Part 7 (1/2)

”You get your birthday letter tonight,” Franklin reminded me.

”I know,” I said.

”Excited?”

”A little.”

After a while, my cousins' car pulled into our long driveway. Aunt Sally jumped out first.

”Look at you, girl! All grown up!” she shrieked as she gave me a hug. ”There's a baby in the house, right? I'm dying to meet her!” She ran up the porch steps. Whose birthday was it, anyway?

Uncle Beau hugged me, and Jake rubbed his fist against my head.

Franklin dropped out of his tree-perch.

”What's with the helmet?” Jake asked.

”I'm protecting my cranium from you,” Franklin said.

”Great,” said Alec, pounding on the top of the helmet. Franklin held it down tight with both hands.

I rolled my eyes. ”Come on, we can go eat.”

Because of the sloppy joes, we were going to eat in the kitchen instead of the dining room. Uncle Hugh had already brought in extra chairs, so everything was ready.

The sloppy joes were awesome, as always. Two silent compet.i.tions began between those who wanted to be the sloppiest and those who wanted to be the neatest. All the boys were a total mess. Aunt Bessie and Aunt Sally took tiny bites, but Annie let sauce gush out the back of her hamburger bun and left some on her chin. That made me laugh. Then the messy-compet.i.tion got loud with laughter. Alec dipped his fingers in the red sauce and made war-paint streaks on his cheeks. Franklin had sauce all over his face and hands, but I don't think it was on purpose. Ava stayed in her carrier seat on the floor and no one paid any attention to her, for once.

After we all cleaned up, it was time for cake and presents.

I got a a a fifty-dollar gift certificate to the movie store from Aunt Sally and Uncle Beau.

a a One Free Day Trip pa.s.s from Leonard to anywhere I wanted. What came to mind right away was the amus.e.m.e.nt park, but it was October, so it was closed until spring. I'd have to think about where I wanted to go.

a an easy cookbook from Aunt Bessie. She wrote in it: We can learn the recipes and spend more time together in the kitchen!

a a goal journal from Uncle Hugh. It has pages in it where you can write the goal at the top, how you plan to achieve it, steps you've taken, and then the date of achievement on the bottom. He smiled at me when I opened it.

a a book of knot-tying techniques from Franklin. ”You need to improve your skills. Then,” he added in a whisper, ”you can hang your lunch from a hook in your locker instead of letting Amanda squish it, and she won't be able to get it off.” It sounded neat to practice knots, but maybe not in my locker. Amanda might make a big deal of that. Franklin's bright ideas could get me made fun of again.

I took the birthday ribbon from Aunt Bessie's present and looped it through my hair around my ponytail. The table was strewn with plates of half-eaten cake and wrapping paper, but my birthday wasn't over yet. I would get my letter at bedtime. But first I said goodbye to my guests.

Franklin was last to go. His mom came to pick him up.

”You have sloppy-joe sauce on your ear,” I said as we stood on the porch.

”Oh.” Franklin tried to wipe it, but he didn't know where it was. I licked my thumb and wiped it off for him. ”See you tomorrow,” he said. ”Don't forget to start practicing those knots.”

”I won't,” I said.

I carefully washed any last traces of sloppy joe and blue frosting off my face and put on my pajamas. I got in bed, but sat up, waiting.

Aunt Bessie slipped into my room and handed me an envelope.

It said: Elise, 12.

”Elise?” Aunt Bessie said gently, drawing my attention away from the unopened envelope. ”It's the last one. We didn't tell you. We didn't want you counting down.”

It hadn't occurred to me that the letters would run out. It would be weird without one next year. I thought there would be one every birthday, for my whole life.

Maybe that would be a lot of letters.

”That's okay.”

”Do you want me to stay?” Aunt Bessie asked.

”No, you don't need to.”

”Good night, Cricket. Happy birthday.” Aunt Bessie kissed me on the forehead, left my room, and shut the door.

For a few minutes I just held the letter. Then I slid my finger under the flap. After so many years, the glue had mostly disappeared, so it opened easily. I pulled out the plain sheet of paper, unfolded it, and began to read: Dear Elise, Today you had a lovely time playing outside in the rain. You just got a new pair of bright red boots and a matching raincoat, so it was nearly impossible to keep you inside. There were ducks in the pond who ruffled their feathers a bit when you tried to catch them, but they didn't fly away, so they must have liked playing with you.

How grown up you must be now. I wonder if you are wearing your hair long and dark like your mother's.

I don't know what we are to do without each other, but by the time you read this, you will have been managing on your own for quite a while. Have you been looking after my brother? He needs some taking care of from time to time, and now you're old enough to tell him what's what. You better be listening to him, too! He has a good heart, your Uncle Hugh.

This letter will be my last to you, but please don't be sad. I'm leaving something else for you, to discover and unlock when you are ready. Remember that while others can help, in great part we mold ourselves.

I miss you so much already, thinking of not being there with you on this happy day. But we will find each other again, I promise, even if not in this life, and when we do meet again, I know you will be the best Elise that you can be.

All my love,

Daddy.

I ran my fingers through my hair, all the way to its ends. I was glad I hadn't cut it. I wondered if the dark color of Mom's hair he mentioned really was the same color as minea”a deep, chocolaty brown.

I don't have any memories of Mom, and only a few of Dada”mostly what Uncle Hugh, Aunt Bessie, and Leonard tell me. Which is enough, usually.

My birthdaya”my first day, and Mom's lasta”would be the only day the three of us were all in this world together. It made sense for Dad to commemorate that day with letters.

But what had Dad meant, he was ”leaving something else” for me? What would it be? And where was it? And how was I supposed to find it?

The thoughts whirred in my head until they became heavy and dreamlike, and I fell asleep.

Being Twelve Is (Unfortunately) Just Like Being Eleven.