Sometimes Love Isn't Enough Read online

  “That’s better,” he told her ducking down and forcing her to look at him. “You, uh, you want to go for that slice of pizza?” he asked hesitantly.

  She felt her heart beat a little faster. She really did want to go have a slice of pizza with him. “Sure!” she said suddenly.

  “All right!” He gave her the benefit of his dazzling smile. “Come on.”

  She fell into step beside him, glancing over at him every so often. He was a puzzle! He was tough on the outside, so angry and hot-tempered. But sometimes he could be so charming, so much fun.

  They arrived at the pizza place a few blocks from the school. He held the heavy glass door for her, and they went inside. She sat in a booth while he went up to the counter, ordered two pieces of pizza and two sodas, and brought them back to the table.

  He sat opposite her, opened his straw, and blew the paper in her direction.

  “Cut it out,” she said.

  “You like the show?” he asked, ignoring her remark.

  “I love it,” she told him.

  “I do, too,” he confessed, taking a long sip from his straw.

  “I thought you hated the whole thing!” she said, surprised at his confession.

  He shrugged. “It grows on you.”

  They talked for an hour, about the show, school, and their friends. Andrea forgot about catching the bus. She could have talked for hours. But it was getting late. Already, the sky outside was beginning to darken, and streetlights were flickering on.

  “I have to catch the bus,” she reminded Tony as she slowly gathered her books.

  “I’ll ride with you,” he said, standing up with her. He brushed her hair off the side of her face with his hand. She felt her stomach do little flip-flops again.

  “But you get off before me,” she said as they went out the door and started back toward the bus stop.

  “I’ll ride to your stop and then walk back,” he said.

  “You don’t have to—” she began.

  “It’s okay,” he interrupted. “I know where you live. It isn’t that far from my place.”

  During the bus ride home Andrea wondered how he knew—and why.

  THIRTEEN

  Andrea stared at the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall. The idea, which had begun to form weeks before, resurfaced in her mind. This Saturday, March 8, would have been her parents’ sixteenth wedding anniversary.

  She wondered if either one of them would think of it—if either of them would even remember. But she did. And she thought, What would it be like to get the two of them together? They both had changed a lot over the past months since the divorce.

  Her mom was more self-confident and less uptight, plus she looked great. Andrea’s dad was doing well in business, making lots of sales for his company. Maybe, if she could get them together for one evening with no distractions, no conflicts, just maybe they would rediscover one another. Maybe they’d fall in love and get married again.

  The more Andrea thought about it, the more excited she became. They had loved each other once. Surely they could fall in love again. Then they could all live together again as a family. Maybe the divorce had been a big mistake that she could help correct. It was certainly worth a try!

  Andrea decided that she would fix dinner for them as a surprise. I’ll get Timmy to help, she thought with growing excitement. Timmy could do little things. And she’d make it a game for him. They’d eat early and then set up a romantic candlelight dinner for their parents. Then, while their parents ate and gazed at each other through the glowing candles, she and Timmy would disappear upstairs and let nature take its course.

  The dinner would take a lot of planning. She couldn’t let either of them get any ideas of what she was up to. Andrea knew that it would work. Once her parents could just relax, they’d realize that they had loved each other all along. She was sure of it!

  That evening, after supper, she casually asked, “Mom, would you mind if I brought someone special home for dinner tomorrow night? I’ll cook.”

  “What?” her mom asked. She stopped loading the dishwasher and turned to look at Andrea. “Is there somebody in your life I don’t know about?” she teased.

  Andrea blushed. “In a way,” she said. She was afraid to look her mom in the eye. She was afraid her mom would pry the truth out of her. “I’d just like to invite a special friend over. That’s all.”

  “Well,” her mom began. She paused, then said, “Sure! Why not? What can I do to help?”

  Andrea tried to conceal her excitement. “Oh, nothing. I want to do this all by myself. I’d like it if you wouldn’t even come downstairs until I get everything ready. I want it to be a surprise for you, too. Oh, and Mom,” she paused, choosing her words carefully, “Could you dress up? Please?”

