Thanks to Lucy Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2013 by Ilene Cooper

  Interior illustrations copyright © 2013 by David Merrell

  Cover illustration copyright © 2013 by Mary Ann Lasher

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks and A Stepping Stone

  Book and the colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Cooper, Ilene.

  Thanks to Lucy / by Ilene Cooper; illustrated by David Merrell. — First edition.

  p. cm. — (Absolutely Lucy; #6)

  “A Stepping Stone book.”

  Summary: “Bobby Quinn has a lot to be thankful for this Thanksgiving—his grandmother’s visit, an adopted baby brother or sister on the way—but what he’s most thankful for is his beagle, Lucy, who hasn’t been acting like herself lately.”—Provided by publisher.

  eISBN: 978-0-375-98638-3

  [1. Dogs—Fiction. 2. Beagle (Dog breed)—Fiction. 3. Thanksgiving Day—Fiction.

  4. Babies—Fiction. 5. Adoption—Fiction. 6. Brothers and sisters—Fiction.]

  I. Merrell, David, illustrator. II. Title.

  PZ7.C7856Th 2013 [Fic]—dc23 2012041337

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v3.1

  With great thanks to my friends at Booklist, past and present. It hardly ever seemed like work.

  —I.C.

  For Suzanne: I cannot thank you enough for the many years of friendship and hard work.

  —D.M.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1. Bagels and Beagles

  2. Ideas

  3. Getting Ready

  4. My Pie

  5. Oh, Baby!

  6. Posters and Poems

  7. Nanny and Lucy

  8. Twins

  9. Thanks for Everything!

  CLANG! BANG!

  Bobby Quinn sat up in bed. What was that noise? It was coming from the kitchen.

  Bobby looked at his clock. It was early. Lucy, his little beagle, was asleep at the foot of his bed. Lucy was supposed to stay in her own bed. But most nights she climbed in with Bobby.

  Lucy raised her head and gave a small howl. The small howl turned into a big yawn. She snuggled back down on the blanket. Lucy liked to sleep in on the weekends, just like Bobby.

  CRASH!

  Bobby jumped out of bed. What in the world was happening downstairs?

  In a flash, Lucy was on the floor and running right behind him.

  When they got to the kitchen, Bobby’s eyes grew wide. Usually when there was a mess in the house, it was because Lucy had gotten up to something or into something.

  This mess looked like it was all his mom’s fault.

  A couple of cookie sheets were on the floor. So was a metal pie plate. A shiny lid, upside down, lay nearby.

  “Mom, what’s going on?” Bobby asked.

  Mrs. Quinn’s back was to him. “I’m trying to find the roaster,” she mumbled.

  “The rooster?” Bobby asked, confused.

  “The roaster,” she said, a little more loudly. “For the Thanksgiving turkey.”

  Then she pulled a few more pots and pans out of the overcrowded cabinets. Most of them fit on the counter and table, but a dented pan tumbled to the floor.

  “Why haven’t I cleaned out these cabinets?” Mrs. Quinn moaned. “I should have thrown away half this stuff.”

  Lucy began sniffing at the pie plate. She had a very good nose. Maybe she could still smell the apple pie Mrs. Quinn had made last week.

  Bobby’s father came in through the back door. He seemed as surprised as Bobby when he saw the pots and pans on the floor. He looked at Lucy. No, Lucy couldn’t have done all this.

  “Jane,” Mr. Quinn said, clearing his throat, “I take it you didn’t find the roaster?”

  Mrs. Quinn sat down on a kitchen chair. “No. I didn’t find the roaster.”

  Bobby glanced at Lucy. She was now pushing a pot lid across the floor with her paw. She seemed to think it was a new game.

  Bobby got Lucy’s kibble and poured some into her bowl. That would keep her busy. The last thing his mother needed was for Lucy to come up with a new, noisy game.

  “There’s just so much to do,” Mrs. Quinn said. She threw up her hands. “Thanksgiving is almost here. We have company coming. I have a project to finish at work. I haven’t baked the pies yet. We’ve got to clean the whole house. And I don’t know where the roaster is.”

