The Truth of Me by Patricia MacLachlan Page B

phone. She sees me but doesn’t hang up.
    â€œIs she friendly with other animals?” asks Maddy.
    â€œVery,” I say. “She likes all dogs, and cats, and some rabbits that come around. Except for squirrels,” I add. “She chases squirrels.”
    â€œWe’ll have to work on that,” says Maddy.
    Work on that?
    Still my mother listens.
    â€œI’ll call you back,” I say, suddenly angry.
    I hang up the phone and go into the kitchen, where my mother still holds the phone. I walk up to her and take the phone out of her hand and hang it up.
    â€œYou forgot to hang up,” I say to her.
    She frowns at me, but I am used to that.
    My father calls to her from the other room.
    â€œJudith? Are you taking a case of bows?”
    She turns and leaves without saying anything.
    I pick up the phone and dial Maddy’s number.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œIt’s Robbie.”
    â€œWhat I meant was, will Ellie be all right with animals in the wild?” asks Maddy.
    â€œYes,” I say, hoping that somewhere in the house my mother is listening. My voice echoes in the kitchen.
    â€œYes,” I say firmly.

3

Maddy
    M addy’s house sits on a hill bordered by woods.
    My father drives the half-hour trip there, my mother lecturing me about “keeping watch” over Maddy.
    â€œIf she does anything strange, you can call Henry,” says my mother.
    Maddy always does strange things. And my parents are leaving me for two months while they go off to play. If they were really worried, they wouldn’t leave me. Would they?
    I don’t say that out loud.
    Henry, the town doctor, lives four houses down the road from Maddy. Maddy and Henry are friends. Better friends than my parents know. Maddy and Henry eat dinner together at least three times a week. Usually Henry cooks. Maybe this would make Henry strange to my mother, too.
    I decide not to mention that to my parents.
    Maddy’s house looks like the house in Little Bear , one of my favorite books when I was little. It is a cottage with whitewashed plaster walls, big, colorful braided rugs, lots of bookshelves of books, a fireplace, and overstuffed chairs. She has a big stove, but sometimes Maddy forgets to cook supper on time. Once we had doughnuts for dinner.
    I never told my parents that either. My mother and father are always cooking dishes with Swiss chard and couscous and beans and spices that are strange to me: coriander, ginger, and cloves.
    There are many things that I don’t tell my parents. Many things I don’t say out loud. That means there are many things rolling around inside my head.
    We drive into Maddy’s driveway.
    The car stops.
    â€œHere,” says my mother softly.
    Ellie jumps out of the car first and runs to Maddy’s front door. Ellie remembers the doughnuts.
    Maddy comes out, tall and thin with short, spiky white hair. She wears jeans and boots. My parents don’t get out of the car. My father leans out of the window to kiss my cheek, but he doesn’t hug me.
    Maddy hugs me, though, and waves goodbye to my mother and father and Mozart, who is living in two big suitcases in the backseat of the car. The printed music of Mozart, that is.
    Another suitcase carries some Beethoven and Schubert and some modern music I call “wikkeldy pikkeldy” music.
    â€œWe’ll call,” says my father.
    â€œDon’t worry, we’ll have fun!” says Maddy.
    â€œBye, Robert!” calls my mother.
    She doesn’t look back when she calls to me. Her mind, I know, is already on the first concert. Then the next.
    And the next.
    And all the concerts after that.
    â€œShe’s gone,” I say out loud.
    â€œYes,” says Maddy, understanding that I don’t mean that my mother is just driving away in the car.
    â€œShe is,” repeats Maddy.
    Even though it is the beginning of summer there is a small fire in the stone fireplace. Maddy likes a fire. Ellie likes