“So you gonna tell me what’s up?” Alison plopped her tray down across from me at lunch.
“Yeah,” I sighed dramatically, “but you have to promise not to tell another soul.”
“That bad, huh.” Her large brown eyes goggled. “Well, everybody else is on their way over here, so we won’t be able to talk.”
“Everybody else” meant our friends who always sat with us—Nicole and Cherise and Millicent. Yes, there really is a person named Milli-cent, and in high school she lived up to it. Straight back, arched eyebrow, and an attitude of wisdom beyond her years. Well. If she sported pockets of maturity, I wore a whole dress of it. Millicent still had her mama. Enough said.
“Hurry up and eat,” I urged Alison. “Then we can hang outside.”
“Whoa,” Alison exclaimed fifteen minutes later. “Sure sounds like she’s hot for your daddy.”
We sat outside on a worn bench, looking across the yard toward the buildings for first through eighth grade. Somewhere in those class rooms my brother and sister toiled away. I’d meet Clarissa by the big elm near the street after school to walk her home. Robert would stay for softball practice, then walk home by himself. Without interference from Katherine King, I hoped.
“Well, not if I have anything to say about it,” I told Alison. “Who does she think she is? Besides, can you just imagine my daddy with the sister of Derek King?”
Alison laughed. “No way.” She tucked her blonde hair behind her ears, thinking. “She sure was nice to Clarissa.”
“So what, everybody likes Clarissa. Sweet little waif Clarissa, who wears her heart on her sleeve? Who’s nine but looks like she’s six and a half? People just look at Clarissa and want to hug her.”
“I got it!” Alison exclaimed. “Just let Katherine King have your brother, seein’ as how he’s so ‘handsome.’”
I snorted. “Yeah, right. My brother’s so twelve. Just wants to play softball, watch TV, and be left alone.”
“Wait till she sees him hit a home run—that oughtta make her heart pound.”
“Oh, good, Alison,” I retorted, “keep it up. You’re just sayin’ the most helpful things.”
“Sorry.”
It was true about my brother, however; he did know how to play softball. He’d plant his feet just so, wrap loving fingers around the bat, and give it a few graceful swings. His eyes would half close as he watched the pitcher let loose the ball. Then time would warp into some kind of strange suspension. Robert would wait to swing until you thought surely it was too late. Next thing you knew, you’d hear the crack of wood meeting ball. He’d streak the bases, elbows bent and arms pumping. And all the fans would be out of their seats.
“Oh, well,” Alison sighed, “guess she’ll have to settle for your daddy.”
“No way. I want her out of here,” I declared, firming my mouth.
“Sounds like your daddy may have other ideas.”
“Daddy doesn’t know what’s what,” I shot back. “He’s just still grievin’ over Mama, and his mind’s all messed up. I’ve got to get him back on track.”
“Shh,” Alison whispered. “Derek’s comin’ this way.”
“Oh, great. He’d better not say anything about all this.”
I could picture Derek, with his long-legged amble, large black shoes kicking through the grass. His hands would be hanging limp at his side, thumbs rubbing across his fingers. Derek walked with his ash blonde head slightly atilt, though not as badly as when he sat. Probably because he needed to see where he was headed. In my most charitable of mind-sets, I’d have allowed that his face wasn’t all that bad. He had a strong nose, a wide forehead, and close-set gray eyes behind silver-rimmed glasses. His mouth would slip in and out of a smile so quickly you’d doubt that you’d seen it at all. Most of the time, you had no idea what he was smiling about. Probably some brilliant new computer software concept.
We sat in silence until Derek listed into view. He blinked and veered away from us, as though we’d just parked ourselves in the center of his path. I rolled my eyes at Alison.
To this day, I can’t tell you why I opened my mouth.
“Hi, Derek,” I called, amusement lilting my voice. Alison threw me a look.
Derek slid to a halt and jerked his head in our direction. It took him a moment to focus. “Hi.” He stared at me, waiting. I stared back. “What’s up?”
