Claudia and the Sad Goodbye Part 7

"We'll give her clothes and things away to charities - to the Salvation Army, maybe - someday soon," Mom kept saying. "Then we'll turn this into a nice guest bedroom."

But no one had opened Mimi's door. We couldn't do it.

Now Janine was in there, pawing through Mimi's most precious things.

She looked up and saw me hovering in the doorway. "Oh, Claudia," she said. "Come here. Look at this pin." She held it out to me. "I think Mimi would want you to have it since she gave me her earrings."

I glanced briefly at the pin. It was a simple circle of pearls set on a ring of gold. It was not my kind of jewelry at all. But that wasn't the point.

"What are you doing in here?" I said with a gasp.

Janine sighed. "I knew you would ask," she replied. "It's time somebody did this. Look. Here's a ring I know Mimi wanted Mom to have. And here's a bar pin. Ooh, I bet Dad could have it made into a tie tack. Wow, look at this this pin... Oh, I remember this bracelet. Mimi wore it to my eighth-grade graduation." pin... Oh, I remember this bracelet. Mimi wore it to my eighth-grade graduation."

Janine was holding up one piece of jewelry after another. The clincher was when she found a pair of gold earrings and made a grab for them. "Wow! Here are the flower earrings. I'd forgotten about these. I always wanted them, ever since I was little. They'd look great with my white sweater."

Ha! Who was Janine kidding? She doesn't care how she looks. Even Kristy pays more" attention to what she wears than Janine does.

I exploded. "Oh, my lord, Janine. How could you do this? How could could you?" I didn't give my sister a chance to answer me. I plowed right ahead. "Mimi's hardly been gone at all and here you are picking through her things like someone with a fine-tooth comb." you?" I didn't give my sister a chance to answer me. I plowed right ahead. "Mimi's hardly been gone at all and here you are picking through her things like someone with a fine-tooth comb."

"You're mixing your metaphors," said Janine through clenched teeth.

I ignored her. "You're like those awful people in A Christmas Carol A Christmas Carol who wait until Mr. Scrooge is just barely dead and then they go through his room and steal all his stuff, even the rings from his bed curtains, and sell them for practically nothing," I told her. who wait until Mr. Scrooge is just barely dead and then they go through his room and steal all his stuff, even the rings from his bed curtains, and sell them for practically nothing," I told her.

"I do not," said Janine haughtily, "have plans to sell Mimi's things. I just thought Mimi would want us to have them. Peaches and Russ, too."

"Well, I don't think you should be doing this," I shouted. My voice was getting louder and louder, but I couldn't help it. "Why would anyone want Mimi's dumb old stuff anyway? I hate Mimi. I hate her!" I hate her!"

"Hey, hey, what's going on in here?" cried Mom.

She and Dad had appeared behind me in the hallway. I'm sure, from the way I'd been screaming, that they'd expected to find me murdering Janine. As it was, they were pretty surprised just to see Mimi's room lit up, and my sister on the bed in front of the open jewelry box.

"Nothing," I replied.

Needless to say, my parents didn't believe me.

"Into the living room for a family conference," said Dad.

We gathered in the living room. As we were sitting down, I saw Janine stuff something in the pocket of her skirt.

"All right," my mother began. "Would somebody please explain what was going on?"

Janine told Mom and Dad about the jewelry box, and Mom just looked sort of sad and said that we should have had the courage to go into Mimi's room long ago. I opened my mouth to say something, then closed it again.

After a moment of silence, Dad said gently, "Claudia? Is there anything you'd like to tell us? Your mother and I did hear you say that you hate Mimi. Um ..."

I could see how uncomfortable he was, so I started talking. "Well," I said, "I didn't realize it at first. I mean, I didn't realize it until right now, but I'm - I'm sort of mad at Mimi." My voice had grown so soft that my family had to lean forward to hear me.

"Why?" asked Mom.

"Because ..." (I was just figuring this out), "because she left us."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that she wasn't really sick. She was getting better. She was going to come home from the hospital - and then she died. It's like she just gave up. Like she didn't even care about us enough to stay around awhile longer." There. I'd said it. Even though I hadn't known it, I'd been carrying around that big, bad secret - and I'd finally let it out. No wonder I'd felt so tired lately. Keeping bad secrets takes a lot of energy. "I tried tried not to be mad at Mimi," I a.s.sured my parents and sister, remembering how comforted I'd felt that afternoon, feeling that Mimi was near me. not to be mad at Mimi," I a.s.sured my parents and sister, remembering how comforted I'd felt that afternoon, feeling that Mimi was near me. "I "I really tried. Plus, how could I be mad at her when she should have been mad at me?" really tried. Plus, how could I be mad at her when she should have been mad at me?"

Everyone looked puzzled again, so I had to explain about the horrible things I'd done that I felt guilty over. "I bet she thought she was a nuisance," I said. And then with horror I added, "Maybe that that was why she wanted to die. So she wouldn't have to be a nuisance to us anymore." was why she wanted to die. So she wouldn't have to be a nuisance to us anymore."

