Meeting Miss 405 by Lois Peterson Page A

down on the lake someone sitting in a boat.
    Grandpa chatters on. He gets up and down from the table, and then he goes back and forth to the counter. He peeks out the window when he thinks I am not looking.
    If she was here, Mom would tell him to
Sit still for heaven’s sake
.
    I show him my special book. I tell him how Dad and I will decorate my bike for sports day next week. Then I tell him about the calligraphy and the letter I have written Mom.
    When Grandpa asks if he can see the letter, I tell him it is private. That I wrote it for Mom in my own words and for her eyes only.
    â€œYou are one brave girl. Naming you after such a sturdy and persistent wildflower was the perfect thing to do,” says Grandpa. “I have the best girls in the world!” His face gets all pink when he is excited.
    At last I hear Dad walking up the stairs. When he comes in the house, he goes straight to the coffeepot and pours a cup.
    â€œCan I go now?” I ask.
    Dad’s face is blotchy and his eyelashes are wet. But he is smiling. “Sure. Mom is eager to see you.”
    I walk down the hill, trying not to run. Little waves glint on the lake. Leaves shiver in the trees. My stomach feels flickery, and my hands are sweaty. But I let the flickering and the sweatiness be. When I get to the bottom of the hill, I stand for a minute, looking at Mom’s back as she stares at the water. “Mom?”
    She turns around. Then she puts out her arms, and I walk right into them.

    Mom is just the same. But different.
    She reminds me of kids on the first day of school. Everyone has new clothes and fresh haircuts. Everyone is on their best behavior.
    I have not seen Mom’s dress before, or her shoes. Her hair looks like she had it cut. I wonder how long it will take her to go back to being her usual self, like kids on the second day of school.
    Mom and I talk a bit. But not much. There are lots of silences between us.
    She tells me about the birds she has been watching, sitting here by the water. About some of the other people at the clinic. One lady cleaner is always happy to sit and talk to Mom or anyone else who needs company. Maybe for now she’s Mom’s Trusted Other.
    She says, “I will be home soon. Will you be pleased?” But she is looking out over the water. Not at me.
    We sit side by side in the chairs. I look at the sun dancing on the glinty water.
    I try to let the tight place in my chest be. I try to stop worrying about what I should say. For a while I don’t even think about the letter I wrote that isstill in the pocket of Dad’s bag in Grandpa’s house. I don’t think about when will be the best time to give it to her or if she will smile when she reads it. Or if it will make her cry.
    I try not to worry about what will happen next and just practice being here.
    I see a fish make a little splash. I hear the breeze rustle the leaves and a loon far down the lake call to its mate and the clatter of a bucket along the shore.
    When Mom moves her hand from her chair to mine, I put my fingers on hers and stroke and stroke and stroke.

CHAPTER 18
Show and Tell
    Mr. Howarth said I could show and tell about calligraphy in the last art class of the term. So I work on my presentation after school every day. I make sure each word is perfect. Like all those books that made Miss Stella famous. She showed me pictures of some of them. One of them took almost two years!
    Mom came home last weekend for a visit. Dad said he needed to spend some time alone with her, so I had lots of time at Miss Stella’s to write in my new book and learn some new flourishes and practice my report.
    While Mom was here, it was not quite like normal. But it feels like it might be soon.
    Maybe I knew this stuff already, but this is what I wrote in my new notebook about some of the things I noticed this weekend:
    Dad puts his hand on the back of Mom’s neck when they talk in the kitchen before dinner
.
    Mom flicks