by Ann Herrick
During dinner I filled everyone in on the details of my research. I could see that Bill was impressed. Pres looked interested too.
After dinner I helped Pres clear the table while Mom and Bill watched the evening news. I hovered close to Pres and chatted about school, the play, baseball, anything I could think of to keep his attention.
It occurred to me that I was going to have to do more than just hang around the kitchen with Pres if I was going to develop more than a brotherly relationship with him. Short of Celeste’s black negligee suggestion, I couldn’t think of what to do.
"Well, I’d better hit the books," Pres said, after turning on the dishwasher.
That was it! "Some time," I said casually, "could you help me with my French vocabulary lists?"
"French isn’t my best subject," Pres said, "but, sure, I could help you some time." He tossed a sponge into the sink and went up to his room.
Since I’d already done most of my algebra homework in study hall, I decided to watch a little television. I stretched out on the sofa. Mom had left for a meeting at Town Hall. Bill sat in the blue wingback chair, grading papers.
He looked up. "No television after dinner, Rebecca."
"Oh, I don’t have much homework tonight," I said. "I’m just going to watch this one show."
"House rules." Bill tapped his pencil on the grade book. "No television after dinner on school nights."
I wished Mom were home. She would tell Bill that it was all right, that I’d do all of my homework, I just needed to relax a little. I looked at Bill. His steady gaze drilled holes in me. Sensing that protesting would do no good, I stood and stalked out of the room.
Lying on my bed, anger boiled inside me. The resentment I suddenly felt toward Bill shocked me. Where was that loving father I’d pictured? Not down there in that dictator, that was for sure.
I got up and paced. When I calmed down I decided to write a list of arguments to convince Bill that it was okay for me to watch television after dinner. I jotted down a couple reasons, then felt indignation moving my pencil. Soon the paper was covered with a cartoon of a fire-breathing dragon, with hair and mustache remarkably like Bill’s. It was tapping a pencil and issuing the command, "No TV after dinner."
I was getting a lot of satisfaction out of the way I drew the scowl on the dragon’s face, when I heard a door open. I shoved the drawing into my desk drawer.
I heard quiet footsteps. It sounded like someone was going towards the attic.
I went out in the hall and listened carefully. Mom must’ve come home, because she and Bill were talking downstairs. It had to be Pres going into the attic.
I waited a minute then tiptoed up after him. I could always pretend I was looking for a book or something I’d packed away. I could ask him about Bill’s "house rules." Maybe I could persuade him that if we banded together and presented a logical and convincing case, we could make some changes.
I couldn’t see Pres in the dim attic light, so I pretended to hunt through some cartons. As I rounded a pile of boxes I spotted him sitting on an old trunk.
He looked up, startled.
"Oh, excuse me," I said. "I didn’t know you were up here. Um, it’s pretty dark."
The way he looked, I had a feeling I was intruding. "I, uh, was looking for my thesaurus. It’s probably in one of these boxes, but I can’t figure out which one."
I started to leave, then hesitated. "You look a little upset, Pres. Anything I can do?"
He shrugged and shook his head.
I worked up the courage to sit next to him. "You sure?"
"You must think I’m totally stupid, the way I’ve been acting."
"What? Why do you say that?"
"The way ... the way I’ve been treating your Mom. I haven’t been exactly nice."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know. I’ve been rude, like snapping at her when she asks to help with dinner."
"Pres, don’t worry." I couldn’t let him know I’d noticed his attitude. "You heard Mom. She’s glad she doesn’t have to rush home to cook any more. She’s just being polite when she offers to help."
"Nice try, Rebecca." He patted my hand. "But I know she loves to cook. Dad told me that before they were married. He thought I’d be thrilled to let her do some of the cooking."
"I don’t understand," I said. "You let me help you in the kitchen."
"Well." Pres flashed a lopsided grin. "You aren’t old enough to be my mother."
"It … it has to do with your mother?"
