The Season of Silver Linings

by Christine Nolfi

  “What changed?” The hesitancy in her voice merely increased the interest in Millicent’s eyes.

  She gave a short explanation of how Linnie had asked her to fill in for Daniel as they prepared for their wedding. Wrapping up, she added, “Now I help Philip out whenever possible. A good thing, because Fancy’s getting to the age when she needs more girl time. It’s not exactly his area of expertise.”

  “You’re mothering his daughter.”

  “This is a close-knit town. Philip gets help from many quarters.”

  “And yet his daughter calls you for advice.”

  “It’s not a big deal. I’m Linnie’s maid of honor. Why wouldn’t Fancy ask for my help? She knows I’m happy to stop over and see what she’s picked out.”

  “If the whole town pitches in, why didn’t she call another Good Samaritan? Why bother you?” Millicent seemed every bit the patient tutor, waiting for her student to catch up. When Jada set the baking dish aside and gave her full attention, the historian added, “You do see the problem. A little girl, a single father. A helpful young woman of marrying age. By the way, a child with a lust for fairy crowns and magicians’ capes is romantic by nature. She’ll have no trouble imagining the noble king and queen escorting her princess self into a bright future. Do you catch my drift?”

  Jada searched the remark for veracity. Was she assuming the role of stand-in mother? A sweet emotion spun through her. She loved Fancy. Their relationship had evolved naturally. She’d never stopped to analyze it.

  Then her stomach did a backflip.

  Does Fancy harbor dreams of me wedding Philip?

  The idea was outlandish. Until recently, Jada’s relationship with Philip was best described as distant.

  Would his whimsical daughter make a leap so bold?

  At the bewilderment on her face, Millicent sighed. “Take care,” she said. “Once a child embroiders you onto her heart, she’ll have expectations.”

  Fancy scampered from the closet.

  On the bedroom floor, dress-up clothes, headgear, and assorted jewelry sat in tangled heaps. The yellow princess gown, the original choice for the flower girl outfit, was also on the floor. The discovery of chocolate stains on the sleeves made the frock unsuitable for the wedding.

  Racing to the bed, Fancy held up her latest selections.

  Jada considered the two dresses wagging before her nose. “This one first.” She pointed at the sapphire-blue dress with the dim hope the child would finally make a decision.

  “My favorite!”

  “Stop teasing me. You’ve picked eight favorites so far.”

  Placing the garment in a neat circle on the floor, Fancy stepped in. “I was pretending.”

  In big-girl fashion, she refused assistance, grunting and shimmying as she threaded her arms through the sleeves, even managing to close the eyelet button at the back of her neck. When she finished, she slipped her feet into purple sandals of cheap plastic that Jada decided were not entering the fashion semifinals.

  Fancy said, “Now close your eyes. I’ll get the other parts.”

  “Okay. My eyes are closed.”

  Picking an outfit had become more a game than a serious pursuit. Philip had gladly left them to it, volunteering to chill out in front of the TV while Jada worked her magic. His words, not hers. She was certain she’d misplaced her wand, along with her powers of persuasion over a determined little girl. Helping Fancy make a decision required more charms and pixie dust than presently available.

  From the living room, the roaring cheers of the Cleveland Cavaliers game drifted in. Jada considered peeking to see what was taking Fancy so long. The slap of sandals approached.

  “You can look now!”

  Jada opened her eyes.

  To the blue dress, Fancy had added a top hat, three feather boas, a pink plastic purse—and sunglasses. The sunglasses were Philip’s, from his hot-bodied youth.

  Amusement tickled Jada’s rib cage. She rose from the bed.

  Lightly, she rapped the child on the head. “Hello? Anyone in there?”

  A new game, and Fancy chortled. “I don’t think so!”

  “No one puts on Wayfarers for a wedding. Well, unless they’re getting married in Hollywood.”

  “What are Wayfarers?”

  “Your daddy’s sunglasses.”

  The sunglasses slid down Fancy’s nose. “I like Daddy’s Wayfarers.” She pushed them back up.

  “They’re old,” Jada pointed out, hoping to appeal to her sense of style. “They were cool when he was in high school, but they look kind of silly on you.”