  Mrs. Manetti stared at her daughter. “My, this friend must really be special. Who is he? I have to assume it’s a ‘he,’” she asked tenderly.

  Andrea took a deep breath. “You’ll see,” she said. “It’s important to me, okay?”

  “Sure,” her mom said. “I’ll help any way I can. And if staying out of the way and dressing up is all you want me to do, then that’s what I’ll do.”

  Andrea smiled warmly and thought, Phase one successful!

  Later she called her dad. She held her breath while the phone rang, hoping that he was at home and that Jill wouldn’t answer. She got both of her wishes.

  After chatting for a few minutes she said, “I’m fixing dinner tomorrow night for a friend and me. I sure would like it if you could come.”

  “Uh, I don’t know,” he said.

  “Mom will be out,” Andrea said quickly. She hated to lie, but she didn’t want him to have any excuse for not coming.

  He didn’t answer right away.

  “Please, Dad,” she begged. “You always take me out to dinner. Can’t I take you out for once?”

  He laughed and said, “I guess I could come by. I’d like to meet your friend and eat a home-cooked meal. What time?”

  “Seven o’clock,” she said. She was thrilled. Phase two was successful. Now she could move on to phase three.

  First, she planned the menu. She didn’t want it to be too fancy. She decided on baked chicken, steamed broccoli, and baked potatoes with sour cream and butter. For dessert, she chose baked apples with vanilla ice cream. Since she would prepare most of the meal in the oven, she’d have plenty of time to work with Timmy on setting the table.

  “Would you like to help tomorrow night, Timmy?” she asked. He sat in the center of his floor, clutching his raggedy teddy bear and rocking. He didn’t respond. So she patiently explained it to him again. “We’ll eat first,” she said. “I’ll fix your favorite—macaroni and cheese.”

  She didn’t want him to start wailing when he saw her put the food on the table for their parents. Every time Timmy saw food, he thought it was for him. “I’ll even make chocolate chip cookies. We’ll come up here and eat them while Mom and Dad eat,” she urged.

  Slowly, he turned and looked into her face. She still wasn’t sure if he understood. “Timmy do,” he said softly. Then he returned to his private little world and began to sway and rock to his own silent rhythm. Andrea left him, closing his bedroom door behind her.

  “Can I come down?” her mom called from upstairs.

  “Not yet!” Andrea yelled back. “But soon! I’ll let you know when we’re ready.”

  Andrea surveyed Timmy’s and her handiwork with satisfaction. They’d set the table with the best linen. She’d even put out the linen napkins. The silverware and plates glimmered in the flickering light of the two thin taper candles. Andrea had helped Timmy put a bouquet of fresh tulips into a vase and place them on the table. She had remembered her mom had once told her that she and her dad had tulips at their wedding, so Andrea had stopped by the floral shop that morning after rehearsal to buy some.

  She smelled the delicious scent of dinner telling her the food was almost done. Andrea was proud of herself and Timmy
because they’d done it all. Everything looked beautiful.

  Timmy giggled and jumped up and down. “Surprise! Surprise!” he cried.

  “Sh-sh!” she commanded. “We can’t let Mom know.”

  Just then, the doorbell rang. They both ran to the door, and Andrea opened it. It was their dad.

  “Well, hi!” he smiled, hugging them both. “Sure smells good in here.”

  He went into the kitchen and whistled. “Some spread! You two do all this?”

  Andrea nodded. “Wait,” she told her dad. “My friend is upstairs.”

  She ran up and knocked on her mom’s door. “He’s here,” Andrea said, hardly containing her excitement.

  “Andi,” her mother said as she descended the stairs. “You look like the cat that swallowed the canary. Just who is this person?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Manetti saw each other at exactly the same moment. Both of their jaws dropped. A long, awkward silence followed. Andrea’s heart began to pound. Something was wrong! They didn’t seem glad to see each other at all.

  “Andi,” her mom asked, “what’s the meaning of this?”

  “I fixed dinner for both of you. It-it was supposed to be a s-s-surprise . . . ,” Andrea stammered.