I dropped my gaze to his ankles. “Just wondering what color your socks are today.”
“Oh.” He lifted his pant legs. “Brown and blue.”
It could have been worse. I’d seen him with one orange foot and one green. “Derek.” My tone sounded peeved. “Why do you wear different colored socks every day?”
Alison laughed in her throat.
“Who said socks have to match?” Derek countered.
I gave him one of my for-heaven’s-sake-Clarissa looks. “Like maybe the people who made them the same in the first place?”
He considered that. “Those people,” he declared, “have no imagination.”
And with that, he took his leave.
Alison shook her head, watching him go. “That is one strange guy.”
Well, good for him, I thought. I’d asked a perfectly logical question, given Derek’s odd little dress mannerism. So why did I feel like he’d cut me down? “You know what makes him really weird? That he’s proud of his stupid socks.”
“I know.” Alison twisted her mouth. “You think he wears ’em to work?”
Derek had been working at a computer store in Albertsville ever since he’d gotten his driver’s license the previous year. His parents, who apparently doted on him as their “surprise” child late in life, had bought him an old car to get him back and forth.
“Guess so,” I said. “He goes after school, right?”
“Maybe like his boss doesn’t care?” Alison offered. “I mean, as long as he does the work. He’s supposed to be this computer genius.”
I frowned at her, inexplicably perturbed that she’d said something favorable. “Well, hoo-fah.” My voice dripped sarcasm. “He thinks he’s so hot, but no way. I mean, a computer freak, how original.”
Honestly, with Bradleyville’s history of independent thinkers, you’d think our generation could have coughed up something better than Derek King.
I stewed about him for the rest of the school day.
That evening Miss Connie phoned to invite us to their welcome-back “at-home” for Katherine on Sunday afternoon. Do not think for a moment that I was fooled. Something told me the idea had been conceived by Katherine herself, not her parents. And that, although many would be invited, the only guest that mattered was Bobby Delham.
That did it. I sensed a Rubicon in our path. And I knew that somehow, some way, I had to put a stop to this thing on Sunday, or our family would face real trouble.
chapter 4
Sometimes even now I look back on that spring and summer and wonder how I made it through. On one hand you could say if I’d survived the death of my mama, I could handle anything. There’s a lot of truth in that. The difference is that Mama’s death brought one all-encompassing emotion—grief. Granted, the palette of grief is multihued, depression in grays, purpled anger. But these all swirl into the undefinable color that coats the world of loss. In my sixteenth year, however, I would endure emotions as varied and distinct as black from white. Exhilaration and despair. Self-absorption and guilt. Love. Indifference.
And for the next few days of that week, obsession.
I simply had to find a way to keep Katherine May King apart from Daddy during the at-home. Alison and I discussed the issue in low tones at school. Then Thursday afternoon Alison’s life scudded into glory, and I was left on my own. She called me that night, breathless with the news.
“Jacob asked me out! My first date!”
I sucked in air. “Wow, really? Tell me everything.” I trotted into my bedroom and shut the door.
Jacob Keeley had talked about this and that before c
ranking up the courage to ask Alison to go bowling in Albertsville the following night. After the standard lecture, her mama had agreed to let her go.
“Alison,” I said, “that is so cool.” And I meant it. Alison had liked Jacob for a long time.
But she noticed the snag in my tone. Only a best friend could have done that. “Oh, Jackie, don’t worry. Next thing you know, Billy will be askin’ you out.”
Billy Sullivan was the hottest guy in the junior class. I’d liked him for as long as Alison had liked Jacob. But I didn’t stand a chance. He was already going out with Mary Breckenridge, who had blonde hair and a knockout figure.
“Oh, forget him,” I retorted. “Just call me Saturday. I want to hear everything.”
She said she would.
In such moments I would feel as if the world whirled merrily before me, a carousel of colors and motion, while I dragged my feet over sandy ground. When I punched off the phone, I lingered on my bed, disappointment and vague longing settling like kicked-up dust in my chest.
