Baby-Sitters On Board by Ann M. Martin Read Free Book Online Page A

scorching. I decided it was time for a swim. I began swimming laps. When I surfaced after awhile, the man had gotten a glass of iced tea from somewhere. He tasted it and made a hideous face.
The next time I surfaced, I was just in time to hear the man say, "Clumsy fool." I wasn't positive why he was saying it, but a woman was walking away from him looking quite annoyed.
The next time I surfaced, the man had opened a book. But he wasn't reading it. He was looking over at a group of people who were laughing and talking and playing Trivial Pursuit. "No respect for someone who might want to read," grumbled the man as I hoisted myself out of the pool.
What did he expect? I thought. This is a pool, not a library.
As I was drying myself off, the man dropped his book. Without thinking about it, I leaned over and retrieved it. "Here you go," I said, handing it to him. And then I glanced at the title. "The Mayor of Casterbridge!" I exclaimed. "That's my nannie's favorite book. She reads it once a year." "No kidding," said the man. "I've read it eight times. . . . Who's your nannie?" "My grandmother. Mom's mother. She's seventy-three. She has a car named the Pink Clinker." "No kidding," the man said again. "Seventy-three. Does that mean she's read the book seventy-three times?" I shook my head. "Only fifty-eight. Once a year since she was fifteen. I guess I forgot to mention that part." The man almost smiled then — but not quite.
"My Gertrude's favorite book was Pride and Prejudice." It was my turn. "Who's Gertrude?" I asked as I finished drying off and lay down on the lounge chair again.
"My wife. Dead now." The man turned away. His almost-smile had disappeared.
"I'm sorry," I told him. "Really I am. It's awful when people die ... or go away. Nan-73 rue's husband — my grandfather — died. And my dad went away once and never came back. Now I have a stepfather." "No kidding." "Yeah. He's the one taking us on this trip. He's taking my mom, my three brothers, my two friends, my stepsister and stepbrother, and me." "No kidding. Sounds like a mighty nice person." "Oh, he is," I assured the man. "And generous. I think he'd do anything for our family. But you know what?" (Why was I confiding in this stranger?) "One of my friends that Watson brought along — her name is Dawn — well, she and I are sort of having a fight." "No kidding." "Yeah. I hate having fights. Especially when you're supposed to be having a good time. And especially when she's my guest." "What are you fighting about?" "We're kind of like the Odd Couple on TV." "No kidding. Which one of you is the messy one?" "Me." I looked down at my hands.
"Nothing to be ashamed of," said the man.
"My Gertrude and I were like that. I was the messy one, too." "Yeah? Then we're two of a kind." "I guess/' he replied. "Except that you look like you're having fun on this trip." "Oh, I am," I agreed. "Not counting the problem with Dawn. Aren't you having fun?" The man shrugged. "I don't fit in on this trip. I should never have come. I came for the wrong reasons. Besides, I'm too old and I'm a big grouch." I giggled. "My name's Kristy Thomas," I told him. "What's yours?" "Rudy Staples." "Nice to meet you, Mr. Staples," I said, and shook his hand.
"Nice to meet you, Kristy Thomas." Mr. Staples told me all about Gertrude then — how even though she was a neatnik, she'd been his lawn bowling partner, his golf partner, his life partner. But she'd had a heart attack and died just two months earlier. Mr. Staples had taken the trip for a change of pace. He said he needed to get away from his memories.
I didn't think the idea was working too well.
"You know what?" I said to Mr. Staples. "It's getting awfully hot out here. We don't want to get sunburned. Lef s go inside. Do you know how to play Centipede?" "That one of those noisy, beeping video games?" he asked with a scowl.
"Yes," I replied, undaunted. "Slobs like us love them. So come on down to the Tropical Deck. I'll show you how to play. I'll