  Her dad cleared his throat. He shifted uncomfortably. “Honey,” he said, “you shouldn’t have. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Andi,” her mom said. “You tricked me. You made me think that someone very special was coming.”

  “But Dad is special,” she cried. “Today would have been your sixteenth anniversary!”

  Andrea’s parents looked helplessly at each other. “I think I’d better go,” her dad said, picking up his coat.

  “I think so, too,” her mom agreed.

  “But you can’t go!” Andrea cried. “I want you to have dinner together! I planned it all.” “You shouldn’t have,” her mom said. Suddenly, Timmy started shouting. “Come on, Andi! Upstairs! Play with Timmy. Eat cookies.”

  “Stop it, Timmy!” Mrs. Manetti said curtly to her son.

  “Take it easy, Beth,” Andrea’s dad said.

  “Don’t tell me how to act!” she said.

  “I’d better leave,” Mr. Manetti said, his face growing red.

  “You can’t!” Andrea wailed.

  “Cookies!” Timmy kept shouting. He tugged on Andrea’s arm.

  Andrea felt dizzy as she watched the disaster unfold. How could everything have gone so wrong? Her head started to pound.

  She whirled around to Timmy. “Be quiet!” she yelled. She seized him by his arm and began dragging him up to his room.

  Timmy wailed louder. He kicked and tried to bite her. When they got upstairs, she put him into his room. “Stay in there!” she cried at the top of her voice.

  Then she ran down the hall to her room and threw herself onto the bed. She began to sob uncontrollably.

  FOURTEEN

  Andrea lay in her darkened room for a long time. She was exhausted. Even though she had given it all her effort, her plan to reunite her parents had failed.

  Finally, she heard the door open. She felt someone sit down on her bed. Andrea rolled over and saw her mother.

  “You all right?” her mom asked softly, as she began stroking Andrea’s hair. “I cleaned up downstairs and put the food away. You did a terrific job with dinner.”

  Andrea didn’t feel like saying anything. Her mom continued, “Why did you do it, Andi?”

  After a moment of silence Andrea said, “I thought if you and Dad spent some time alone, it would make you guys want to live together again.”

  “Andi,” her mother said with sigh, “you have to accept that your dad and I are divorced now. We still love and share you and Timmy, but we can’t be married to each other.”

  Andrea said nothing.

  “People aren’t puppets, Andi,” her mom said flatly. “You can’t make them behave any way that suits you. Your dad and I made the decision to divorce. Please accept it for your own sake.”

  “When I get married, I’m never going to get divorced!” Andrea said fiercely.

  “I hope you don’t,” her mom said. “It’s a very hard thing to do.”

  Andrea sighed deeply. She sat up on her bed and asked, “Where’s Dad?”

  “He went home. He’s very concerned about you, honey. He feels very bad about tonight. He said to tell you that he’ll call you tomorrow. Neither of us were ready for your surprise. Do you understand?”

  “Sure,” Andrea said curtly. “It was a dumb idea.”

  “Why don’t we go downstairs and eat the baked apples?” her mom suggested. “They looked yummy. And to be honest, I’m starved.”

  “Fine,” Andrea said.

  They went down to the kitchen. Andrea’s mom dished up the apples after warming them in the microwave. She put a scoop of ice cream on each one. They ate for a few minutes in silence.

  “So, tell me,” her mom asked cheerfully. “How’s the musical coming?”

  Andrea hadn’t thought about the show all evening. “Rehearsal went well this morning. We’re working with all the props now,” she said. “Ms. Vesper says we’ll have two dress rehearsals next week. Then, it’s opening night.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing you in it. Your dad’s coming, too. We’re both very proud of you, Andi.”

  Andrea smiled weakly, but her mind drifted to the way she had treated Timmy earlier. I was so mean, she thought. It was impossible for him to understand what had been going on. “Mom, I need to tell Timmy I’m sorry,” Andrea said.

  “Yes, I think that’s a good idea,” her mom agreed. “He adores you. I’m sure he’s asleep by now. But go up and check on him anyway.”

