Sweeping Up the Heart

Dedication

For Clara

Epigraph

The whole secret is something

very few people ever discover.

—William Maxwell, The Heavenly Tenants

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Epigraph

1. Poor Thing

2. Mrs. O’Brien

3. Knobby Knees

4. The Nephew

5. Rabbit

6. Gwen and Charlie Till Death Do Us Part

7. Feather

8. Dr. Cotton

9. Poetry Group

10. Quiz

11. A Lot

12. Frosting and Lamb Chop

13. Epiphany

14. The Wind

15. Lucky Penny

16. Scenario

17. Too Big

18. Nothing

19. Heart

20. Real

21. Tree

22. The Mystery of the Situation

23. Sidestepping

24. White Horse

25. Sleepover

26. A Barrage of Questions

27. Sweeping

28. Gone

29. A Letter and a Cake

30. What Was Actually Happening

31. Nonsense and Sorrow

32. Just Right

33. Human Frailty

34. Postcard

35. Needed

About the Author

Books by Kevin Henkes

Copyright

About the Publisher

1 • Poor Thing

Poor Amelia Albright.

Gordon Albright’s daughter.

Poor thing, people said.

It was Mrs. O’Brien who said it most often. Nearly every day.

Right now Amelia couldn’t agree more with the sentiment. Poor me, she thought. It was the beginning of spring break. Saturday. She should have been happy, excited to be free of the curse of seventh grade for a week, but she felt a nagging disappointment in general, and sharp pinpricks of anger specifically directed toward her father.

She’d begged him for months to take her on a trip during break. Rarely did her vacation and his fall upon the same dates. When she’d discovered that they did, in fact, coincide this year, her vision became crystal, and she’d begun her campaign for a trip to Florida. It seemed everyone at school was going to Florida, a place she’d never been. The other place she wanted to go was France, to visit her friend who was living there for a year, but she didn’t dare suggest it; his going along with that idea seemed as unlikely as her mother showing up at the front door.

“Florida?” her father had said, the word placed gently, but like a roadblock, between them. “Too hot.”

“Too crowded,” he’d said later.

“Too touristy,” he’d said later still.

He’d barely mentioned the drawing of the seashell or the ceramic dolphin she’d made and left at the door to his study.

The last time she’d asked him, he’d pursed his lips thoughtfully, then said, “You know I don’t like to travel.” He sighed his typical sigh, then added in his typically measured voice, “We’ll have a nice quiet time at home.”

“That’s all I ever have,” said Amelia. “That’s my life—a nice quiet time at home. Minus the ‘nice.’”

He looked her firmly in the eye. His gaze was sympathetic, but weighty. “It could be worse. I do the best I can.”

At that point she walked out of the room, knowing it was a lost cause. She didn’t want to hear it. She’d heard it too many times before. He’d say that he understood how hard it was for her. But that it was just as hard if not harder for him. How do you argue with that? Although she could never do it, one day she thought she might like to scream at him, “Get over it!”