“I couldn’t believe it when your daddy started comin’ to call,” Mama once told me. “We were so different that I never thought he’d want me. He was quiet and serious. And tall. I was short and giggled all the time. But one day there he was, at my door. Handsome Bobby Del-ham, with his doe-brown eyes.”
I could picture Mama’s face so clearly as she’d said those words, recapturing the magic of that time. Now here I was, her age. If it could happen to my mama and my best friend, I thought—couldn’t it happen to me?
Friday night as Alison went on her dream date, I hurried about the kitchen doing dishes, cradling the telephone between my shoulder and ear. Through the sliding glass door I could see Clarissa and her much larger and athletically built friend, Alma Sue, tearing about the backyard, Winnie barking at their heels.
“Okay,” I said to Mrs. Crary, the wife of my brother’s softball coach. “I’ll be sure Robert gets to the game on time.”
I hung up the phone, mentally checking my list of my remaining to-dos. Help Clarissa with her math. Work on my social studies report. Better to do that now than have it hanging over me on the weekend. I sighed and stepped through the back door to call Clarissa inside. She slowed, swishing hair out of her eyes. “I don’t wanna come in yet.”
Winnie flung herself on the grass, panting with fury. Alma Sue placed hands on her hips, almost as if defying me to stop their fun.
“Come on, Clarissa.”
She surveyed me dolefully. “Five more minutes.”
“No. Now.”
Defeated, she dragged herself into the kitchen while Alma Sue turned on her heel toward home. Clarissa slumped at the table, where her books awaited. I sighed into a chair beside her.
“Hey, girls, homework time?” Daddy entered the kitchen. “Jackie, don’t you have work of your own to do?”
“Yeah, a report.”
“You go on then; I’ll help Clarissa.” He pulled out the chair across from me.
I hesitated. “You sure you’re not too tired?”
He smiled. “I can handle it.”
“I know, but it’s the end of the week for you, and—”
“Jackie, go. This is not a suggestion.”
Daddy’s favorite phrase. Which meant the discussion was over. “Thanks, Daddy.” I padded out of the kitchen, stopping to check on my brother.
“Robert?” I tapped on his door, then opened it. He lolled on his brown carpet, fists stacked on top of each other and supporting his chin as he read a sports magazine. His books were scattered around him, along with the ubiquitous dirty socks and numerous other pieces of clothing. I made a point of ogling. “What is this, the city dump? And why aren’t you doin’ your homework?”
“I got all weekend; stop raggin’ on me.” His eyebrows knit, and he spread his full lips even wider, just like Daddy would do.
“Oh, I won’t bother raggin’,” I retorted to Robert. “You bring home a bad report card, it won’t be me they kick off the softball team.” I started to shut his door. “By the way, Mrs. Crary called. The game’s at 2:00 this Saturday. You should be there by 1:30.”
I left him to his poor choices and retreated to my room.
Some time later, a knock on my door made me jump. I snapped off my radio. “Yes?”
Daddy eased inside. “Jackie, I need to talk to you.”
My eyes fell on the clock. “Good grief, it’s 9:30! I have to put Clarissa to bed.” I started to rise.
“It’s done.”
“Oh.” I blinked at him. He usually tucked Clarissa in bed, but I was the one who made sure she got ready on time. “Did she brush her teeth?”
Daddy half smiled. “Yes, Jackie, she brushed her teeth.”
“Okay.”
He sat on my bed. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
I frowned. “Clarissa’s teeth?”
“No, I mean . . .” He raised a hand and let it flop back down. “You’ve taken care of us all so well, Jackie. I know this last year and a half hasn’t been any easier for you than for the rest of us. I’ve been proud of the way you’ve grown up so quickly. But it’s also made me sad to see you change so much. All the things you used to love—the gymnastics, the cheerleading—you don’t do them anymore.”
“I don’t have time.”
“I know. That’s just it.”
My heart twinged, both for him and myself. “It doesn’t matter, Daddy, I don’t want to do those things now anyway. Like you said, I’ve grown up.”
