Free Dawn and the Impossible Three by Ann M. Martin Page A

onto her hip and hurried into the playroom. I followed.
    A horrible sight met our eyes. When we had left Buddy and Suzi, they’d been watching a rerun of
The Brady Bunch
on TV. But while Mrs. Barrett and I had been in the living room, they had transformed the playroom into a disaster area. A bowl of water sat in the middle of the floor, surrounded by half-full paper cups and jars — and bottles of food coloring. They had been experimenting with the colors, but it had gotten out of hand. Little puddles of pink and blue and yellow water were everywhere. The kids’ clothes were streaked, and several stuffed animals now had greenish fur. The shriek had occurred when Buddy had spilled pink water over Suzi’s head.
    He said it was an accident.
    Suzi disagreed.
    Mrs. Barrett looked ready to fall apart. She hugged Marnie to her and closed her eyes. I thought she might even cry. Since my mother is a big crier, I know the signs well.
    â€œI’ll take care of it,” I told Mrs. Barrett. “Why don’t you dry Suzi off? Buddy, go get the paper towels. We’ll clean up.”
    â€œHow come Suzi doesn’t have to clean up?” whined Buddy. “She made a mess, too.”
    â€œI know, but she’s all wet. Besides, if you get the towels, I’ll show you a trick.”
    Buddy hesitated for just a second. “Okay!” he agreed.
    Mrs. Barrett took the girls upstairs, and Buddy returned with the towels. I placed one square over a puddle, soaked it up, and then held the towel out for Buddy to see.
    â€œIt’s pink!” he exclaimed. “Let me try!” So Buddy went around wiping up puddles, and I emptied the jars and cups into the bowl and returned everything to the sink in the kitchen. Then I scrubbed at the stuffed animals, but even after several minutes they still had a greenish cast to them.
    Buddy finished with the puddles and we hung several of the colorful paper towels up as artwork.
    Then Mrs. Barrett returned with Marnie and a smiling Suzi, and peeped into the playroom.
    â€œOh, thank goodness, Dawn,” she said. “It looks wonderful in there. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She began to usher me toward the front door. As I put my sweatshirt on, she handed me an extra tip. “For averting a crisis,” she explained. “You’re a lifesaver. Each time you sit, the house looks better when you leave than it did when you arrived. I used to be such an organized person, but since the divorce, everything seems overwhelming. Money is a little tight, too. If the children’s father would — Oh, well. Anyway, I hope you know how much I appreciate you. I think you’re the glue that’s holding us together.”
    The glue that was holding them together? That was a little scary. It sounded like an awfully big responsibility.
    At that moment, the phone rang. “I’ll get it!” Mrs. Barrett yelled, but she was too late. We could already hear Buddy on the extension in the kitchen saying, “Hello?”
    â€œBuddy, I told you, you are not to answer the phone!” Mrs. Barrett shouted.
    â€œIt’s Dad, Mom,” Buddy shouted back.
    Mrs. Barrett clenched her teeth.
    â€œHe says where are we? He says you were supposed to drop Suzi and me off at his apartment by five-thirty, and he’s been waiting for half an hour.”
    â€œOh-my-goodness-I-completely-forgot!” Mrs. Barrett exclaimed. “Dawn, I’ll see you on Wednesday afternoon, right?”
    â€œRight,” I replied. “At three o’clock.” But Mrs. Barrett didn’t even hear my last words. She was already rushing for the phone.
    Over the next couple of weeks, I baby-sat for the Barretts an awful lot. This did not escape any member of the club. They didn’t mind, of course, except when it cut into meetings.
    But I minded a few things. Mrs. Barrett’s disorganization caused a number of problems. One afternoon