  There was a tremble in Mrs. Quinn’s voice.

  Bobby and his father looked at each other. Uh-oh! Was Mom having a meltdown?

  Mr. Quinn went to his wife and kissed her on the top of her head. “Don’t worry, Jane. Bobby and I will help. We will make sure everything gets done.”

  “Absolutely,” said Bobby. Absolutely was his favorite word. It meant FOR SURE in big capital letters.

  Now his mother was smiling. “Thanks. I should have known I could count on my two guys.”

  “Lucy will help, too,” Bobby said.

  Lucy heard her name. She looked up from her food and tilted her head. How am I supposed to help? she seemed to say.

  “Lucy will help by staying out of trouble,” Bobby said firmly.

  Oh, that. Lucy went back to eating her food.

  Bobby and his parents laughed.

  “I know you’ll keep an eye on her,” Mrs. Quinn said. “And that’s one less thing I have to worry about.”

  Mr. Quinn put a brown paper bag on the counter. He liked to get fresh-baked bagels on the weekend. Then he poured coffee. Bobby got out the milk. Mrs. Quinn cut the bagels and found the butter and jam in the refrigerator. They sat down to breakfast.

  “Who exactly is coming for Thanksgiving?” Bobby asked.

  Mrs. Quinn counted on her fingers. “The three of us. Your aunt Kay and uncle John. Ryan and Brian. And, of course, Nanny Ann is coming in from Washington, D.C. Eight.”

  Eight didn’t seem like that big of a number, but it would make for a full house. Bobby’s aunt and uncle and cousins lived about an hour away. The families mostly got together for things like birthdays and holidays. His cousins Ryan and Brian were twelve, and they were twins. They usually didn’t pay much attention to Bobby.

  Nanny Ann was his mom’s mother. His dad’s parents lived in Florida. He wished he could see more of all of his grandparents.

  Bobby took a sip of his milk. “Don’t forget the Thanksgiving assembly. That’s the day before Thanksgiving.” He hoped his mother wouldn’t think it was just one more thing she had to do.

  But Mrs. Quinn was smiling. “Nanny and I will be coming to see you. She’s looking forward to it.”

  Mr. Quinn buttered his second bagel. “Last time I heard, your class hadn’t decided what you were going to do.”

  “We have to decide soon,” Bobby said. “Mrs. Lee said she is tired of Pilgrims.”

  Bobby hoped he wouldn’t have a speaking part in the third-grade program. Bobby was shy. Not as shy as he used to be. He could even give a report in front of the whole class n
ow without whispering and getting red in the face.

  Getting up on a stage, though? In front of half the school? That sounded awful.

  Lucy was finished with her breakfast. She knew what came next. Time for her walk. She stood by Bobby’s chair, and she looked at him with her big brown eyes.

  Bobby got up. “Well, Lucy, since you asked so nice, let’s go.” He grabbed Lucy’s leash from the hook by the door. Usually the leash made Lucy prance and howl. Today she sat quietly while Bobby hooked the leash to her collar.

  Maybe, he thought, keeping Lucy out of trouble isn’t going to be so hard after all.

  Bobby and the rest of Mrs. Lee’s third-grade class pulled their chairs into a circle.

  Mrs. Lee held her hand up. That meant Quiet!

  “Class, we have just one week before the Thanksgiving assembly,” Mrs. Lee said. She looked at her students sitting around her in the circle. “Let’s put our heads together and come up with a program today.”

  Bobby watched his friends Shawn and Dexter giggle as they hit their heads together lightly.

  Mrs. Lee frowned at them. “Boys, I need ideas, not goofing around.”

  Marta raised her hand.

  “Yes, Marta?” Mrs. Lee asked.

  “We could do a skit about the ways Thanksgiving is celebrated in other countries,” Marta said.

  Mrs. Lee thought about that. “Well, there are harvest festivals in other countries. I don’t think we have time to learn about them, though. But it was a good idea, Marta.”

  Candy, another friend of Bobby’s, raised her hand.

