Julia’s Kitchen Read online

  Marlee picked up on the second ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Mar.”

  “Hey, Cara, where are you?”

  “I’m at our new apartment. I don’t even know our phone number. What did it come up as on your caller I.D.?”

  “Same as before.”

  “Well, at least that’s one thing that didn’t change.” I lay on the bed and propped my feet against the wall.

  “I think my mom arranged it. Hey, have you and your dad talked at all?”

  “Not about anything important. Can I come to your house after school tomorrow?”

  “Sure.”

  I heard a click. “Oh, wait, that’s call waiting. Hang on a minute. Hello?”

  “Hello, is this Julia’s Kitchen?” It was a lady’s voice I didn’t recognize.

  “Um, I think you have the wrong number,” I said, sitting up straight and feeling my heart race.

  “I’m sure I dialed the right number.”

  “Yes, but this isn’t Julia’s Kitchen anymore.” I clicked back to Marlee, my heart pounding. “Marlee?”

  “Yeah?”

  “That was weird.”

  “What?”

  “Someone just called for Julia’s Kitchen.”

  “Oh, that is weird. You okay?”

  “I guess,” I said. But my hands were shaking.

  * * *

  Later, Bubbe and Zayde came by with bags and bags of stuff. Tons of groceries. And things for the kitchen. Baking pans, measuring cups, even a brand-new Mixmaster. I didn’t know who Bubbe bought all that stuff for, but I could tell it made her feel good to stock our kitchen as if it were a real kitchen for a real family, so I just said thank you and helped her find a place for everything.

  “You’re sure you’re going to be okay?” Bubbe asked Dad. “We can stay longer if you want.” Bubbe and Zayde had their coats on, and Zayde had been trying to leave for the last five minutes. Bubbe kept finding more things she needed to do. I knew she wasn’t ready to go, and I wasn’t ready to give her up.

  “No,” Dad said. “We’ll be fine. We need to get back to normal. Right, Cara?”

  I shrugged. The idea of getting back to normal seemed as crazy as Bubbe stocking our kitchen the way she would if Mom were alive.

  “Come on, dear,” Zayde said. “We’re going to miss our plane. Cara and David have each other, and we’re just a phone call away.”

  Bubbe hugged me tight. “You call me, love, if you need me.”

  My stomach felt queasy, and my water-faucet eyes turned on again. “I will,” I whispered in her ear.

  I hugged Zayde goodbye. “I love you, Cara,” he said.

  “Love you, too, Zayde.”

  He wiped a tear from his eye, and then they left.

  Dad put his hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

  I shook my head. I wanted to be okay. I wanted to be able to get back to normal. I knew that’s what Dad wanted me to do. But how?

  Dad ran his hands through his hair and looked at me with his sad, sad eyes. I thought one strong wind could knock him over. I remembered the night I saw him crying. And what Zayde had just said about our having each other. I bit my lower lip. I knew I had to be strong for him. “I’ll be fine,” I said. “Don’t worry.” And I forced myself to smile.

  That night I couldn’t fall asleep. I heard upstairs neighbor sounds. Downstairs neighbor sounds. Next-door neighbor sounds. It drove me crazy. And then a baby cried. At least, it sounded like a baby. It cried and cried, and nobody comforted it. Every once in a while it would stop, only to start up again a few minutes later. It sounded so close, I thought it could be inside our apartment. What if someone had dropped a baby off at our front door? I told myself that was ridiculous. That didn’t happen in real life. But I kept hearing the crying, and I kept wondering, so I finally got out of bed to see.

  Once I left my room, I realized that the cry was coming from the hallway. I was scared to open the door. It was dark out, and late, and kind of spooky. But what if it was a baby? Shouldn’t I open the door?

  The crying stopped, and I stood there, deciding what to do. I waited a full minute, counting one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi in my head.

  I cracked open the door, leaving the chain lock attached. At first I saw nothing. But as I searched the hall, a cat came into view. And it wasn’t just any cat.

  It was Sport.

  Could it be?

  The cat stared at me from the shadows at the end of the hallway. A brown-and-white tabby with white paws. Just like Sport.