  Andrea pushed away from the table and went upstairs to Timmy’s room. When she reached his door, her heart froze. Timmy’s door was partially open! It was supposed to be closed. Even though he could walk around the house freely when other people were with him, Timmy seemed to understand that when his door was shut, he wasn’t supposed to open it and wander out.

  Andrea flung open the door and hurried inside. The room was empty! His bed was still made. And his overstuffed teddy bear was missing.

  Andrea got chills all over. “Timmy!” she cried, running around his room. She looked under his bed. She looked inside his closet. But Timmy was gone! She had forgotten to shut his door, and he had just walked away.

  “Mom!” she yelled. “Mom! Quick! I can’t find Timmy! He’s gone!”

  Mrs. Manetti ran up the stairs. She also searched the room, calling for her son.

  “Oh, Mom!” Andrea cried, wringing her hands. “I forgot to shut his door. He’s gone, and it’s all my fault.”

  Her mom started to say something, but the look of anguish on Andrea’s face stopped her. “All right,” she said instead. “Let’s not panic. Let’s search the house from top to bottom. Maybe he crawled off and fell asleep somewhere.”

  The two of them began a systematic search of the two-story house. Andrea looked in all of his favorite hiding places and even in places he was scared to go, like the basement. Timmy was nowhere to be found.

  Her mom met her in the hallway. Her search had been unsuccessful, too. “He’s not inside,” she said. Andrea began to cry as she realized Timmy might have wandered away from the house altogether.

  “Andi, stop,” her mom said sternly. “Get the flashlight, and let’s look around outside. Maybe he’s around the yard.”

  Andrea shivered in the cold night air as she and her mom scoured the front and back yards for the missing child. They looked behind shrubs, in the play fort, and even up into trees. But they didn’t find Timmy.

  “What are we going to do?” Andrea asked through chattering teeth.

  “Call the police,” her mom said grimly. “He doesn’t even have a jacket. Oh, Timmy! Where are you, baby?” she cried.

  Three squad cars with flashing red and blue lights sat in front of Andrea’s house. After Andrea’s mom had given a description of Timmy to the police, sev
eral officers with flashlights combed the Manettis’ yard and their neighbors’ yards. Almost every porch light on the block was on. The police had let everyone nearby know that Timmy Manetti was missing.

  Andrea sat stunned and frightened on the sofa. Poor Timmy. He could have taken off anywhere. He could be blocks away by now. It’s dark and cold. He probably feels so scared and alone. Timmy isn’t like a normal kid who might try to ask someone to help him. Timmy will hide because he is scared. That’s going to make him even harder to find.

  Mrs. Manetti sat down next to Andrea, grabbed her hand, and said, “I’ve called your father. He should be here soon.”

  Andrea only nodded. A detective came over to them and jotted down some notes as he asked a few more questions. “We’ll find him, Mrs. Manetti,” the detective reassured her. “I’ve got men looking for him, and your neighbors have joined in and are looking, too.”

  Andrea’s mother smiled weakly. Andrea felt her mom’s hand shaking in hers. Just then the doorbell rang, and her mom got up and answered it. A small group of people whom Andrea didn’t recognize came inside along with one of the police officers.

  “Mrs. Manetti, these folks are from the media. They’d like to interview you,” the officer said.

  Mrs. Manetti hesitated. “It might help,” one reporter said. “Maybe someone will remember seeing him and call the police.”

  Mrs. Manetti nodded her consent. “Okay,” she said softly.

  Andrea watched as cameras, men and women with microphones and notepads, and photographers flowed into the living room. Once the cameramen set up their equipment and began shooting, the reporters began to ask questions, and the photographers snapped photos. The whole time Andrea was anxious.

  She heard one newswoman say into her recorder. “Little Timmy Manetti, the six-year-old mentally retarded son of recently divorced parents, Beth and Jim Manetti, is missing.”

  Andrea was horrified. The whole story would be on the news! Everyone in town would know! Everyone at school and in the show would know. Everyone would know all her family’s business— the divorce, her mentally retarded brother—all of the secrets she’d worked so hard to hide.