  “Did you think Daddy was cool in high school?”

  “Mostly I thought he was flaky.” Mentioning the string of girlfriends from his teen years wasn’t appropriate. Instead, she added, “He was sort of like a bunny rabbit, hopping from one thing to the next.”

  “Were you friends with Daddy?”

  A more difficult question. Jada winced as she went with the little white lie. “Sure. We were friends.” The lie was preferable to disappointing Philip’s daughter.

  Fancy slid the sunglasses off. “You’re best friends with me now.” She put them on the teddy bear seated before her dresser. All four of the pint-size chairs were lined up, filled with stuffed animals watching the fashion show.

  She trotted back, giddy from the extended playtime. Her cheeks were flushed; perspiration glistened on her brow. Jada palmed away the moisture, her hand lingering against the child’s impossibly soft skin. Fancy leaned into the gentle affection like a plant straining toward the sun.

  The warning from Millicent tripped through Jada. Was it imprudent to display affection this readily? She wasn’t a permanent fixture in Fancy’s life.

  Drawing away, she regarded the feather boas. “Not fair. We’ve already been over this. Choose one, and only one.”

  “Why can’t I have three? They’re pretty.”

  “They’ll bounce around when you walk down the aisle.”

  “What aisle? Linnie and Uncle Daniel are getting married outside.”

  “On the patio that your father is building at the inn,” Jada agreed. The installation was taking longer than expected. Philip was sending one of the pallets back due to cracks in the sandstone. The supplier hadn’t yet confirmed when the replacement stone would ship. A concern for another day, and she returned to the issue at hand. “If you’re going with a feather boa, you can’t have more than one. There will be an aisle in the middle of the new patio. What if you can’t see where you’re going, and fall down?”

  “Okay, okay.” Giving in, Fancy unwound the boas from her neck. She watched them drift to the floor to join the other castoffs. Then her fickle attention landed on the bodice of her dress. She patted the narrow plane of her chest. “Jada, when will I get boobies?”

  “Gosh, Fancy. Not soon.”

  “When did you get them?”

  She flicked Fancy’s nose, eliciting a giggle. “Why do you care about this nonsense?”

  “The girls were talking about boobies at recess.”

  Jada frowned with consternation. “The girls in your class?” Fancy’s playmates loved Disney and crafts. Sophisticated topics were beyond them.

  “No, the fifth graders. They said you aren’t really a big girl until your boobies come in. You’re just a shrimp cake until then.”

  “What a ridiculous thing to say.”

  “Is it true?”

  The hurt rippling through the query took Jada aback. “Fancy, did the older girls call you a shrimp cake?”

  Her face fell.

  Anger flared inside Jada. Didn’t the older girls know that a kid Fancy’s age was obsessed with big-girl status? Growing up was hard enough. She didn’t need extra hoops to jump through.

  Crouching down, Jada rested her hands on the child’s dainty shoulders. “Sweetie, listen to me.” She waited until Fancy’s eyes lifted, felt relief when they did. “Who you are on the inside matters, not what you’re like on the outside. If you’re fri
endly or nice, that matters.”

  “What if you’re mean?”

  “It also matters, but for different reasons. Mostly people are mean because they’re scared—of not fitting in, or not making enough friends. Sometimes older girls worry about dumb stuff, like getting boobies. If their friends start looking like women before they do, they’re scared of not fitting in.”

  “They’ll feel better if they look like their friends?” Clearly a bizarre concept for the six-year-old: her lemon-colored hair was a standout at Sweet Lake Elementary. The compliments that the rare blonde color elicited were a source of pride for the child.

  “For some people, looking alike is a big deal,” Jada explained. “It’s silly, because people are all the same on the inside. We all love, and get scared. We all want to be happy, and make friends.”

  Fancy cocked her head like a bird. “Why are people different colors?” she asked.

  The question surprised Jada. Never before had the subject of race come up. Given the widening circle of children Fancy now interacted with at school, the topic seemed long overdue. One of her new besties was Vietnamese; the other girls were white. Three of the boys in the first-grade class were black; two were Latino. As she did all the boys, Fancy avoided them because they were rowdy. Trinity Chambers was black and lived for soccer. Never would she trade in her uniform for girly playtime.

