“No, it’s not,” Muriel agreed.
“We’ve all been friends since we were kids. This just isn’t right.”
Muriel sighed. “I guess there’s nothing like love to ruin a friendship.”
* * *
Stephen switched loyalties the next week, coming into the shop and asking Muriel to see True Grit at the new Falls Cinema. She said yes and then felt guilty. Pat had fallen hard for this man and here she was going out with him. Was Pat right? Was she a selfish man-collector?
They shared a popcorn, and he slid an arm around her, and there in the dark, with John Wayne busy fighting bad guys on the screen, her heart fought its own battle. She wanted this man, knew deep down that he was the one for her and that they’d wind up together. But she didn’t want to lose her friend. How would that work with all of them here in Icicle Falls?
A new thought dawned. Did Stephen want to stay in Icicle Falls?
“Do you like it here?” she asked later as they had root beer floats at Herman’s.
“Sure. It’s a nice little town, a heck of a lot smaller than Seattle. Don’t know if I’d want to live here all my life.”
That made the ice cream in Muriel’s stomach harden into a rock. “Where would you want to live?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know yet. I’ve got a lot of country left to check out.”
“You could look all over the world but you’d never find a place as nice as Icicle Falls.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Might be hard to find success in such a small place, though.”
“What kind of success are you looking for?” Muriel had always felt that simply having a life filled with family and close friends qualified as success.
Friends. She thought of Pat and pushed away her glass.
“I don’t know that, either,” Stephen said. “I know I want to make something of myself, but I haven’t figured out what.” He frowned. “One thing I do know, I’m going to be successful. My old man wasn’t much,” he added. “He doesn’t think I’ll be much, either, but I will.”
“I believe you,” she said. “But you don’t need a big city to do that. A man can make something of himself in a small town.”
“People can be prejudiced in a small town.”
“People can be prejudiced anywhere.” She remembered how her father had looked at Stephen, the “long-haired hippie” when he came into the Sweet Dreams gift shop. Was Stephen remembering that, too?
He glanced around the restaurant. “Doesn’t look like there’s much to do here except run a shop.”
“Or own an orchard,” she put in. Or a chocolate factory.
“Nah. I’m not a farmer. I’ll figure it out, though. One thing I can tell you, I want a woman who’s willing to leave everything to be with me.”
Muriel got the message. For Stephen she could do that. She nodded. “That’s what love is—giving up what you care about the most for the person you want to be with.”
He smiled at her as though she’d just passed some kind of test. Well, she’d said the right thing. But could she really leave her home?
Of course she could. Home is more than a place, she told herself, it’s wherever two people in love can be together. It was probably too soon to talk about love, but she knew what she felt and she knew what she wanted. Stephen.
Now she had to find a way to convince her father that she wanted the right man. At some point she was going to have to bring Stephen home. But not yet.
So she kept insisting on meeting him places—Riverwalk Park, the pool, the movies. And June slipped by like a dream. The only part of the dream that wasn’t perfect was the fact that every time she saw Pat, her friend turned her back and went the other way.
So what? Maybe she wouldn’t be here much longer. Maybe she’d marry Stephen and move away. That thought cheered her up. Almost.
By July 3, the town of Icicle Falls was surrounded by campers, and people were taking rafts down the river, picnicking in mountain meadows and enjoying the town’s amenities. The Fourth of July celebrations were underway, with food booths set up on Alpine Street and an arts-and-crafts show in the park. And Stephen and Muriel were getting out of town.
She met him by the gazebo and hopped on the back of his motorcycle to go for a drive. It always made her nervous climbing on the back of that big, noisy bike, and she’d hold on to Stephen for dear life every time they hit the open road. But she also got a secret thrill out of being seen by the other kids. The guys all wanted to be Stephen and the girls all wanted to have him. Too bad. He was hers.
She was just looking around, gloating, when she saw someone staring at her from the corner across the street. And that person didn’t seem happy at all.
She gasped, but Stephen didn’t hear her. He was gunning the bike. Then, before she could gather her thoughts, they were speeding off down the street. If she survived riding this big scary monster, it would be to come home to something even scarier—Daddy’s wrath.
“How to Deal with an Angry Father,” by Muriel Patrick. She’d have plenty of time to write that article because she was going to be on restriction for life.
Four
MURIEL HAD BARELY walked into her house when the fireworks started. A day early.
She could smell her mother’s meat loaf baking but she had no appetite. Her stomach had been churning for the past two hours.
Daddy was home and waiting for Muriel in the living room, Mother keeping him company. She looked concerned. He looked ready to explode.
“What were you doing with that long-haired motorcycle bum?” he demanded.
“He’s not a bum,” Muriel protested. “He’s nice.”
“I can tell by looking at him that there’s nothing nice about the boy. He doesn’t even have a job.”
That showed how much her father knew. “Yes, he does. He’s working part-time at the garage.”
