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Overview
Heidi Walker makes lists. She is careful and cautious. Heidi enjoys running, too.
Bean is her brother. To say he is adventurous is an understatement.
Their mother, Joy, has ... issues. Time and
again, the trio tries to keep hope alive only to
have it squashed.
Learning to lean on each other through one adventure after another, like drinking Christmas tree bubble lights, trying to make a baby brother with some lemon seeds, and more, Heidi tells her story about surviving the adults in their lives.
When Heidi is asked to hope once again, she is not sure she wants to take the chance.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781947210431 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Zimbell House Publishing, LLC |
| Publication date: | 04/30/2018 |
| Pages: | 226 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.00(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.52(d) |
| Age Range: | 13 - 18 Years |
About the Author
When not writing, napping, or trying to prevent teenagers from doing something they might live to regret, Lisa can be found running. As a life-long runner, she has passed the 60,000-mile mark.
Two cats graciously permit Lisa, her husband, and her two daughters to reside with them in Gifford, Illinois.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
A Fresh Start
Heidi's favorite beginnings:
1. Mine, beginning on my own birthday.
2. Bean's, one year and one week before mine.
3. The first day of summer vacation.
4. The first chocolate chip cookie about five
minutes after coming out of the oven.
1. Wearing brand new shoes.
The first person I noticed when Bean and I were ushered into the eighth-grade classroom at Graceford Grade School was Simone Schluter. She was sitting front and center, posture perfect, her deep brown hair brushed so that it moved as one piece, like a waterfall, hand under her chin. She sported a great big smile for her two new classmates.
"Can she sit next to me, Mr. Verbrect?" she asked in a saccharin voice, both eyes and teeth gleaming. Then she glanced to her seat neighbor and gave her just the slightest raise of an eyebrow.
Her seat neighbor quietly giggled. There was no room next to Simone.
I decided right there that Simone could be trouble.
My brother and I found two empty seats toward the back of the classroom. I lowered my head as I walked down the aisle, but in order to see where I was going, I looked up just in time to see a sweet, friendly smile. A girl with long, wavy hair and smiling deep brown eyes gave me a little wave and motioned with her thumb to the empty seat next to her. I gave her a little smile back, and then slid into my desk.
"Hey, pal," the smiling girl leaned toward my desk, speaking softly. "We start with English class." She then faced back to the front.
Thank you, I thought, and I took a breath maybe for the first time since I had entered the room.
It was early October, and the school year was well underway. Mama had finally decided that she was finally leaving our Daddy, Frank A. Walker, for good. We had been on our own in Evanston for at least six months. Daddy, who was absent more than he was present, had been gone too long. Mama filed for divorce, and finally decided that she, Bean, and I would move to tiny Graceford, about three hours south. Mama's hometown. Before, it was the place we came to know through holidays and week-long vacations. Now, we would call it home.
I loved my daddy. But I was not sad that he was gone. Mama was my anchor. I often pictured her during the early years of their marriage as a young lady, feet firmly planted on the ground. In her hand was a string. At the end of the string was a kite; a beautiful, colorful kite that flew high in the air. Mama sure loved that kite, but it was far away. Daddy was the kite at the end of that string. The wind blew that kite round and round. I never understood where that wind came from. But it was strong.
After he lost a job, Daddy would be gone for sometimes days and sometimes weeks at a time. Mama would say, "Nobody but me understands him." But eventually she realized she needed to open her hand and let the string go, love it or not.
So, she did. And the three of us came to Graceford. The Walker Trio.
When we entered our apartment above the Graceford Bank, I wanted to love it. In fact, I was determined to, but there was no doubt about it. It was really, really tiny.
"I know it's small, but we won't be here for too long. I've got to save up some money. I just need to get my first paycheck. I already have plans in the works for a cute little house." Mama was trying to make all of us feel a little better. Including herself.
"It won't take long." Mama had been hired to be a work supervisor in a rehabilitation center for disabled adults; brain injuries, mostly. She was excited about her new job.
Mama and I would get one bedroom, and my brother Jeffery, known to me as Bean, would get the small one. For a while, it had been hard to say who was going to get their own room; Bean or Mama.
I just knew for sure that it wouldn't be me.
As tiny as it was, I didn't mind. I was thrilled the three of us would be together. And free of Daddy.