  Uh-oh, Bobby thought. Candy’s ideas can be doozies.

  “Yes, Candy?” Mrs. Lee nodded at her.

  “I was thinking about the turkeys. The poor turkeys. We could do a play about the turkeys and how they gotta be worried when Thanksgiving rolls around. You know, they’re happy in the summer. Not a care in the world. Then the leaves start falling. Pretty soon, it’s going to be time—”

  “You know, Candy,” Mrs. Lee interrupted, “I’m glad you’re thinking about the turkeys. But I’m not sure turkeys actually worry.”

  “Maybe they should,” Candy muttered to herself.

  Mrs. Lee sighed. “Anyone else?”

  Jack raised his hand. “Thanksgiving is about being thankful.”

  Now Mrs. Lee was smiling. “That’s exactly right. What did you have in mind?”

  Jack looked embarrassed. “Well, nothing, really.”

  “All right, Jack has given us the start of a good idea,” Mrs. Lee told the class. “Let’s build on it. What kind of program can we do about giving thanks?”

  “We could say things we’re thankful for,” Dexter said.

  “Like what?” Mrs. Lee asked.

  “I’m thankful for my grandmother’s sweet potato pies,” Dexter said. “And she makes two of them at Thanksgiving.”

  “I’m thankful that my dad got a job,” a girl named Ally said.

  “I’m thankful that medicine made my dog Butch’s gas better. Not so stinky,” Candy said.

  Everybody burst into giggles at that. Even Mrs. Lee laughed.

  “Well, we probably all have things we are thankful for. I know a good song about Thanksgiving. Why don’t we all say what we are thankful for at our program and then sing?” Mrs. Lee suggested.

  Most of the boys and girls nodded. They liked the idea.

  Bobby didn’t like Mrs. Lee’s idea. Why couldn’t they just sing the song and be done with it? Then he had an idea. He raised his hand.

  “Yes, Bobby?” Mrs. Lee looked a little surprised. Bobby almost never asked questions in class.

  “Maybe we could draw pictures,” he said.

  “Pictures?” Mrs. Lee repeated. She seemed puzzled.

  “Draw pictures of the things we are thankful for.” Bobby spoke softly. He wondered if Mrs. Lee even heard him.

  Mrs. Lee thought about it for a moment. “That’s a good idea, Bobby. We won’t just tell the audience what we are thankful for. We can show them. We’ll put our pictures on poster boards so the audience can see them. If you don’t want to draw, you can cut pictures out of a magazine. Or blow up photographs.” Mrs. Lee seemed pleased.

  Bobby smiled. No magazine pictures for him. He liked to draw. He was good at drawing. And if he held up a poster, he could hide behind it.

  When school was over, Bobby and Shawn walked home together. They lived across the street from each other.

  “So, what are you going to draw for the Thanksgiving program?” Shawn asked Bobby.

  “Lucy, of course,” Bobby answered. “What about you?” Shawn liked to draw, too.

  “I’m not sure,” Shawn said. “Maybe Sara and Ben.”

  Bobby was surprised. Sara was Shawn’s older sister. Ben was his younger brother. Sara could be bossy. Ben could be a pain.

  Bobby said goodbye to Shawn. He wondered, would he want to draw his brother or sister if he had one? He might find out pretty soon. The Quinns were waiting for the adoption agency to bring them a baby. The agency had made sure the Quinns were a good family. The baby’s room was almost ready. But there was no word on when a baby might arrive.

  Bobby had lots of feelings about a new baby.

  He was excited. A baby might be fun.

  He was worried. What if his parents liked the baby more than him?

  He was nervous. What would it really be like to have a baby in the house?

  And the biggest feeling of all? It was nerves, mixed with worry, topped by excitement. What kind of big brother would he be?

  Bobby thought about when Lucy had arrived. She was squirmy, squiggly, noisy, sometimes stinky. A baby would probably be all that. But Lucy was very sweet, too.

  Could a baby be as sweet as Lucy?

  Slowly Bobby walked into his house.