Daddy pointed a finger at her. “At his age he should have a full-time job.”
“Now, Joe,” Mama said in her most soothing voice. “He’s young.”
“He’s old enough to ride a noisy motorcycle all over town. He’s old enough to have a full-time job,” Daddy said, his voice rising.
“Then maybe you should give him one,” Muriel suggested boldly.
“I’ll do that when hell freezes over. Now, I don’t want you seeing him again.”
“You can’t tell me what to do, Daddy!”
“As long as you’re living under my roof I can,” her father roared, “and I expect you to listen.”
He could expect all he wanted but it didn’t mean she would. She turned and stormed out of the room and up the stairs to her bedroom.
“I’m not done with you, young lady!”
But she was done with him. She kept right on going. Upstairs she slammed her bedroom door, just so Daddy would know she meant business.
A few minutes later, a gentle tap at the door told her he’d sent a negotiator. “May I come in?” Mother asked.
As if she had a choice? She sat on her bed and watched sullenly as her mother slipped into the room. Mother joined her and laid a hand over hers. “Muriel, your father’s only concerned about your happiness.”
“No, he’s not. If he was, he wouldn’t make snap judgments. Stephen’s fun and noble and... I love him.” There, she’d said it. Her parents needed to be aware of this immutable fact.
Mother sighed. “You hardly know the boy.”
“You hardly knew Daddy,” Muriel argued. Her parents had met when their families were vacationing at the ocean and it had been love at first sight. They’d written letters back and forth for six months, had a total of three dates and then gotten engaged.
Her mother gave her a reluctant smile. “I’ll talk to your father. Meanwhile, don’t rush into anything.”
Muriel understood what that translated to. Don’
t have sex; don’t get pregnant. Well, she wasn’t planning on running right out and sleeping with Stephen. But if he asked her to marry him, she’d do it tomorrow. Rather than upset her mother with that bit of information she simply nodded.
Her mother kissed the top of her head. “Now, let’s go have dinner.”
The last thing she wanted to do was sit across the table from her father. “I’m not hungry.”
“Honey, come make up with your father.”
Muriel shook her head. “I’m going to the street dance with Olivia.”
It was a bold-faced lie and her mother knew it, but she pretended to be stupid and nodded. “Okay. Remember what I said, though. And give your father grace. He loves you dearly and doesn’t want to see you hurt.”
Muriel kept her eyes lowered and nodded. She couldn’t look her mother in the face after lying to her. She couldn’t let her father off the hook, either. He should have understood but he refused to.
When she got there, Center Street was alive and throbbing with holiday revelers consuming corn dogs and cotton candy. The Pink Poodle Skirts, a fifties and sixties cover group, were setting up over at the gazebo in the park and testing their equipment, and the sounds of electric guitar drifted on the air. She ran into Olivia right away, which made her feel better about the lie she’d told her parents.
And now, here came Stephen wearing jeans and a T-shirt, his hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Olivia sighed loudly. “He is so gorgeous.”
“Yes, he is,” Muriel agreed.
“You two are the perfect couple.”
“Tell that to my father,” Muriel said grumpily.
“He’ll come around.”
She’d said that about Pat, too. She’d been wrong. Pat wouldn’t come back, not unless Muriel gave up Stephen. And she wasn’t giving him up, not for her father and certainly not for Pat. This bad attitude of Pat’s just showed how selfish she was. A true friend would have been happy to see her best friend since grade school find the man of her dreams.
“Hey there, you two,” he greeted them. “You both look great tonight.”
Olivia’s cheeks turned pink. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
“How about a corn dog?” he offered.
“Sure,” Olivia said, falling into step with them.
At the corn dog stand they found Nils and Lenny, and Hildy and Sue Lind, and in a matter of moments Stephen had managed to separate Muriel and himself from the others, leaving Olivia in their care.
That was fine with Muriel. She wanted him all to herself. They wandered the street, hand in hand, and then later, as the light began to fade, made their way to the bandstand. The band had just started, their girl singer belting out “He’s a Rebel.” Stephen draped an arm around Muriel’s shoulders as they stood there in the growing crowd, listening.
She smiled at him. “Are you a good dancer?”
“The best.”
He proved it when the band played “Proud Mary” and everyone started dancing. Stephen had the moves. The band shifted down to a slower tempo, playing “Never My Love,” and he took her in his arms and they swayed.
“Who knew I’d find treasure here in the mountains,” he murmured in her ear and drew her closer.
Slow dancing with him was like dancing in a dream. She looked up at him and thought, My life is perfect. And later, as they walked by the river, she said as much.
“I think it’s time I got to know your parents,” he said after a very long and luscious kiss.
She bit her lip and stared out at the river, which was now a dark ribbon. She could hear the current rushing past.
“You do want me to meet your parents, don’t you?”
“You’ve already met Daddy,” she hedged.
“That wasn’t much of a meeting.”