"How far is it to Grandma Baker's house from here?" I asked while we took our clothes out of the totes and put them into the dresser drawers. I propped Harey, my bunny with the silky ears my Uncle Billy had given me on my fifth birthday, against the bed pillows. I never sleep without Harey. I'm not sure I even could.
"Five minutes," was Mama's answer.
Five minutes from Grandma Baker's house. I couldn't believe it. "Wait. Walking or driving?"
"Walking. It takes a minute to drive there."
Five things to know about Grandma Baker's House:
1. Her doorbell. It rings to the tune of "Hit the Road, Jack." She thinks it's hysterical.
2. There's a Bible in every room.
3. Uncle Billy can only practice his guitar from ten am to seven pm.
4. Smells like cinnamon rolls all the time — Yummy!
5. If she offers you food, take it. She'll get mad if you don't.
Grandma Baker, Mama's mother, lives in a small, red brick gingerbread-looking bungalow tucked away on Morningside Court, on the edge of Graceford. It's one of the coziest homes you've ever seen, and one where some sort of music always lives. Either through her own beautiful voice or something low in the background on her music player.
Grandma is a gardener. She can grow nearly anything. In the summer, the flowerpots below her windows are brimming with bright, colorful blooms and long, hanging vines in varied colors of green.
During the holidays, she puts boughs of pine in the boxes, and at night, lights of all colors glimmer brightly from them. Her porch wraps around the east side, with more plants and flowers displayed all around. On the porch, we sit in big white wooden rocking chairs to watch the sunset.
Grandma Baker loves beautiful things.
Uncle Billy lives with her. It's just the two of them.
My Uncle Billy, Mama's much younger brother, has always been one of my very biggest fans, and I am his. When we visited from Evanston, he would spend lots of time with me, doing whatever I wanted. I liked to play Princess when I was little, and I would assign Billy the role of the Evil Queen. He relished it. Eventually, he even somehow obtained an evil queen outfit just for such occasions. "You're the evil queen," I'd say. Billy would cackle like a witch, disappear for a moment, and return in a stunning purple iridescent dress and headpiece unashamedly.
All for me.
Billy always made me feel special.
A few weeks after we arrived in Graceford, Addy, my little cousin, and I walked to Grandma Baker's after school.
While we walked, a grown woman walked by us, looking disheveled and talking to her baby doll. I tried not to stare at her when she went past, and when she was out of earshot, I asked Addy who she was.
"That's Mrs. V. I don't know her real name."
"Is she a crazy?" I asked my little cousin.
"Na. Mommy says she's just different."
Different. Seemed like a better way to put it.
It was a Thursday, and on Thursdays, we had what Grandma Baker called a 'permanent date.' Until Christmastime anyway. The three of us were going to complete a handmade advent calendar together.
On this particular Thursday, we had completed six of the twenty-five ornaments for the Advent calendar when Uncle Billy, a senior in high school, sneaked into the kitchen door and tried to avoid his mom.
"Going somewhere, William?" Grandma said, killing his plan. "The school called today. Mind telling me where you went after lunch? You do understand that you can't just leave school?" she asked, sewing a beaded black eye on a Christmas penguin, maybe a bit too aggressively.
Billy stuck his head around the corner, careful not to make eye contact with Grandma. "Hey, Mighty Heidi. Hey, Addy Able." He headed to his room; no greeting for Grandma. The slamming door shook the living room.
"Don't have children," she said to us, laying her sewing supplies in her lap and cupping her squinched face in her hands.
Addy and I, wondering if Grandma knew she just wished away our existence, looked at each other with surprise.
Though I loved just walking to her house, with my cousin, no less, there was always some sort of drama with Uncle Billy. I wished Billy would stop getting in trouble, but I also really thought Grandma was mean to him.
Grandma did know how to needle someone. Uncle Billy calls it nagging. When she needles me about Mama, it's a little hard to take.
"Heidi, what time did your mom make it home from work? Did she make you dinner?" These were the kinds of questions I would have to answer.
What really surprised me was the nasty things she would say about Daddy, and how her comments made me angry. "Heard from that nogood Pa of yours, Heidi? I can't believe Frank hasn't scheduled a visit with you and Jeffery lately. Something's really wrong with that man ..." Somehow, she made the word 'pa' a cuss word, I just didn't think it was necessary. And though she didn't call me no-good, it sure felt like she did.