  Usually Lucy greeted Bobby at the door with a couple of yelps, a few jumps, and a howl. Today she just rubbed her head against his leg.

  “Hey, girl.” Bobby patted her between the ears. “We’ll go out for a walk in a minute. First I want to say hi to Mom.”

  Lucy trotted behind Bobby as he walked into the kitchen. His mother was on the phone.

  “Yes …,” she said. “Yes, I understand. Yes, of course. Thank you, Mrs. Brady.”

  Bobby knew who Mrs. Brady was. He called her the Baby Lady. She was the social worker from the adoption agency.

  Mrs. Quinn hung up the phone. She had a funny look on her face.

  Bobby hoped this wasn’t going to be the start of another meltdown.

  Mrs. Quinn came over to Bobby and gave him a big hug. She was smiling, but she had tears in her eyes, too.

  “Mom, what is it?” Bobby asked.

  “It looks like we’re going to get a baby!”

  “We are? When?” Bobby asked.

  “Mrs. Brady couldn’t say exactly,” his mother told him. “But she did say it would be soon.”

  Bobby gulped. Was he ready to be a big brother … soon?

  Bobby’s parents had told him about the adoption a few months ago. Then it had seemed like something that might happen someday.

  Someday was getting closer.

  Bobby tried to pin down his parents at dinner. “How soon is soon?” he asked.

  Mr. and Mrs. Quinn looked at each other. “A few months?” Mr. Quinn said.

  Mrs. Quinn nodded. “We don’t know exactly when the baby will be born.”

  “But it won’t be before Thanksgiving?” Bobby asked.

  Mrs. Quinn looked startled. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  “Well, the baby’s room is almost ready,” Mr. Quinn said. “The walls are painted. The curtains are up.”

  “Now you just have to put the crib together,” Mrs. Quinn said.

  Mr. Quinn cleared his throat and spent a long time buttering his bread. “Yes. I’ll do that this weekend.”

  Bobby knew his dad had already tried to put the crib together. More than once. Last time he’d finished with two extra pieces.

  “Ha
rder than it looks,” his father had muttered.

  After dinner, Bobby decided to start his picture of Lucy for the Thanksgiving program. He got out his art supplies.

  Bobby was very good at drawing people. Drawing animals was much harder. He knew from past experience that drawing horses was really, really hard.

  He hoped beagles were easier.

  Bobby settled himself in a comfortable chair in the living room.

  “Lucy,” he called.

  Lucy knew her name. She pattered into the room.

  “Lucy, I’m going to draw a picture of you,” Bobby informed her. “Sit!”

  Lucy sat. For about three seconds. Then she flopped down on the floor.

  “Well, okay,” Bobby said. “At least you’re not jumping around.”

  He started drawing Lucy on his pad of paper. He got the shape of her head right. He added Lucy’s long velvety ears. She looked up at him, and he drew her chocolate-colored brown eyes. Her nose was harder.

  Should he try to draw her whole body? Bobby wondered. Maybe he should draw her all stretched out like she was right now. How long would Lucy stay like that?

  To his surprise, Lucy stayed still. She twitched her tail back and forth. She panted a little. But Bobby was able to finish his sketch.

  “Good girl!” Bobby told Lucy. He patted her head. She licked his hand.

  Bobby looked at his drawing. It had come out better than he expected. Later he would paint Lucy’s picture on poster board. He hoped that would turn out well, too.

  The next day at school, Mrs. Lee asked her students how the pictures were coming. Everybody started talking at once.

  “I’m trying to draw our new house,” said Marta. “I can’t get the porch right at all.”

  “You think that’s hard?” Jack said. “Try drawing hearing aids!” Jack had come to the school at Halloween time. Now that he had a new hearing aid, he could really be a part of Mrs. Lee’s third-grade class.

  Mrs. Lee said, “One at a time, please.”

  A few more kids talked about their pictures. Then Candy raised her hand and said, “My picture is a secret.”

  Bobby and Shawn looked at each other. Candy liked to talk. A lot. Could she really keep anything a secret?