“You’re only sixteen.”
“Well.” I straightened my back. “Sixteen’s not a kid.”
He laced his fingers, nodding slowly. “Jackie, I want you to understand me. I’m grateful for all you do with the house and kids. With my havin’ to work to support the family, I couldn’t have made it without you.”
He paused. I remained silent, not sure where he was headed.
“But lately,” he continued, “I’ve begun to feel how unfair this is to you. Now you mention at supper that your best friend’s goin’ out on her first date. I don’t want you to feel that you’re tied to this house every Friday and Saturday night. Your mama and I said that you could date when you’re sixteen, and nothin’ about that’s changed. You understand? Even with all the work you do, I still want you to feel like you’re sixteen.”
“Okay, Daddy,” I managed. How awkward, talking to him about going out. Hurt seared through me. I missed Mama so much! She was supposed to be here to help me with guys and romance. How could I possibly play her and be sixteen at the same time? “Nobody’s asked me out yet anyway,” I added with a little shrug.
He smiled. “They will.”
I looked at my lap, wondering why we were having this conversation. A suspicion, dark and ugly, niggled at my brain. “Daddy,” I said abruptly, “why did you tell the Kings we’d go to their at-home?”
He blinked at the change in topic. “Why shouldn’t we go?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Have they invited lots of people?”
“Probably. The Kings know lots of townsfolk, between their relatives and all the men that work with Jason at the mill.”
Exactly, I thought. “So why did they invite us?”
“Well, I did help Katherine King the day she arrived in town. And she did meet you and Clarissa and Robert at church.”
He held my gaze, crinkling his forehead. Somehow I knew he feigned the puzzlement.
“You like her, don’t you,” I accused.
He drew a breath. Now I’d done it. I’d crossed the line from unspoken to spoken, and he’d have to answer.
“What makes you say that?”
I pursed my mouth. “That’s not fair. Taking my question and turning it back on me.”
“Okay.” He drew out the word, stalling for time. The sudden strangeness between us hung in the air. As if I were the parent, questioning the ill-advised plans of the teenage child. “Tell you the truth, I don’t really know her.”
I lo
oked away. That’s not what I meant, and he knew it. You didn’t have to know someone very well to be attracted to that person. “Oh, forget it.” My voice sounded tight. “It doesn’t matter.”
Daddy opened his mouth, then shut it again.
“Jackie,” he would tell me much later, “I couldn’t help being pulled toward Katherine. Surely now you can understand my loneliness at that time. Do you know how many nights I couldn’t sleep in my empty bed after your mama died? I slept on the couch. Time and time again I’d force myself to be patient with Clarissa and her math, when all I wanted to do was scream my frustration that I didn’t have a wife to help. Coworkers at the bank would complain about small things, and I’d think, ‘You think you have problems.’”
Yes, Daddy, I understand now what I could not then. Now I know what it is to fall in love. To feel the giddy swirl of cringing anticipation and sodden hope. I know what it is to have your heart want to burst from your skin with longing. I know what it is to lose.
“Well.” I shifted toward the open book on my desk. “I have to get back to work.”
“Sure.” I heard the bed creak as Daddy pushed to his feet. When he reached my door, he hesitated. “Jackie, I really am grateful for everything you do. Your mama would be proud.”
I squeezed my eyes shut at the words. “Thank you,” I said softly.
He closed the door and left me.
chapter 5
No doubt Bradleyville will never see another “at-home” the likes of the one for Katherine May King.
Katherine did not come to church that morning. She’d stayed home, her mama explained with embarrassment, to get things ready. This raised more than a few eyebrows, as Bradleyville folk wouldn’t think of so overtly putting a party before worshiping Jesus. Martha had made that mistake in the Bible, and look where it got her. Forever branded as a woman with skewed priorities.
However, it didn’t seem to matter to Katherine. “I tol’ her we could just keep it simple, put things out soon as we got home,” her mama confided to Mrs. B before the service. “But you know Katherine; she plants her feet in concrete, and that’s that.”
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