"Yeah." Pres stared off into space. "My mother started teaching me to cook as soon as I was tall enough to see the top of the stove. She said everyone should know how to cook. And do laundry. And mow the lawn." He paused then went on. "Cooking together was special. As we worked I’d tell my mother about my day, she’d tell me about hers. I don’t know. It was just a nice time for the two of us ...." His voice trailed off and he looked embarrassed.
"You mother sounds like a very special person," I said.
"She was."
"You’re disappointed that my mom isn’t like your real mother." I stated it matter-of-factly. I wasn’t accusing him. I was thinking of how I was discovering that Bill was not like my own father.
"That’s not ...." His voice faltered. "That’s not it. She’s great and I want to like her. But in a way I feel as though I’m betraying my own mother."
I waited for Pres to go on. It didn’t seem like the time to intrude with more questions.
He continued. "My mother died in a car accident when I was thirteen. I was pretty rebellious at that age and I know I hurt my mom. It—it just makes me ... sick to think how I acted toward her then, that the last time I saw her I was being obnoxious. To think she died, and she never even knew how much I always loved her, even when I was being horrible."
"Oh, Pres. She knew you loved her." I touched his shoulder lightly. He must be exaggerating—I couldn’t imagine him ever being horrible. "You know kids go through all kinds of stuff. My mom still rolls her eyes when she talks about the way I acted in junior high. She said I almost drove her nuts with my moods. She laughs too. It sounds as though you and your mother had a good relationship. She probably was annoyed by some of your behavior, but I’m sure she always knew that you loved her. Nobody’s perfect." I paused. "Do you think she stopped loving you whenever she was angry with you?"
"You ... you probably have a point. And I guess maybe deep down I know that’s true. Still ...." A shy smile crept into his look of uncertainty. "You know what? I used to wish I would walk around a corner somewhere and see my mother. Just for a minute. Just long enough to tell her I loved her."
I gasped. "I used to wish I’d see my father in my dreams, only he’d really be there and we could talk."
"Honest?"
I nodded.
"Maybe that’s how everyone feels. That if only they could say one more thing, do one more thing ...." Pres seemed to be talking to himself as much as to me.
"I think you’re right," I said. "I used to think I was the only person who ever wanted to do that, and I was afraid I was being stupid. But now I can see it’s only natural to want to talk to someone you’ve loved just one more time."
"I’m glad I’ve found someone I can talk to about these feelings." Pres put his hand over mine. "I never said anything to my father, because I was afraid it would just make him sad and I didn’t want him worrying about me."
"Yes. I always thought that if I said anything to Mom that she’d start to worry about me." I cleared my throat. "You know, Pres, I never realized until now how much I needed to talk to someone about this."
"Me too." Pres gave me a quick hug. "I’m glad we’ve got each other."
"Me too."
Funny, I wasn’t thinking about Pres as a potential boyfriend then. He was a friend who shared some of my deepest feelings. There was a shimmer of kinship.
"Well, it’s getting late." Pres stood up and pulled me up too. "We’d better call it a night."
Chapter Six
The next morning my conversation with Pres was still fresh in my thoughts. New feelings were surfacing. It had been an intimate moment up there in the attic. Images of Pres hugging me, his hand over mine, kept flashing through my mind. I couldn’t wait until after school to be alone with Celeste, so I could tell her all about it.
"I’ve got good news," I whispered at her locker.
"I could use some good news." Celeste shoved a book into her locker. "The history test I just took was murder."
"Sorry," I said, trying to give Celeste the sympathy she deserved. "Let’s get out of here first. There’s no privacy."
"Oh." Celeste’s eyes widened. "It’s that kind of good news."
Once we were a few blocks from school, I told Celeste about the night before in the attic, giving special emphasis to Pres’s hug and our hand holding. I mentioned only the barest details of our conversation. That was too personal to blab around, even to Celeste.
