Free Bittersweet Summer by Anne Warren Smith Page B

photo. “Is that little Claire Plummer?” she asked. “I can’t believe it.”
    “Little Claire Plummer is quite the little lady now.” Dad grinned at me.
    “She’s mostly a pain,” I said.
    “Isn’t she the one who helped you take care of pets over spring vacation?” Mom asked.
    I nodded. “Sometimes she’s okay. She told me she was sad we might move.”
    “Who is this pretty woman?” Mom put her finger on Ms. Morgan.
    “My teacher,” I told her. “She’s wonderful.”
    “Katie’s teacher,” Tyler said with a yawn, “is very wonderful.” He propped his head up with one hand, and his eyes drooped again. Mom hugged Tyler closer to her. “She must be seriously dating Claire’s dad. Look at the three of them.”
    I took the photo from Mom and stared at Ms. Morgan and Claire and Mr. Plummer sitting side by side on the picnic bench. “We just found out she has a boyfriend,” I said, but Mom had turned to the next picture, one of Tyler and Dad and me ducking under a waterfall.
    When Tyler put his head in Mom’s lap and fell asleep, Dad looked at his watch.
    “Don’t go yet,” Mom said. “I need to make sure you all understand about . . . about why I can’t come home.”
    “Seeing you perform tonight made it really clear,” Dad said. “You’re a professional.”
    I nodded as I remembered the cheers, the clapping, the excitement.
    She looked down at Tyler and brushed his red hair back from his forehead. “I miss you all very much,” she said in a soft voice.
    “But,” I asked, already knowing the answer, “you don’t want to do mom things anymore?”
    “I’ll always be your mom. But I don’t have time to be the kind of mom who lives at home with you.” She shook her head slowly back and forth. “I’m sorry, Katie.”
    I looked away from her. “You would probably have trouble,” I said, “getting up early for Tyler. And cooking for us.”
    “Cooking is not my strong point,” Mom said.
    I folded my mushroomy pizza into my paper napkin and pushed it away from me along with dreams of Mom bringing pancakes to the table or baking cookies. This is one of those bitter times, I thought, but a moment later, I remembered the sweet parts. “Singing makes you really happy, Mom. We’ll be okay.”
    Dad nodded. “Katie and I talked about it tonight. We really are okay.”
    Mom blotted her eyes with a paper napkin. She turned then and looked at the big calendar that hung on the side of the refrigerator. “August is coming. We’ll have our time together.”
    “The last two weeks of August,” Dad said.
    I nodded. “At Grandma’s house.”
    “Your grandma is coming to my Spokane concert tomorrow,” Mom said, starting to smile again. “She’s bringing her whole bridge group to the concert.” She hummed and sang, “You’ve got to know when to hold’em, know when to fold’em.” She laughed. “I’ll sing them a cardplaying song.”
    “Mom,” I said, “I know how to play Crazy Eights now. Can we play when we visit you?”
    “Definitely. We’ll play Crazy Eights every day.”
    Tyler sat up and rubbed his eyes. “We might bring a dog,” he said.
    “A dog?”
    “Lucy,” I said, “is the most wonderful dog.” I hugged my arms around myself and remembered Lucy’s warm, soft fur and her dark eyes.
    “She smiles.” Tyler was suddenly wide awake. “Like this.” He pulled his lips into a big grin.
    “She wags her tail all over the place. It’s this long, her tail.” I lifted my arms to show Mom.
    “We’re not sure yet about the dog.” Dad got up and walked toward the door. “Right now, we need to get on the road.”
    Mom hugged Dad. Then she pulled open a cabinet door. “I have some T-shirts for Katie and Tyler. And some new CDs.”
    She hugged Tyler and then me. “I really do miss you all,” she said. She bit her lip and looked at Dad. I could see tears in her eyes.
    “We miss you, too, Mom,” I said. Her strong arms kept on holding me close while her perfume