  “Sport?” I called, my voice trembling.

  If I could get closer, I’d know for sure. But behind the cat the stairwell door was propped open. If I moved too fast, the cat would run away.

  Sport had a black freckle on the tip of his pink nose. Did this cat?

  Quietly I unlocked the chain and stepped into the hall. “Here, Sport,” I said, rubbing my hands on the hallway carpet. Sport always loved that sound.

  The cat sniffed the air and took a few steps closer.

  “That’s right, boy, come on,” I urged. I reached out, palm down, and wiggled my fingers.

  The cat meowed and stepped into the pool of light.

  Pink nose. No freckle.

  I slumped to the floor and let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. It was all so unfair.

  I closed my eyes and saw the real Sport. I saw our family at the animal shelter, and I saw Sport, as a kitten, climbing the walls of his cage. I saw Janie’s face light up, and I heard her say, “That’s the one, Daddy. Oh, please, can we get him?”

  We took turns holding him. He was so small and soft and warm. He dug his tiny claws into Janie’s sweater, climbed up her chest, perched himself on her shoulder, and purred in her ear.

  It was hard to know if we adopted Sport or if Sport adopted Janie. But ever since that day, Sport belonged to Janie, no doubt about it.

  That was it! I could adopt this cat. To remind me of Sport, and Janie, and everything normal. How perfect!

  I opened my eyes, but the cat was gone. I looked up and down the hall.

  Had I imagined him?

  I sat in the hall for the longest time. I felt as if someone had glued me to the floor. I thought and thought about everything that had happened. Mom and Janie were dead. They weren’t coming back. It was just Dad and me forever. At my Bat Mitzvah, at my graduations, at all my birthdays, at every special occasion and even at the not-so-special occasions, it would be just Dad and me. How would that ever be enough?

  five

  The next morning I convinced Dad that I could get to school on my own. It would have been too weird getting ready with Dad around instead of Mom. Dad didn’t know that I liked apple juice, not orange juice. Or that I always poured my milk into a glass first before pouring it on my cereal. I didn’t want to explain all these details. I just wanted him to know.

  When he left for work, even though the apartment was too quiet, I felt relieved. I thought about crawling back into bed and skipping school. I was tired, and scared to face everyone at school. Mom wasn’t there to make me go. I could do whatever I wanted.

  So I did. I got right into bed and pulled the covers over my head. The sheets smelled like hotel sheets. Even that was hard. As if it weren’t enough that we’d lost Mom and Janie in the fire, we’d lost most of our things, too. I tried to picture everything that had been in my room: my posters, my glass animal collection, my seashell collection, all my stuffed animals, which Mom had kept asking me to donate to Goodwill, and of course my scrapbooks.

  I might have stayed in bed all day if Marlee hadn’t called.

  “My mom’s driving me to school on her way to work, so we can pick you up,” Marlee said.

  She tried to sound casual, but I saw right through her. Mrs. Rosen never drove Marlee to school. She took the school bus every day.

  “We’ll be out front at 7:55,” Marlee said. “Be ready.”

  Marlee hung up so quickly, she didn’t give
me a chance to protest.

  * * *

  At Foster Elementary School, the kindergarten-through-third-grade wing was near the front of the building, and the fourth-through-sixth-grade classes were in the back. Marlee and I had to walk right past Janie’s class to get to ours.

  The hall was crowded, but people made a path for us. Everyone stared, and some kids whispered and pointed. Marlee put her arm around my waist and guided me through the mess.

  Miss Woloshin, Janie’s teacher, stood in her doorway. She waved us over as we approached. Marlee and I had both had Miss Woloshin in third grade. She was one of our favorites.

  “How are you, Cara?” she asked, putting her hands on my shoulders.

  I shrugged, trying to be brave.

  “Come in for a minute,” she said.

  Kids filed in and got settled at their desks. I saw Justin sitting in the front row. I waved to him, and he gave me a halfway smile. Marlee and I followed Miss Woloshin to the back of her room.

