The Runaway. Alison Hart
mother laughed. “Keep jingling. I need to finish flouring the chicken. Joan and Jerry are coming for dinner.”
Maryellen brightened. Since her sister Joan had gotten married and had started college, the rest of the Larkins didn’t see as much of her and her husband, Jerry.
“Will you go tell Carolyn I need her help before she leaves on her date? Then you can set the table.”
Maryellen dashed down the hall to the bedroom, where she found her fifteen-year-old sister sitting in front of the mirror. Since Joan had moved out, the girls’ room needed only three beds, so now a vanity and a stool with a ruffled skirt filled one corner. Carolyn had decorated the edges of the vanity mirror with photos of movie stars cut from magazines. Maryellen had added a photo of Grandmom and Grandpop, and in the middle, Beverly had taped a paper doll of a princess wearing a tiara.
“Mom needs your help.” Maryellen propped her elbows on the vanity and watched as Carolyn brushed on mascara. She was dressed in a pink sweater set with a black scarf tied around her neck, and her blonde hair was wavy. Maryellen thought her sister looked as beautiful as the movie stars in magazines.
“Who’s your date tonight?”
“Drew.”
Maryellen giggled. “Dreamy Drew. Where are you going?” She picked up a tube of lipstick and twisted it.
“Seaside Diner for burgers and shakes,” Carolyn replied. “Then they’re having the Monday night jukebox dance competition.”
“You’re going to miss dinner with Joan and Jerry.”
“They’re meeting us there afterward. The old married couple can still jitterbug like, well, bugs. And it won’t be late. School tomorrow. But I got all my homework done so Mom said I could go.”
“I wish I was old enough to go dancing.”
Carolyn took the tube of lipstick and swiped a streak of pink on Maryellen’s cheek. “Soon enough, Ellie-bell.” Since Joan had left, Carolyn had picked up the habit of rhyming nicknames for her sister. “When you’re fifteen like me.”
Although Maryellen loved dancing, she couldn’t imagine dating, since she was only ten and fifteen was a long ways away. She was best friends with Davy Fenstermacher, who lived next door, and that was A-OK with her.
“Carolyn! Maryellen! I need help, girls!”
“Coming!” they hollered in unison. Maryellen set the table, and Carolyn made biscuits while Mrs. Larkin bathed the itchy boys in powdered oatmeal. Next, Maryellen frosted the cake for dessert, humming a silly jingle. “Gooey chocolate; covers the city; Superman saves us; because he’s so…pretty? Gritty? Witty?” Gosh, that jingle would never win anything, she thought, and why wasn’t there a Supergirl?
She tucked a dish towel into her shirt collar as a cape and, twirling around the room, arms outstretched, pretended to fly. A splat of chocolate flew off the knife and landed on the floor. “Hey,” Carolyn growled, “don’t get any of that on my outfit.”
“Sorry.” Maryellen quickly wiped up the splatters, and finished the cake with a swirly flourish. “Ta da!”
A honk sounded from outside. Carolyn stuck the biscuits in the oven, called good-bye, and dashed out the front door. Mikey and Tom ran from the bathroom draped only in towels just as Joan and Jerry came in.
At dinner, Mikey and Tom scratched and wiggled, Beverly insisted on sitting on Joan’s lap even though she was getting too big, Mr. Larkin advised Jerry about mortgages, and Mrs. Larkin asked Joan about her college classes. Bored, Maryellen plucked a piece of chicken from her drumstick and held it under the table for Scooter, who always waited patiently by her leg for a treat.
When she didn’t feel him licking it from her fingers, she bent over and peered under the tablecloth. She saw seven pairs of legs but no dachshund. That’s strange. Scooter always begs during meals. Where is he?
Maryellen whacked her forehead. Of course! She’d forgotten to give him dinner. He was probably waiting by his food bowl, wondering why she hadn’t fed him.
Excusing herself, she hurried into the kitchen and grabbed the bag of dog food from the pantry. She opened the back door and found his bowl, sitting empty on the covered stoop.
“Scooter!” Maryellen called. As she poured Chow-Chow Dog Food into his bowl, she sang his come-to-dinner song: “Chow-Chow Dog Food, Eat it up, And you’ll be a happy pup!” That was the Chow-Chow jingle that rang out over television commercials and always brought him running. But when he didn’t waddle over, she tried the new jingle she and her mother had made up:
Feed Chow-Chow Dog Food to your wolf or pup.
Every breed and size will lap it up.
Then they’ll bark for more, more, more.
So hurry and buy some at the store!
When Scooter still didn’t show, Maryellen checked under the bushes and behind the storage shed in the backyard and then hurried to the front yard. The sunny day had turned into a drizzly evening, and she shivered. She looked up and down Palmetto Street, but the street and sidewalks were empty.
Where was Scooter? She thought back to when she had last seen him. It was in the afternoon when she’d tripped over him and shooed him outside. Had he been gone all that time? Sometimes he visited the neighbors, but he was always home before dinnertime.
Maryellen frowned, worried, and sudden tears pricked her eyes. Scooter never missed a meal, which could mean only one thing—he had run away!
chapter 2
Too Quiet
“SCOOTER’S RUN AWAY!” Maryellen cried out as she ran into the dining room.
No one paid any attention to her. Mrs. Larkin was cutting the cake, and everybody was still talking.
She stomped her foot. “I said Scooter has run away!”
“Ellie, dear, you don’t have to yell,” Mrs. Larkin said as she passed a piece of cake to Mr. Larkin.
Maryellen bit back a sob. “But Scooter’s gone!”
Finally everyone looked at her.
“He didn’t show up for dinner, and he’s not in the yard.” Her lower lip began to tremble. “He ran away.”
Tom giggled. “Scooter’s too fat to run.”
“Did you sing him the Chow-Chow song?” Beverly asked. “That worked when he got lost at Yellowstone Park.”
“Yes, and I rattled the bag, too, and sang our new Chow-Chow song.”
“Missing a meal will do him good,” Joan said as she forked up a bite of cake. “He’s pretty chubby.”
“He’ll show up.” Mrs. Larkin handed Maryellen a plate. “When he didn’t get his dinner, he probably wandered down to Miss Nancy’s house. She loves to feed him treats.”
Mr. Larkin patted Maryellen’s shoulder. “Your mother’s right. Remember when he hid under Miss Nancy’s back porch during that thunderstorm? He didn’t come home for hours.”
Maryellen swallowed hard. She took the slice of cake and sat down. Everyone else around the table started talking again as if nothing was wrong.
And maybe nothing was wrong. Scooter did love Miss Nancy, and Maryellen had forgotten to feed him. He was probably mad at her and had trotted down to the neighbors’.
But when bedtime came and Scooter still had not returned home, she began to worry again.
“Your father will call for him before he locks up,” Mrs. Larkin said when she tucked Maryellen and Beverly into bed. “I’ll phone