  She lifted her arm, placed Fancy’s pale hand on top. “People are different colors because our skin is a map,” Jada said.

  “Like a treasure map?”

  “Even better. It tells you where your relatives came from. People with dark skin like mine? We came from places where the sun was really bright. God made our skin dark to protect us. People with lighter skin came from places where the sun wasn’t too hot.”

  “I come from a place where the sun hides?”

  “Not all the time—but sometimes. Your family came from Europe.”

  “Where is yours from?”

  “Africa.”

  “The sun likes Africa more than Europe?” Fancy was very feminine, but she also possessed a competitive streak.

  “No, but Africa sits closer to the sun.”

  “That isn’t fair. Why does Africa get to sit in the front of the class?”

  Wryly, Jada grinned. She needed a refresher course on how to boil down complicated subjects for a child to digest.

  “The next time I stop over, I’ll draw you a picture.” She stifled a yawn. A quick glance at the clock confirmed it was past eight o’clock. “Can we take this up then? You still haven’t picked out a dress for Linnie’s wedding.”

  The suggestion went unheeded. “In summer, it’s really hot,” Fancy informed her. “Why doesn’t the sun make me brown? I get red, like a tomato. It hurts.”

  “You forget to use sunscreen.” She despised the stuff. “Your daddy asks you to put it on, but you say it feels slimy. You make him chase you around the yard just to get sunscreen on you.”

  “I want to be brown, like you.” Leaning forward on her toes, she pressed her forehead to Jada’s. “Then we’d be twins. I don’t look like Daddy, or Uncle Daniel. Plus, you’re really pretty. Did I ever tell you that?”

  The unsolicited compliment was sweet and unexpected. “No, you haven’t,” Jada murmured, and the press of Fancy’s skin against hers sent warmth cascading through her. When they drew apart, she added, “I think you’re pretty too.”

  “Do you love me?”

  “I do.”

  “I love you too.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “I probably won’t understand why the sun picks favorites until I get boobies.” She startled Jada by pointing at her breasts. “Yours are nice. Daddy thinks so too. He likes to look at them.”

  The disclosure threatened to knock Jada over. Since she was crouching before the alarmingly blunt child, she dropped her bottom on the floor.

  Philip ogles my breasts? No. Just no.

  If frequent visits to his home made for a cozy arrangement, that didn’t imply Philip would allow a pesky attraction to get out-of-bounds. They were no more compatible than fire and ice. Even the casual friendship they’d embarked upon never would’ve come to pass if not for Jada playing stand-in for his daughter’s missing Uncle Daniel.

  Scrambling for composure, she said, “Sweetie, I’m friends with your father. That’s all. He doesn’t look at me that way.”

  “Yes, he does. He doesn’t want you to see when he’s looking. He does this.” To demonstrate, Fancy widened her eyes and ogled Jada’s breasts. Then she shot her attention to the wall. When she looked back, her chin lifted with satisfaction. “He’s sneaky.”

  Jada opened her mouth, then closed it again. This had nothing to do with Philip—blame the fifth-grade girls for bringing up topics beyond Fancy’s comprehension. If they’d morphed into sophisticates, the teachers needed to place them under house arrest. Bar them from recess, banish them to study hall.

  What other ideas have they put in Fancy’s head?

  The door creaked open. “How are we doing, ladies?” Philip surveyed the bedroom. “Wow. A tornado came through. Any injuries to report?”

  Fancy leapt into his arms. “We’re okay!”

  “Great, since I don’t have a Band-Aid handy.” Setting her down, he sent a jaundiced glance at the costumes heaped on the floor. “Geez, Fancy. All this crap is in the ‘No’ pile? How long does it take to pick out a dress?”

  “I’m still deciding. There’s more stuff in the closet. I’ll show you.”

  She raced off. He regarded Jada, making a slow ascent to her feet. She felt woozy, like she’d pulled an all-nighter and then run a 5K. Philip wore a look of expectancy as he waited for her to say something—anything. Her neurons refused to fire.