"Oh, Celeste," I said, spinning around, "Pres and I, we’re kindred spirits."
"Whoa. Slow down." Celeste grabbed my hand and brought me to a halt. "Don’t start imagining things just because Pres needed a sympathetic ear."
"Lighten up." I sighed. "Next, I suppose, you’ll be telling me I’m just projecting my feelings onto Pres."
"You do have a tendency to do that." A shadow crossed her face.
"Not this time," I said. "I just know that Pres is about to start liking me the way I like him. It won’t be long before our relationship is headed in exactly the direction it should. I can see us now at the graduation party."
"I wish you luck." Celeste bit her lip. "I—I really do."
"I haven’t forgotten you. I expect you to be there, too. Surely by now you have your eye on some gorgeous senior."
"I don’t know." Celeste trailed a finger along the edge of her notebook. "I just can’t seem to get interested in anyone. I think I’ve overdosed on guys. I want to wait for, you know, someone special this time."
"Well, don’t wait too long," I warned. "All the cute guys will get snapped up."
"Don’t worry about me," Celeste said. Her faint smile was almost sad. "I won’t be disappointed if I don’t go to the graduation party. I have my feet planted firmly on the ground. You’re the one with your head in the clouds."
"Pooh." I waved off Celeste’s concern. I was in too good a mood to let her remarks get me down. Besides, it was a beautiful day. Crocuses quivered in the grass and the fresh scent of spring floated in the air.
At the corner of High Street I stopped. "I’m going to the Town Hall again to do research for the play."
"Josh is all excited about working on that," Celeste said. "He’s looking forward to going to the library with you tomorrow."
"Good. I can use the help."
That evening I ran into Josh again on my way home. "You’re getting home late," I said. I knew it was after five, because I’d missed my ride with Mom again. "Isn’t baseball practice usually finished by now?"
"Well, uh, I stayed for extra batting practice." Josh swung an imaginary bat. "Have to work extra hard if I expect to make the major leagues some day."
"If determination counts for anything, you’ll make it."
"You really think so?"
"Sure," I said. "In most things, talent is necessary, of course. But persistence counts for a lot. You’ve got both."
"I didn’t realize you were such a perceptive person." Josh grinned.
At my house Josh made a fist and lightly tapped my chin. "Take care of yourself, sweetheart," he said, doing a Bogart imitation. We both loved old movies, so I usually recognized his references to them. "Remember, I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow morning to take you to the library."
"See you then." I waved goodbye and went inside. Pres was setting the table.
"Hi," he called. "You’re just in time. How about bringing in the salad?"
"Sure," I said, disappointed that I hadn’t gotten home early enough to help him in the kitchen.
At dinner I filled everyone in on my research.
"I discovered some fascinating details about the early settlers, the blizzard of eighty-eight, and even a couple of local heroes in the Revolutionary War. There was Captain James Peck, a dashing blond officer, and his wife Alta, a beautiful dark-haired woman. She was against the fight for independence at first, but then joined in the war effort to defend Sandy Cove’s shores from British attack. I plan to make them the main characters in the play." I thought Pres and Celeste would be perfect in the roles.
"You’ve done a lot of research," Bill said, when I paused long enough to take a breath. "In three weeks I’ll need an outline and part of a rough draft. I’ll have to start casting parts before too long."
"Three weeks?" I wasn’t used to working with a deadline, but I guessed it was time to start. "Sure. Three weeks."
"This year I’ve decided I need an assistant director. Since you have some theatrical knowledge, I’m assigning that task to you."
I almost choked. Selling one play to a small magazine for elementary school students and painting scenery in a local summer production of Annie Get Your Gun when I was thirteen hardly qualified as theatrical knowledge. Of course being assistant director would be a way to get closer to Bill. Besides, I realized, he wasn’t really asking me, he was telling me.
A little later, up in my room, I checked the time. It wasn’t too late to call Celeste.
