.
With that, she pulled over to the side of the road, slammed on the brakes, and brought the Mustang to a screeching halt.
Maisie and Felix were stunned into silence.
“Mom,” Felix said finally, “isn’t it going to be kind of awkward working with someone who’s not your friend?”
Their mother turned around in her seat so that she was facing them full-on.
“Well,” she said, and then she got a funny lookon her face. She half smiled, and her eyes got dreamy and moist. “He’s not my friend, because he’s now my boyfriend.”
Maisie and Felix stared back at their mother, who looked suddenly young and girlish, in a way that made them both feel uncomfortable.
“What about Dad?” Felix asked.
“Although he’s your father, he’s my ex-husband,” their mother said evenly. “I am allowed, even entitled, to have a boyfriend.”
That weird half smile came back and she said, “And I do. Have one. A boyfriend, I mean.”
Her cheeks grew pink, and her eyes grew dreamier.
“Bruce,” she said as if the name itself was magical. “Bruce is my boyfriend.”
Felix could only stare at this person who was acting and sounding and looking nothing like his mother.
But Maisie moved into action. She unbuckled her seat belt and snapped the door open. She grabbed her backpack and, her eyes blazing, she announced, “I will never speak to you again, you…you…traitor!”
Then she got out of the car and stomped down the street toward school.
“Felix?” their mother said. “You understand, don’t you?”
Felix wanted to say yes. But his mind was full of all the things it meant to have a boyfriend. It meant his mother spending time with that boyfriend and holding his hand and kissing him. Those were the things his mother did with his father. And now she was doing them with Bruce Fishbaum.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I don’t.”
The school bell rang, and Felix slowly gathered his things.
“He’s wonderful,” his mother said. “Just wait until you get to know him.”
Felix just shook his head and got out of the car. Up ahead, Maisie had already disappeared into the crowd of kids going into school. Felix hurried to catch up.
Ever since Great-Aunt Maisie died, Felix found himself liking the escape of school and all its activities more than being in Elm Medona. For a brief time, after Great-Uncle Thorne had movedthem out of the servants’ quarters and into the mansion itself, being at home had seemed like a mysterious adventure. Even though Felix felt weird having maids and cooks and a butler, he still liked eating at the enormous Dining Room table on the Pickworth china and doing homework in the Library, with its burgundy leather walls and bookshelves lined with first editions of books by writers like Mark Twain and Nathaniel Hawthorne and Emily Dickinson.
But now it seemed to Felix that everywhere he looked in Elm Medona reminded him of Great-Aunt Maisie. At school, the smells of chalk dust and floor wax and sweat comforted him. He liked sitting around the table with the other class officers—Lily and Bitsy and Avery and Jim—discussing replacing the snacks in the vending machines with healthier choices and when to hold a car wash to raise money for the class trip to Washington, DC, and what the theme of the sixth-grade dance should be. Sometimes, Lily Goldberg caught him staring at her and smiled. That was always a good thing. He liked baseball practice, changing into his red-and-white uniform and running out to the field behind the school. Andhe liked walking home in the late afternoon with Jim Duncan, who would tell Felix the elaborate plots of
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