"Oh, Claudia!" exclaimed my mother. She jumped up from her armchair, crossed the room, and sat down next to me on the couch, enfolding me in her arms.

"Mimi didn't want want to die," spoke up Janine softly, and we all looked at her. We watched her pull the something from her pocket that she'd slipped in there earlier. It was a rumpled piece of paper. to die," spoke up Janine softly, and we all looked at her. We watched her pull the something from her pocket that she'd slipped in there earlier. It was a rumpled piece of paper.

"I think she just knew her time had come and that she was going going to die," Janine went on. "She was trying to accept it and deal with it. Look at this." Janine held the paper out to my mother. "I found this at the bottom of her jewelry box." to die," Janine went on. "She was trying to accept it and deal with it. Look at this." Janine held the paper out to my mother. "I found this at the bottom of her jewelry box."

I peered over at it, and my father came to look at it, too. Written in Mimi's funny handwriting (she'd had to switch to her left hand after her stroke), was an obituary. Mimi had been writing her own obituary - all the stuff about where she was born and who she was survived by. But the weirdest thing was the date of her death. She'd included that, too, and she'd listed it as this year.

"She knew," I whispered.

My mother nodded. "I really don't think she could have held out any longer, Claudia. She might have felt like a nuisance,' that's true. But that didn't have anything to do with the timing of her death. She didn't give up, or let herself die. It's like Janine said. She must have known her time had come. And finally her heart just gave out. I think she was sicker than anyone, even the doctors, knew - except Mimi. She knew."

"The doctors should should have known!" I cried, exploding again. "They should have done more. They're supposed to be trained. They're supposed to be so smart, but they let Mimi die. They never even figured out what was wrong with her. What a bunch of jerks. They should have saved her, but I bet they didn't even try. They probably thought to themselves, 'Oh, she's just an old lady. It doesn't matter.' Well, it matters to me!" have known!" I cried, exploding again. "They should have done more. They're supposed to be trained. They're supposed to be so smart, but they let Mimi die. They never even figured out what was wrong with her. What a bunch of jerks. They should have saved her, but I bet they didn't even try. They probably thought to themselves, 'Oh, she's just an old lady. It doesn't matter.' Well, it matters to me!"

My family listened to my outburst, and I felt better when I was finished. It was" a whole lot easier to be mad at the doctors, since I didn't really know them, than it was to be mad at Mimi. And I felt like I had to be mad at someone.

"Claudia," said my father, "can you remember some nice times you had with Mimi, instead of the bad days at the end?"

"Yes," I answered, feeling my throat tighten. I thought of the night before the funeral, sitting around Mary Anne's kitchen table with my friends. "Yes," I repeated.

Mom and Dad and Janine and I talked about Mimi a little longer, and Mom said that, now that the door to Mimi's room was open, we really should dean it out and fix it up. The rest of us agreed. In fact, we left the living room then and went into Mimi's room. Janine plopped herself down on the bed again, Mom and Dad stepped inside and began to look around, and I hovered in the doorway.

"We can't get rid of the things on her walls," I said. "The haiku poem and stuff. I think those should stay here."

My dad agreed. "They'll look very nice in the guest bedroom," he said. "All we need to give away are her personal items. Her clothes and jewelry and things."

Mom hesitated, then opened the door to Mimi's closet. "I'd kind of like to have her kimono," she said.

Dad picked up a paperweight from the table. "I'd like to keep this," he said, turning it over in his hands. Then, "Hey!" he exclaimed. "There's a piece of tape on the bottom with my initials on it. I guess Mimi wanted me to have it, too."

The four of us began looking through everything in Mimi's room. Lots of things were labeled. Mimi had been thinking ahead. We took the items that were marked for us, and set aside those for Russ and Peaches.

"The jewelry isn't marked, though," Janine pointed out, and she held the pearl pin toward me.

This time I took it. I knew I would never wear it, but I would always keep it, because it had belonged to Mimi.

Chapter 14.

Another Sat.u.r.day, another art cla.s.s.

With the puppets finished, we were trying something more abstract. Collages - even though Marilyn and Carolyn had each made one already. They didn't mind making seconds, though. Their first ones had been made with feathers and sequins, crepe paper and glitter, sc.r.a.ps of felt and lace. Their new ones were going to be made up solely of words and pictures cut from magazines and were to be in the form of birthday cards for their father.

Everyone was hard at work.

Jamie, remembering the twins' joke about Trouble and Shut Up, had decided to invent a joke of his own. "Why," he asked expansively, "did the little girl slide down the slide on her toenail?"

"Why?" asked Gabbie.

"Because she wanted to!" hooted Jamie.

He didn't quite have the hang of jokes yet, but most of the kids let out giggles anyway, I guess at the ridiculous thought of someone actually sliding down anything on one toenail.