  “My heart is broken, Cara,” Miss Woloshin said in a quiet voice. “I can only imagine how hard this must be for you and your father. If you need anything, anything at all, you come on down to my room. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  Miss Woloshin looked as if she were trying to make up her mind about something. Then she took a shopping bag down from a shelf and handed it to me. “I was going to call your dad to give him Janie’s things, but maybe you’d like to take them. There’s not much. Just her journal, her supplies, her eraser collection.”

  “Thanks,” I said, hugging the bag to my chest. It smelled like erasers. All of a sudden I realized that’s what Janie had smelled like—erasers.

  The bell rang. “We better get going,” Marlee said.

  The rest of the day dragged. My teacher, Mr. Temby, welcomed me back but didn’t make a big deal out of everything, which was fine with me. I could tell some of the kids in my class were trying hard not to stare at me.

  After lunch the school social worker came into our room. Mrs. Block’s name did not fit her at all. She was so skinny, she should have been named Mrs. Pencil. She usually came to get John Keeler or Colin Shapiro. They were always in trouble.

  She walked over to Mr. Temby and talked quietly to him. Then Mr. Temby called my name and motioned for me to come to his desk. It was so embarrassing.

  “Can I borrow you for a few minutes, Cara?” Mrs. Block asked.

  I shrugged. She didn’t seem to be really asking. The next thing I knew, I was following her down the hall.

  Her room was tiny and windowless. I wondered if it had been a closet at one point. Posters of sunflowers covered the walls. Mrs. Block sat behind her desk, and I took the chair opposite her.

  “So, Cara, this is your seventh and last year at Foster, and it’s the first time we’ve met.”

  I shrugged.

  “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard good things about you.”

  I shrugged again and smiled a little. I was becoming very good at shrugging, I realized.

  Mrs. Block reached over to a candy jar at the corner of her desk and slid it in front of me. “Creme Saver?”

  I took a raspberry Creme Saver, unwrapped it, and popped it into my mouth.

  Mrs. Block smiled. Then her face turned serious. “Cara, I am so sorry about your loss. I know this must be a terribly hard time for you and your father. And I want you to know I’m here for you if you need someone to talk to.”

  “Thank you,” I said, nodding.

  Mrs. Block looked right at me and sighed. I couldn’t decide if I liked her or not. Strangely enough, the thought of talking to a complete stranger about Mom and Janie appealed to me. But where would I start?

  “You know, Cara, grief is the toughest thing you’ll ever encounter. Everybody deals with it at some point, but when it’s happening to you, you feel so alone—as if you’re the only person in the world who has ever experienced it. You might feel sad, or angry, or guilty, or anything, really. There are no wrong feelings when it comes to grief. But the best thing you can do is talk to somebody you trust about those feelings. Is there someone you would feel comfortable sharing them with?”

  I thought about Dad. I wished we could talk, but I was afraid if I put the weight of my sadness on him, he’d break in two. And then there was Bubbe. I could talk to Bubbe, but would it be the same over the phone? Finally, I considered Marlee. “My best friend, Marlee Rosen,” I said. “She’s good at listening.”

  Mrs. Block smiled. “That’s great, Cara. But I want you to know you can talk to me, too. Anytime. Sometimes it helps to confide in a grownup.” She marked something down on her calendar. “If you don’t come to see me on your own, I’ll check back with you in about a week, and we’ll visit then. Okay?”

  I shrugged again. But this time it meant okay.

  I spent the rest of the day daydreaming, watching the clock, thinking about the bag of Janie’s stuff. Eventually, the final bell rang and I let out a sigh. I’d survived.

  * * *

  After school, I went to Marlee’s. It was strange to see the usual piles of clutter stacked on the counters, the mess of shoes and backpacks by the back door, the Disney characters smiling at me from coat hooks, bookends, even kitchen tiles above the stove. It was as if nothing had changed.

  Mrs. Rosen was an attorney, but she worked at her office only while Marlee and Max were in school. The rest of the time, she multitasked at home. Today she was talking on the phone, taking notes on a legal pad, and setting out a snack for us as we walked into the kitchen.

  We grabbed two Cokes and some cheese and crackers and headed for Marlee’s room. I hesitated in the doorway, not feeling right. The last time I had been here was the day of the fire.

