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asked Dad.
    “A watermelon?” he asked.
    Claire sighed when I told her. “Watermelon is ordinary, Katie.”
    “We like watermelon,” I said.
    “Tell your dad we’ll bring the cutlery,” she said. “We want things to match.”
    “What’s cuttle ree?”
    “Cut-ler-ee. Forks and knives and spoons,” she said. “Really, Katie. When you don’t have a mother at home, you have to learn about things like cutlery.”
    I hung up. Almost immediately, the phone rang again.
    “I wasn’t done,” Claire said. “I’m sure Ms. Morgan would like to ride in our car. I noticed your dad’s car was a little messy.”
    I slammed the phone down.

Chapter 10
Too Much to Think About
    T HE TELEPHONE WAS STILL bouncing on the counter when Dad walked by. “Whoa,” he said. “That’s not the way to handle the phone.”
    “Claire says our car is messy.” I stomped behind him into the kitchen. “And she doesn’t think watermelon is fancy enough.”
    Dad raised his hands. “She’s right about the car. But watermelon sounds great to me.”
    “Watermelon is very great,” Tyler said as he carried all his library books into the kitchen. He set his books down in the middle of the floor and opened one. “Read to me, Katie.”
    “Not now,” I said. I rubbed my forehead. It was sore from too many worries.
    Dad put the peanut butter sandwiches onto paper napkins and took them to the table.
    “I want Ms. Morgan to ride with us,” I said. “It’s our picnic. Not Claire’s.”
    He poured milk for us and water for him. “I’ll vacuum the car.”
    “You should spruce it,” Tyler said.
    “Okay,” Dad said. “I’ll spruce it. Wash your hands, Katie and Tyler.”
    “There’s too much to think about,” I said as we sat down at the table. “We’re supposed to be kids on summer vacation. Having fun.” I sniffed at the peanut butter in my sandwich.
    Dad leaned back in his chair. “The picnic will be a nice break from fixing up our house. According to Sadie, we really need to clear things out. If we end up not moving, at least our house will feel bigger.”
    “I hope that company doesn’t want you.” I ripped my sandwich into little pieces and counted them. Ten little peanut butter sandwiches.
    “That’s not supportive,” Dad said. He chewed and swallowed. “I’d like to have you kids rooting for me instead of making it harder.” Tyler was squeezing his sandwich and licking the peanut butter that oozed out.
    I thought about rooting for Dad. I touched his arm. “Mr. Flagstaff likes you. He’ll be sad if you get a different job.”
    “I need to have a talk with him before I make any decisions. He gets back Tuesday.” He smiled at me. “But that’s my girl. That’s the kind of help I need.”
    I popped one of my little sandwiches into my mouth and chewed. “The picnic was your idea,” I said. “Why is Claire in charge of it now?”
    Tyler zoomed a piece of his sandwich across his plate, making sounds like squealing tires. “The winner!” he announced, and popped the piece of sandwich into his mouth.
    Dad reached across the table to touch my hand. “The picnic will be fine,” he said. “We can eat, take some walks to see the falls, and then come home.” He grinned at me. “A picnic is a picnic.”
    After Tyler was down for his nap, Dad started stacking newspapers in the utility room. I wandered down the hall and into my room. My orange polka-dot bedspreads glowed on the twin beds. My shell collection looked pretty on top of my bookcase. Real Estate Sadie would say my room had plenty of lines. It was perfect.
    Maybe my closet had some extra stuff. I looked in. Pants and shirts lay in heaps on the floor; papers and puzzles and games spilled across the shelves. Sadie would not like my closet, but I did. Everything was right where I could find it.
    Next to the closet door, my poster of Mom holding her guitar filled the whole wall. She and Dad had been divorced for more than three years. We spent time with