But none of that would keep me from going to one of my very favorite places on earth. Remember the cinnamon roll smell? And if Uncle Billy was home and everyone in a good mood, that would just be a bonus.
"I can't wait for the game to start," Grandma said, practically giddy. "I think the Cubs just might do it this year."
"Do what?" I asked honestly.
"Win the World Series, Heidi."
"Did they win last year?" I was serious.
"Last year? Heidi, they haven't won since 1908."
A voice carried down the hallway, "Do you remember it well?" Billy asked his Mom.
"Very funny, William. Very funny."
Grandma Baker was a Chicago Cubs fan. When we moved to Graceford, the Cubs were in the M.L.B. playoffs, and some were saying that they might win. I was at Grandma's during one of the games against the Dodgers, watching while we sewed more ornaments for the calendar. Inning by inning, I got more interested in this team. Baseball was fun — who knew?
Uncle Billy watched, too, usually wearing a Cubs jersey with a big '23' on the back. Some old player named somebody Sandberg, I guess.
Addy, poor kid, wasn't allowed to stay for the games, which were on pretty late. That was the excuse that Aunt Nettie and Uncle Toad gave. But I knew the real reason. Uncle Toad was a Cleveland Indian fan. Indians. Now there's another word, Indians, that Grandma Baker can't say without spitting it out as quick as possible.
A Walker Trio Extra: Favorite Stories
Pots and Pans
Mrs. W. said, "Good morning girls and boys. Who would like to share a little about your weekend?"
This question came from my first-grade teacher on a Monday morning, and was how we started our day pretty much every Monday. Many of us raised our hands — students giving typical examples such as movies, family picnics, and birthday parties. I was excited to finally have a report; sometimes life at our house was plain boring. Finally, Mrs. Wilkerson called on me.
Mrs. W.: "So Heidi, how about you?"
Me: "My dad got in trouble by the cops for hiding pots and pans."
Mrs. W., her facial features squeezed together toward the middle of her face, "In trouble? For pots and pans, Heidi?"
Me: "Uh-huh. Well, Daddy called Mama to say that when he got pulled over, the cops looked under his seat and found pots and pans. Then Daddy spent the night in jail."
Mrs. W., whisking me into the hallway to have a private conversation, "You might not want to tell the whole class if your dad gets arrested, Heidi."
Me: "Are pots and pans bad, Mrs. Wilkerson?"
Mrs. W., "I'll let you ask when we call your mom at recess."
P Bean: Bubble Lights
He's a mad scientist, Bean. And I, unfortunately, am his long-time and semi-retired lab assistant.
When we were about three and four, Mama bought bubble lights for our Christmas tree. You know the ones; a glass ball with a tube at the end that contains liquid that bubbles? They're really old fashioned. Like so many things Christmas, our tree looked dazzling. Magical. Tasty? Bean thought so.
He convinced me that the liquid was some sort of magic juice. "Would it make us fly? Take us to the North Pole?" I was so naïve. When Mama took a nap, we plunged them in, biting the ends off of those glass ornaments — you see the problem here — draining the contents. I broke only one, and was sorely disappointed to find basically no taste to this magic liquid whatsoever. But my misplaced optimism, taken directly from Bean, lead me to hope the sugary flavor lay on the bottom of the bulb.
Needless to say, Mama was furious with us, and had to contact her person at the Poison Control Center. Again. Bleach. Aspirin. Birth control pills. Everything had to be locked away. Bean was as relentless as I was loyal.
P Mama: Cops are Coming
The time that I was most proud of Mama? Not long before we moved to Graceford, we were in the car and Mama was driving through Evanston to pay a power bill.
Something caught her eye. "Hold on, Heidi," she said calmly as she jerked the wheel and turned the car around. She drove, fast, up to some random house, and I saw a man whom I had never seen before choke-holding a woman whom I had also never seen before. Mama evenly said, "I'll be right back. Stay here."
I rolled my window down to hear what was going on. My heart pounded.
Mama stepped right up to the man and shoved her finger into his face. In a strong, steady, and loud voice she explained, "Listen, asshole. You get your hands off my friend here, get in your car, and drive away. Now. I've called the cops. They're on their way."