"Hi, it’s me," I said as soon as Celeste answered. "Guess what? Bill made me his assistant director. What am I going to do?"
"Whatever an assistant director is supposed to do, I suspect."
"That’s just it. What exactly does an assistant director do? Can I handle it?"
"Take it easy," Celeste said. "Bill trusted you to write the play, didn’t he? You’ll figure out what to do as you go along. Actually, this is the perfect chance for you and Bill to get to know each other better."
"We could sure use that."
"I know it hasn’t been easy with Bill, Rebecca, but you can’t expect him to jump right in and fill your father’s shoes. It’s going to take a while for you to form a relationship with him."
"You’re so logical, Celeste," I said. "Thanks."
"Any time." Celeste yawned. "It’s getting late. I’d better go."
"Sure. And thanks again."
I wasn’t totally convinced that I’d make a competent assistant director, but talking to Celeste soothed my nerves enough so that I could fall asleep.
The next morning I woke up in a sweat, anxious to get going on the play. I did take time, however, to shower and put on a touch of makeup, in case I ran into Pres.
The kitchen was deserted. I realized that this was my first meal alone in my new home. Sitting there with the sun filtering through the plants hanging in the kitchen window, I found myself enjoying the early morning quiet.
"Hi." Pres stumbled into the kitchen, the belt on his robe trailing on the floor, his hair mussed and sticking straight out on one side of his head. He yawned. "Why are you up so bright and early?"
"I’m going to the library to do more research."
I wasn’t sure whether I should look at Pres or away from him. I hadn’t expected to see him looking, um, rumpled. Why would he want to wander around in front of me looking like that, unless .... Of course! He felt so comfortable with me now he didn’t worry about how he looked. That was a good sign.
"Oh, right. The library." Pres scuffed over to the refrigerator. "How about some orange juice?"
"Sure—"
There was a knock at the door. It was Josh.
"Hi." He gestured toward the driveway. "I know I’m a little early, but I got the car today."
"I’m almost ready," I said. "Sit down."
"What’s this?" Josh had just caught sight of Pres. "Someth
ing the cat dragged in?"
I couldn’t help laughing. Pres did look bedraggled.
"I’m hurt." Pres tugged at the lapels of his robe as if it was a tuxedo jacket. "I thought I always looked perfect."
"Perfectly awful," said Josh.
Pres looked cute and cuddly sitting at the kitchen table, all mussed and rumpled. I was tempted to kiss him goodbye, but I wasn’t sure if it was time yet, especially with Josh there. So I waved instead. "See you later, Pres."
In the car I was so preoccupied thinking that I didn’t even realize Josh was driving in the wrong direction.
"Hey, the library is that way," I said.
"I know, but I got to your house early, remember? It won’t be open for a while, so I thought we could go for a drive." He turned on some soft music. "I’ll get us there in plenty of time, so just sit back and relax."
I gazed out the car window as we drove. Spring was definitely taking over in Sandy Cove. The pink blossoms were opening on the Japanese cherry tree in front of Bud’s Market. Daffodils bloomed along the stone wall next to the insurance agency on the corner. The sun was bright and the haze of green on the trees stood out against the clear blue sky. It was the sort of day to be walking along the beach instead of holing up in the library.
Just then Josh turned down Wharf Lane. "Hey, this is the way to the beach," I said.
"Clever deduction, my sweet." Josh cackled and twirled an imaginary mustache. "They’ll never find us there."
"The Mounties always get their man," I cautioned. I enjoyed going along with Josh’s routines.
"But it’s so sad," Josh said, as he pulled into the beach parking lot, "when what they’re really after is their woman." He reached over and tugged at my hair.
"It’s such a beautiful day. Let’s go for a walk."
"Good idea."
A stiff wind blew in off the water. The harbor was empty except for some sea gulls bobbing in the waves.
"Brrr." I shivered. "It’s sure not a day for swimming yet."