to make arrangements for Lucy, Markus. She’s going to Ireland to stay with Paula.”
Lucy sank down on the bottom step. She had to go to Aunt Paula’s! Suddenly, she started feeling queasy.
“Oh, really?” her father said. “Lucy didn’t say a word about that. Well, that’s fine, then. How is Paula, anyway? Still hasn’t had enough of the simple life?”
“She sounded cheerful enough. Somehow she manages to make ends meet. Seems like she’s still puttering around with her mirrors. Glues seashells on them. She sells them. To tourists, I guess.”
“Good Lord,” Lucy’s father said. “Sounds awful. And she always had such good taste. But if it brings in a little money... And you? Lucy says you’ve got a new boyfriend. Is he the right one this time?”
“Yes, Markus, I think he is.”
“Well, I hope you’ll be happy.”
Yes, Lucy thought. I hope so, too. Since the divorce, her mother had had two boyfriends, but both times it had fallen apart after just a few months. For weeks afterward, her mother had been sad and would sit at the breakfast table with her eyes red from crying. Lucy had worried about her.
She crossed her fingers on both hands and shut her eyes tight. She hoped things with Kurt would go well. Then she’d finally have time to worry about other things: about her awful D minus in needlework class, for instance, all because she couldn’t sew that ugly vest or that stupid pillowcase; or about seeing Christopher so seldom; or about how she could visit more often without her mother or Ilona being dead set against it.
“Paula called today,” her mother said in the car on the way back. “Imagine that. She’s even got a telephone now. She’s really looking forward to your visit.”
Lucy crossed her arms and turned her head away. Shipped off to an artsy-craftsy aunt in Ireland!
“So, everything worked out after all,” her mother said. “I’m so relieved. Now we can concentrate on getting ready for our vacations. Only two weeks to go before we leave. We’ll go shopping on Monday. How does that sound? We like to shop, don’t we, Lucy-bug?”
At home, Lucy’s mother got a note pad and started to make lists. She loved making lists – shopping lists, birthday lists, guest lists.
“We still have to get all kinds of things for our trips, sweetie. For the ship, I’ll need to stock up on moisturizer and makeup and what-not, get some new swimsuits, and so on. Get a piece of paper and write down what you think you’ll need for Ireland.”
“Tomorrow, Mama. I’m going to bed now.”
“Oh, my goodness. Is it already nine o’clock? Okay, off to bed you go. I’m going to work on this a while longer.” She sat over her lists, humming.
Lucy closed the living room door behind her. She didn’t want to make any list for Ireland. She didn’t want to go to Ireland.
“I don’t want to go to Ireland, Theodore,” she whispered to her teddy bear in bed. “I don’t want to go, but what I want doesn’t count. And I don’t need a list. I’m taking you. And my umbrella. Because it rains all the time there.”
That night she dreamed she was standing on a little island painted frog-green, and it was rocking like a boat in a stormy sea. It was pouring rain. She was wearing rain boots that were way too big for her, and she was huddled under Mama’s pink umbrella, Theodore tucked securely under one arm. In spite of the umbrella, they were both soaking wet, and she was chilled to the bone.
Chapter 3
A Mean, Dirty, Rotten Trick
In the following days, Lucy’s mother was a cheerful whirlwind of activity: she arranged for someone from the garden center to take care of the plants on the roof-top terrace; she had herself vaccinated against tropical diseases; she picked up some foreign currency at the bank, and she took Lucy on a shopping trip to Düsseldorf.
She bought two bikinis and a one-piece swimsuit, six sundresses, one evening dress, sandals with silver straps, two pairs of sunglasses, a hat, and three different kinds of sunscreen. Lucy got yellow rain boots, a red rain jacket, and a green, broad-brimmed rain hat.
“Adorable!” squealed both the saleswomen in the children’s clothing boutique.
Lucy’s mother nodded. “My daughter’s going to Ireland.”
“Oh, I see,” one of the saleswomen said knowingly. “Lots of rain. And redheads everywhere you go.”
Lucy stared into the mirror and thought she looked like Paddington Bear. She’d rather get wet and catch pneumonia and die young than run around looking like that!
In English class, Miss Schmitt asked about their vacation plans. “Where are you going to spend your holidays?”
“I’m going to visit my aunt in Ireland,” Lucy said when it was her turn.
“Don’t forget your umbrella,” Miss Schmitt reminded her.
Kora asked why all Irish people had red hair.
Miss Schmitt said that not all Irish were red-haired, but many were; why that was, she didn’t know. And Mr. Heymann, who taught geography and liked to spend a lot of time in restaurants when he was on vacation, asked what sorts of regional foods there were where they were going.
Everyone knew something – everyone but Lucy. She hadn’t the faintest idea.
Mr. Heymann knew of only one typically Irish dish: mutton stew with cabbage and potatoes.
Lucy made a mental note not to touch it with a ten-foot pole.
Kora and Lucy had started going to Chang’s ice cream parlor every day after school, even though Lucy’s stomach was feeling a little funny.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t eat any ice cream,” Kora suggested.
Lucy shook her head. Lately, she’d constantly been feeling slightly sick to her stomach. Even at night whenever she happened to wake up. The ice cream was helping her fight it, she was sure.
“I’ve heard of people being bitten by the travel bug,” said Kora. “Maybe you got bit by one of those.”
Today, Lucy shoveled down her ice cream in a hurry; she wanted to eat another dish of it before she went home.
“Because one week from today I’m flying to Ireland, Kora. And I doubt if they’ll have an ice cream parlor in the middle of nowhere. I have to stock up now.”
There was an open suitcase in Lucy’s bedroom. “I’m starting to pack,” her mother said. “We’ve both got an appointment with Stefan later on to get our hair cut.”
Lucy took a look at her suitcase. A couple of woolen sweaters, thick socks, and her flannel nightgowns were already in there.
“Phooey,” Lucy muttered, kicking the suitcase shut. She sat on the bed, her back to the suitcase, and continued sewing together the patches for Mrs. Freitag’s afghan.
Stefan was quickly finished with Lucy’s hair, as always. Washed and cut off straight at the shoulder. As usual, Stefan and her mother had tried to talk Lucy into getting blond highlights.
Mother and daughter had the same ash-blond hair. Lucy’s mother thought it an unbearably boring color that needed sprucing up with a few honey-blond highlights. She couldn’t understand why Lucy kept refusing.
As Lucy’s mother paid, Stefan handed Lucy two little bottles: shampoo and conditioner.
“Travel-size,” he said. “Have a great vacation. But aren’t you kind of scared to be traveling all alone?”
“No,” said Lucy. “Thanks for the shampoo and–”
“Nonsense, Stefan,” her