The man scampered away quickly. The woman went in her house, and Mama returned to the car, put it in drive, and we drove off.
"Mama?" I asked. "Who was that?"
"I have no idea." Mama answered. And that is the last she ever said about it.
CHAPTER 2A Real Home
What to Know About Graceford Grade School (with a lot of help from Madari Swinford):
1. You are a Graceford insider if you were born in Champaign County.
2. You are an outsider if the above does not apply to you.
3. People know your family's business, often before you do. Want to know what's going on in Graceford? With your own kin? Check with Nosy Norma Frerichs.
4. Mr. Verbrect, the eighth-grade teacher, is the best teacher ever! Rumor has it that he makes tasty treats all the time in science — his favorite — class. Just stay on his good side.
5. We're about to live in the newest old house in Graceford!
Things were really tight in our little upstairs storefront apartment, and not long after our Graceford adventure began, Mama said we were in for a treat. We were moving into a real house. Bean and I had only ever lived in apartments.
Bean and I were celebrities for a day as Mama saved a small farmhouse that was to be demolished and moved it into the town on wheels. The price? $2,000. Now that seemed like a lot of money to me, but when adults heard that we bought our house for that amount, they would act astounded.
"Two-thousand dollars? For a house? Oh, Joy, that is unbelievable," grownups would nearly gush.
The whole school came out to the front schoolyard mid-morning as the house was wheeled through Graceford, heading to the empty spot at 110 South Walnut Street.
Bean and I fielded questions from every direction.
"Which is your room, Heidi?"
"Will it have cracks all the way through?"
"Will they be moving the basement, too?"
"How will it stick to the ground?"
"Is the sink and toilet still working while it moves on the road?"
Even Simone Schluter showed some rare interest. That house was my aunt and uncle's before they built their brand new one. It has only one bedroom.
"Where are you all going to sleep?"
I, of course, knew the answers to very few of these questions, except that the one bedroom was going to be mine. But I loved that my classmates asked. I felt 'a part' instead of 'apart.' It was pretty cozy on the inside of that circle. But I knew it wouldn't last.
My bright spot was Madari Swinford.
"Hey pal, you saving this seat?" she asked on my first day of school at lunch. Bean and I were together, but there was space right next to me.
"For you, pal," I answered back, and we were off.
Madari, born in India, had long wavy black hair and dark beautiful eyes. The Swinfords, her adoptive family, wanted her to be called Madison, but she liked the name Madari and so did I. Madari and I became close, a friendship bonded mostly through being underdogs. I tried to remember to call her Madison when I was at her house, but I usually forgot. Only to be corrected by her mother or father.
"Look, I'll never be one of the Graceford originals," Madari said when we were in her room one day after school. "I wasn't born here. I look different." She shrugged. "Suits me fine. To be a Graceford original means to be mean. A few years ago, they started to call me names, like Jungle Girl. I pretended like I liked it."
"Liked it? Did you?"
"Of course not. But I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing that. I actually thanked them. That stopped it."
I laughed. I couldn't imagine thanking someone for being nasty to me. I'd have to think about that one.
Bean bonded quickly with Tommy Milton. Tommy moved into Graceford a few years earlier from Rockford, a big city in Northern Illinois, but had never felt really accepted, either. Tall and bold, Tommy demanded attention. The four of us became our own team of sorts, standing outside of the tight circle of insiders, and grateful not to be alone.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Hope ... Anyway"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Lisa L. Walsh.
Excerpted by permission of Zimbell House Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One: A Fresh Start 1
Chapter Two: A Real Home 13
Chapter Three: The Unexpected Graces of Graceford 25
Chapter Four: Jerry Roadhouse 33
Chapter Five: Wedding Bells 53
Chapter Six: Laundromat Birthday 77
Chapter Seven: Burnt Brownies, A Backdoor Burglar, and Bouncing Bands 87
Chapter Eight: Keeping Track 101
Chapter Nine: Spring Broken 111
Chapter Ten: Spiralling Downward 127
Chapter Eleven: Tequila Holiday 165
Chapter Twelve: The Twelve Steps 183
Chapter Thirteen: A Real Good Time 193
Epilogue: Back to Joy 197
About The Author
Reader’s Guide
A Note From The Publisher
Helpful Resources
Customer Reviews
