Ducky: Diary Three by Ann M. Martin

Author:Ann M. Martin [Martin, Ann M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4532-9822-0
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2014-02-20T19:58:00+00:00

Aug. 28

Way past midnight

The phone rings at 5 of midnight. This hour, you figure it’s the parents, still wrestling with that old time-zone problem of theirs.

Another few years, they may get it.

You also figure that your brother will sleep through the ringing. So you grab the phone and croak, “Hello?”

“Ducky,” a strangled voice says.

“It’s me,” you say, still half asleep and not quite sure of who is calling you.

“It’s Maggie,” says the voice. Little. Scared. Tear-filled.

Not like Maggie’s voice at all.

“Maggie,” you say. “what’s wrong?” You are awake now. And a little freaked.

And guess what? You do not think this is about you.

“Can you pick me up at my house? Like, right now?” she says in a low, hoarse whisper.

“Now,” you repeat. You realize you do that a lot these days—repeat words to stall for time.

But why do you need to stall for time? There is only one right answer.

“Please,” she whispers urgently.

“I’m on my way,” you say at the same moment.

“Oh, Ducky,” she says and hangs up the phone.

Your bro is still sleeping like a baby when you rocket off the premises.

You leave him a note.

Like he’s ever gonna wake up and notice your absence.

You get to the Blumes’ and think maybe you shouldn’t ring the doorbell, since it is so late.

Then you notice that lights are on. Everywhere. If the house were any brighter, it would look as if it were on fire.

And it would be a big fire too, considering the size of the house.

You ring the bell.

The door opens a crack. You see one of Maggie’s eyes. She whispers, “We’ll be right out.”

You can barely hear her. Not because she is whispering.

Because someone is shouting in there.

Loud, incoherent shouting. You hear things breaking. You hear music turned way up.

You flinch at the sound of something big smashed into small pieces as Maggie shuts the door in your face.

Moments later Maggie emerges—holding Zeke’s hand. He’s still pj’d but he’s wide-awake. His eyes have that round, little-kid look. Scared, sleepy, like maybe it’s all just a nightmare that mommy will come fix.

Mommy’s not available, kid. She might as well be in Crete.

You’re pretty sure about that, even though Maggie says not one word to you on the ride back to your house. She just rocks Zeke and makes this crooning sound.

You lead the way into the house, not sure what else to do.

You stash Maggie and Zeke in the parents’ room, which has its own bathroom, in case Zeke has any off-hour runs to make.

You haul out clean sheets and produce clean towels.

“We’ll take care of it,” Maggie says. She hands the towels to Zeke. “Why don’t you go put these in the bathroom for us,” she says.

He obeys. He seems glad to have a job to do.

You say to Maggie, as she stands in the door of the room, “Are you okay?” figuring maybe she sent Zeke away so you could have a quick chat.

“Yes,” she says. “Thank you, Ducky. Thank you for not asking any questions.”

“No problem,” you say, taking the hint.

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