  “You okay?” Marlee asked, chomping on a cracker and getting crumbs all over her bed.

  “I guess,” I said. “It’s kind of weird, though.”

  “Which part?”

  I went in and sat on Marlee’s Disney Princess beanbag chair. “All of it. I mean, everything here seems so … normal. I feel like a visitor from another planet.”

  “Which planet?”

  “Huh?”

  “Which planet are you from?”

  “I don’t know … Mars.”

  “Oh, I thought you were going to say Uranus,” Marlee said, grinning.

  “Marlee!” Even though we were too old for Uranus jokes, I laughed. And before long, I felt right at home again in Marlee’s house.

  We listened through the wall as Max practiced for his Bar Mitzvah, and we giggled every time his voice cracked. I told Marlee about the Sport look-alike, and the apartment, and how Dad still wouldn’t talk about the fire.

  “It’s strange,” I said. “I get the feeling he thinks if we don’t talk about it, it’ll be like it never actually happened. But not talking about the fire means not talking about Mom and Janie, too. So instead of making the fire disappear, it makes them disappear.”

  “Well you’re just going to have to make him talk about it, that’s all.”

  “Easy for you to say. My dad is like a ghost of himself.”

  “Hmmm…” Marlee said. She searched through a pile of papers on her desk until she found two folded pieces of newspaper. She handed them to me.

  I knew what they were at once—the articles.

  Suburban Blaze Kills Mother and Daughter Father Escapes

  There it was. The truth for the world to see. And there was my house in flames. I thought about Justin not recognizing our house at first, and I understood. I read on.

  Fire swept through a two-story home on Cherokee Lane in north suburban Walden early Sunday, killing 42-year-old Julia Segal and her 8-year-old daughter, Jane, despite firefighter rescue attempts. David Segal, also 42, escaped with minor injuries.

  Witnesses said both David and Julia Segal managed to escape the house, but Julia reentered to try to rescue Jane. David attempted to reenter as well, but was driven back by smoke and fire. Another daughter, Cara, 11, was sleep
ing at a friend’s house when the fire broke out.

  Firefighters responded to the fire shortly after 6 a.m., at which time they located Julia and Jane in a bedroom on the second floor. Both victims were unconscious due to smoke inhalation. Paramedics tended to them on the scene, then transported all three victims to Walden Hospital. David was treated for smoke inhalation and released. Julia and Jane were both pronounced dead at 7:16 a.m., a hospital spokeswoman said.

  Fire officials said the fire is under investigation, but that it appears to have started in the kitchen.

  The second article was smaller, and there was no picture.

  Electrical Short in Toaster Oven Blamed for Deadly Fire

  The fire that ravaged a north suburban Walden home on Sunday, leaving a mother and daughter dead, appears to have started from an electrical short in a toaster oven. Fire inspector Bob Hilbert said beading on the toaster oven wire indicated a short. “This kind of short is one in a million,” Hilbert said, “but it does happen. People should make a habit of unplugging any small kitchen appliances when not in use.”

  Services for the victims, Julia and Jane Segal, will be held at 10 a.m. Tuesday at the Goldman Memorial Funeral Home.

  I read the articles twice before I said anything. I kept getting stuck on the words “pronounced dead.” I thought about Nana saying I was lucky not to be an orphan. Maybe she was right. Maybe I was somehow lucky. After all, Dad had tried to go back into the house, too. I looked at Marlee, and all I could say was, “Whoa.”

  “I know,” Marlee said. “But here’s my idea. Why don’t you show your dad the articles, and use them to kind of start a conversation?”

  “You think that’ll work?”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  “Okay,” I said, “I’ll try.” I stuck the newspaper articles in my backpack and took out the bag of Janie’s things from Miss Woloshin.

  We read Janie’s journal right away. Almost every page was about sports or Justin. We laughed at all her misspelled words. But then the inside of my nose tingled and my laughter turned to tears as I read “When I grow up, I will play baseball for the Cubs. I will be the picher. I will be an all star. Evryone will cheer for me!”