  When they began snapping to life, they brought a troublesome question: Why did I stop by in a skin-hugging sweater?

  The knit clung to every curve.

  If Philip was in the habit of staring at her breasts, sackcloth and baggy shirts were on the agenda from here on out. At the thought, humiliation rose off her like steam.

  The scent of her dismay rocked him back on his heels. “What’s wrong with you?” he demanded.

  In a well-ingrained habit, Jada endeavored to ignore the beauty of Philip’s eyes. They were nothing like the cornflower-blue wonders Fancy had inherited from her late mother, but who cared? Thickly lashed for a man, deep green with flecks of gold spinning through—his gaze transmitted emotion like a beacon. Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing at the moment. He appeared bewildered.

  Inside the closet, shuffling noises erupted. Fancy sang out, “Hold on. I have a surprise!”

  He gave the closet a cursory glance. “Take your time.” Then he surveyed Jada with concern. “Seriously. What’s wrong? The mute treatment is giving me flashbacks. Eleventh grade, the day you and Linnie took your new wheels on a joyride outside town. When Bambi dashed across the road? You were upset for a week.”

  “For good reason—I nearly killed Bambi,” Jada protested. She wasn’t sure why she felt defensive. “The experience would upset most girls. I was only seventeen.”

  “Yeah, well, you look worse now. You look beat.”

  “Thanks,” she snapped. “I needed a compliment right about now.”

  “It’s no compliment,” he said, misreading her, “but I totally understand. Keeping up with Fancy is a marathon. There’s no shame in admitting she bested you. You’re down for the count, right?”

  The embarrassment scorching her neck climbed all the way to her brow. “Not down for the count,” she muttered. “More like flabbergasted.” The urge to hide her breasts from view was silly.

  If she’d thought the remark about Philip’s viewing habits was the low point of the evening, she was sadly mistaken. She gasped as Fancy sashayed from the closet. Over the sapphire-blue dress, the first grader had wound a stretchy length of fire-engine-red material.

  A bra.

  Philip did a double take. “Whoa, cowb
oy.” He stumbled back, as if the fiery color posed a danger. “What are you doing with lingerie?”

  “Do you like it, Daddy?” The lacy cups slid beneath Fancy’s armpits. She didn’t notice as she gave a wide smile. “Now I have boobies.”

  Silence descended on the bedroom. Dragging a palm up his forehead, Philip gripped his skull.

  Then he nailed Jada with an accusatory look. “What’s with the Victoria’s Secret? She’s too young. Like ten centuries too young. Are you crazy?”

  Appalled, Jada blinked. “You think I gave her lingerie?”

  “Aside from Penelope, you’re the only woman she lets into her bedroom. She trusts you.”

  A backhanded compliment, but it stung nonetheless. “You’re unbelievable,” Jada sputtered. “Since when do I hand out bras to six-year-olds?”

  “Beats me. Is this a new habit? Break it. Like, pronto.”

  They were perilously close to arguing. Darting between them, Fancy pulled on her father’s sleeve. She looked confused, not frightened, by the debate.

  “Jada didn’t give me the bra,” she told him. “I took it from Cat’s house.”

  Philip’s brows lowered with disapproval. “You stole a bra from Cat? Geez, Fancy. Why did you do something like that?”

  “No, Daddy! I didn’t steal. Cat was going through her closet, making bags for Goodwill.”

  “Fancy, you can’t take stuff, even if it’s meant for Goodwill.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  After he unwound the offensive garment from her torso, he stuffed it in his pocket. She went to her dresser and pulled out a nightgown. “I already brushed my teeth.” She tugged the garment over her head.

  He gave Jada a sheepish look. “Truce?”

  She knit her brows.

  He winced. “Jumping to conclusions—never a good idea. Thanks for the advice. I’ve got it.” When she continued stewing in a fine broth of outrage, he splayed his palms in apology. “Forgive me? A free pass, and I’ll never ask for another?”

  She was mulling over the option as Fancy, leaping into bed, sabotaged her.