How was she going to make this happen? She felt Stephen’s assessing gaze on her and pulled her sweater tighter.
Next to her, he let out a frustrated sigh. “Your dad doesn’t approve of me, does he?”
“I wouldn’t say that exactly.” Another lie.
“Muriel, I’m not dumb. Don’t you think I’ve figured out why you always insist on meeting me places?”
“I just thought—”
“That I wouldn’t notice how he looked at me that day in the candy shop?”
Muriel felt her cheeks heating. “My father will come around.”
“Will he?”
“I know he will,” she said firmly.
“And what if he doesn’t?”
“I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Even in the dark, it wasn’t hard to see him stiffen. Then he pulled away. She’d failed some kind of test.
“Stephen, what?”
“Nothing. It’s getting late. I’ll walk you home.”
She could envision her father waiting on the front porch, a welcoming scowl on his face. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Yeah, you probably will. I’ll walk you to your street anyway,” he said.
They left the park in an uncomfortable silence, and Muriel found herself at a loss, unsure of how to fill it.
Once they got to her street corner he stopped. “Goodbye, Muriel.”
“I’ll see you at the river tomorrow night for the fireworks,” she said.
He nodded. Then he turned and walked away without so much as a goodbye kiss.
Muriel went the rest of the way down the street with a heavy heart. Everything had been going so well until the subject of her father came up. Daddy was ruining her life.
Just as she’d suspected, she got to the house to find him waiting for her on the front porch. He frowned as she walked up the porch steps. “You were with that boy, after I told you not to see him.”
“Daddy, I’m not a little girl anymore. You can’t tell me who to see,” she snapped, and marched inside the house.
“Muriel!”
Ignoring the frustration in his voice, she kept moving. Once again, her bedroom door slammed, but this time nobody came to talk to her. Which was fine. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She fell on her bed and indulged in a good cry. This was all wrong. She’d never fought like this with her father before—but then her father had never been so mean-spirited before.
The next morning she entered the kitchen and found him at the red Formica table, nursing a cup of coffee. “You still mad at me?” he asked.
“Yes.” She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of eggs. “Do you want an egg?”
“Sure,” he said, trying to sound amiable.
She fried him one and made toast, then put bread in the toaster for Mother, who was strictly a toast-and-coffee girl.
By the time Mother entered the kitchen, Muriel and her father were both seated at the table, eating in silence. “Well, we have a lovely day for a picnic, don’t we?” she said.
“I’m not going.” The last thing Muriel wanted was to spend the day pretending she wasn’t mad at her father.
“Of course you are,” Mother said in typical mother fashion. “We picnic with the Greens every year. Think how disappointed Olivia would be if you didn’t show up.”
“How about a truce for the day?” her father offered.
As if she was a child, pouting because she’d been denied a toy? “Daddy, you don’t get it. This isn’t some fad I’m going to get over. I’m in love. Stephen is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
Her father set aside his coffee cup with a frown. “Muriel.”
“You haven’t even given him a chance. What would have happened to you and Mother if Grandpa hadn’t given you a chance? Did he like you at first? How well did he like you when he learned you wanted to marry Mother and move her over here?”
Her father held up a hand. “Okay, point taken. Now, can we enj
oy our day?”
Muriel smiled at him. She’d battered down her father’s defenses and was well on her way to securing her future independence—a fitting victory for the Fourth of July.
But she’d just exited the kitchen when she heard a snippet of conversation that left her lurking around the corner, eavesdropping.
“That was good of you,” said Mother.
“Not really. I know Muriel thinks she and Galahad are going to be together, but the kid’s a drifter. He won’t stay beyond summer. There’s no sense arguing over something that isn’t going to happen.”
“I’m not so sure,” Mother said.
“I am,” Daddy said.
Her father was wrong. Stephen was here to stay and Daddy would simply have to accept that.
* * *
The two families met for their traditional picnic lunch by the river. Little Wendy stayed far away from the water. Mrs. Green made her famous fried chicken and Mother had picked up potato salad and cold cuts from Schwartz’s deli. The cooler was stocked with soda pop for the younger generation and beer for the dads. Mrs. Green’s chocolate cake finished off the meal and shortly thereafter everyone packed up and went to watch the parade.
It was in full swing when Muriel caught sight of Stephen across the crowded street. Tonight they’d meet at the river where they’d partied only a few weeks ago and watch while the town’s younger generation set the sky on fire shooting fireworks over the river. She could hardly wait to set off her own fireworks with Stephen when he kissed her. Her heart rate picked up, and she gave him a smile and a tiny wave. He nodded and waved back. Surely she was imagining that his answering smile failed to reach his eyes.
Darkness took its time coming, but at last the sun slipped behind the mountains. The whistle and boom of fireworks filled the night and the sky lit up with showers of colored sparks.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said to Stephen as they sat together on a log by the campfire Nils had built for the gang. “Not bad for a small town,” she teased.
Together for Christmas Page 24