When the giggling died down, Carolyn leaned over and whispered something to Corrie, who nodded.

A few moments later, Corrie whispered something to Jamie, who also nodded.

What was going on? A secret?

I could understand that. I had a secret of my own. I was working on a special project in my room. I worked on it in between school a.s.signments and a.s.signments for my art cla.s.ses and my stop-action painting and babysitting and club meetings. It was slow-going, as you can imagine, because of everything else I had to do, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that I was working on it. But I didn't tell anyone about it. It was a secret from my family and my friends. I didn't even mention it to Stacey when we talked on the phone. And Stacey knew about everything else - about how the kids at school had acted, about Janine and the jewelry box, and being mad at Mimi and the doctors. But she didn't know my secret.

Soon everyone would, though.

"Claud?" said Mary Anne, interrupting my thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"I hate to say this, but I think we're running out of glue."

That morning, with the help of Corrie, our early bird, Mary Anne and I had filled little paper pill cups with glue, one for each kid. Collages take a lot of glue. Even so, it was hard to believe we were already running out. But I looked around the table, and the children were literally sc.r.a.ping the bottoms of the cups.

"Okay," I said, "I'll go get the big glue bottle."

The big glue bottle, unfortunately, was in my room, so I had to run up two long flights of stairs - from the bas.e.m.e.nt to the first floor, then from the first floor to the second floor - in order to get it.

When I returned with the glue, I got the distinct impression that Mary Anne and the kids had been talking about something, but had stopped as soon as I appeared. More secrets?

Before I could ask, Corrie spoke up shyly. "Claudia?" she began. "Could a collage be a mural, too?"

"What's a mural?" asked Gabbie.

"It's a very big picture," I told her, trying to sign to Matt Braddock at the same time so that he wouldn't be left out of the conversation. "You could make a drawing on a long, long piece of paper. For instance, you could draw a picture of going for a drive. You could show your street, then your town, then the countryside and a farm. Something like that."

"Oh," said Gabbie, and the others, who had been listening intently, nodded.

"But could you make a collage mural?" asked Corrie again.

"Well, I guess so," I answered.

"Goody!" exclaimed several of the children.

"Is that what you'd like to try next?" I asked.

"Yes," replied Myriah firmly.

I was pleased. The kids were learning new art forms and trying to combine them on their own. That was important.

"Can we start next week?" asked Marilyn.

"Sure," I replied.

"We'll need all all these materials," added Carolyn. "The sc.r.a.ps and glitter and stuff these materials," added Carolyn. "The sc.r.a.ps and glitter and stuff plus plus the magazine pictures and the words." the magazine pictures and the words."

"You know how you guys could help out?" I said, since I was running out of magazines. "You could each bring in a couple of old magazines and even a newspaper, okay?"

I signed to Matt to make sure he understood what we were doing.

Matt nodded, looking excited.

At that moment, the doorbell rang.

"I'll have to get it," I said to Mary Anne. "Dad's gardening in the backyard, and Mom and Janine are out."

"Okay," agreed Mary Anne. The kids were working busily. Everything was under control.

I dashed up the steps two at a time, ran to our front door, and peered out the side window. Was I ever surprised to see Mrs. Addison standing there! The art cla.s.s wouldn't be over for another fifteen minutes. I opened the door. "Hi," I said. (I know I sounded as surprised as I felt.) "Hi," replied Mrs. Addison. "I'm sorry I'm so early. My husband's waiting in the car." (She turned and gave a little wave toward a blue Camaro parked crookedly in our driveway, as if the Addisons were in a big hurry.) "I forgot to tell Corrie this morning that we have tickets to the ice show in Stamford. I mean, tickets for Scan and Corrie. They'll meet a baby-sitter there, and then Mr. Addison and I can enjoy an afternoon to ourselves."

I could feel my temper rising. An afternoon to themselves? Wasn't that all they ever ever had? had?

Time without their children? Dumping them at lessons, with friends, with sitters? I counted to five before I said slowly and deliberately something that both Mary Anne and I had been wanting to say to the Addisons for a long time. Mary Anne really should have been the one to say it, since she's better with words than I am. But, oh well. There was Mrs. Addison, and there I was. It might be our only chance.

"Mrs. Addison," I began, trying to think of ways to be tactful, "this is the first time you've picked Corrie up early."

"Yes, I - " she began.

But I kept on talking. "Did you know that Corrie is always the last one to leave my house after cla.s.s is over? And that she's always the first to arrive?"

Mrs. Addison checked her watch impatiently and glanced over her shoulder at the car waiting in our driveway.

"I love having Corrie around," I went on. "She's a terrific kid. But, well, she feels pretty bad about being left here...left here longer than any of the other children, I mean."

Mrs. Addison's expression changed. She looked at me curiously.

"Did you notice," I started to ask, "that Corrie hasn't brought home any of her art projects?"

"Well," (Mrs. Addison cleared her throat), "I noticed that just, um, just this morning. And I did wonder why."