by Sarah Wathen
“Amanda and her friends going stag doesn’t worry you? What do you think they’re planning to do after the dance?”
Mike lifted a shoulder and kept his eyes on the paper. “Tristan will be in charge, not Mandy.”
That idea made her nervous in a different way, remembering the gossip about Meg Shannon liking to try out other people’s beds. Her bed, perhaps? “Well, what if they have some big party here, or something? What if they wreck the house, or some kids we don’t know come over, and…I don’t know, steal something?”
Mike snorted. “At the County Sheriff’s house?”
“Or…or, root through my underwear drawer or something?”
“What?” Now she had his attention; he looked up from his paper, his eyes little slits of mirth. “Are you worried about high school boys sniffing your underwear?”
“No.” She felt a little ridiculous when he put it like that. But she wasn’t ready to give up. “I mean, think of what else I keep in that drawer?”
“Well, honey. We can make sure our bedroom door stays locked.”
She sighed, frowning into her mixing bowl. “Okay…”
Mike put his elbows on the bar and cocked his head. “What is it really?”
“I don’t know.” She couldn’t describe why she felt so apprehensive. She was probably just being silly.
“Look, I know you feel like you need to know everything that goes on in the world, especially when it comes to your kids.” His attention slipped back to the news. “Trust me, you don’t. There’s lots going on that you don’t want to see.”
“Oh, it’s the jaded cop routine now, is it, Sheriff Jameson?” she teased him, licking a sugary whisk with her cute-as-button routine.
He studied her over the top of his glasses. “You gonna give me one of those to lick, or not?”
chapter thirty-eight
Candy rang the doorbell at the Robinson house and stepped back out of the glaring porch light, readjusting her dress around her hips and twirling the ends of her hair. She realized her hands were trembling and she shook them, impatient with herself. Why was she so nervous? She was going to the dance with friends, two of whom she had known most of her life.
She caught her reflection in the window and hardly recognized herself. All the glittery princess stuff was what made her feel so weird. She heard a commotion within the house and peered inside. John’s dad was scrambling around in the hall closet for something.
“Be right there,” Grandma Pearl sang behind the door. Her face popped into view in the leaded glass. “Oh, it’s just Candy—forget the roses, John.”
Yeah, why bother with roses for ole’ Candy? She turned around to scowl at her dad, still digging in the car trunk for something. “Dad, what are you doing? Come on.”
“The correct lens makes all the difference, trust me.” His voice was muffled, as he dug around with his head inside the back of the car. After several more thumps and clanks he found that urgent piece of photographic equipment, which Candy had never known he owned, and emerged triumphant. “Found it.”
“Say cheese.” A welcoming chorus sounded and a rush of air swept past her as one of the Robinsons flung the door open. She turned to them with a smile and was blinded by a flash of light. An old-fashioned camera clicked and whirred.
“I see someone else shares my dad’s fondness for the classics,” she said, blinking hard. She remembered not to rub her eyes, lest she smear the unfamiliar make-up and end up looking like a raccoon in the first few seconds of the evening.
Grandma Pearl held up her cell phone. “Don’t worry. I’ll shoot plenty too, just to be sure.”
“Mom, these will be much better than anything you could take with a cell phone, trust me.”
“You don’t even know what you’re taking with that, and I can see mine right away,” replied Pearl, full of pride and wonderment at modern technology. She was one of those rare older ladies who always delighted in the next new device, even better if she could find an inexpensive version at the Discount Depot. She was constantly learning, though a little more slowly than younger generations, and sharing her revelations with anyone who would listen (even if they only pretended to listen). “Why bother to get film developed, when I can just look at the pictures on my phone? Developing film is a waste of time and money, Jamie.”
“There’s a pretty big difference in image quality when you use film, Mom.”
“See, look—I can take as many as I want, and you can only take what? Twenty-four with one roll?” In illustration, she held down a button to use the rapid-fire function of her phone’s camera app. Candy resisted the urge to hold her hands up in front of her face for protection, squeezing in sideways through the door and making for the sanctuary of John. He waved to her on the other side of the threshold like a policeman at a crime scene.
“Perfect example of why more isn’t always better, Mom.”
“Candy, hey.” John leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.
“Whew. Hi.”
“James, is that a Canon?” George Vale had finally gathered his gear. He bounded up the porch steps with all his paraphernalia dangling from straps around his neck. “EOS?”
“How’s it going, George. Yeah, EOS 10.”
Her dad whistled, accepting James camera for inspection while handing over his own. “EOS ELAN II, right there.”
“Candy, you look beautiful, my dear.” Pearl gave her a quick peck on the forehead, careful not to disturb any make-up or hair, before bustling back down the hallway. “I made lemonade, you thirsty?”
“Oh, thank you. But…I’d rather not…mess anything up. Lipstick and all,” Candy said, feeling girly and impolite for not accepting the offered refreshment.
“I understand, dear.” Pearl’s voice died away and then echoed more loudly as she entered the kitchen. “You’re a woman now.”
Candy’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, and she looked to the guys, expecting them to burst into laughter. Her dad and Mr. Robinson were deep in conversation, trading facts about shooting styles and detachable lenses. John wore a crooked smile, full of empathy. He grabbed her hand to pull her into the quiet of an adjoining room.
“You really do look beautiful, Candy.”
“Oh. Heh, thanks.”
“I’m speechless.”
He held her fingers in his hands and pulled her arms out for an appraisal of her dress. She had to admit she loved the dress. Her Aunt Shelby, who had mothered three sons and longed for the opportunity to go dress shopping, had taken Candy on a special trip to Tenakho Falls for the occasion. She helped her pick out a dress that perfectly flattered both her figure and her personal style. The simple, black velvet A-line hit her shapely legs mid-thigh and was hemmed with a ring of fuzzy black feathers. The bust was snug yet modest, with velvet spaghetti straps. Elegant satin high-heels set off the old-fashioned black seam running up the back of her legs in shear black stockings. The “milky white” expanse of her chest (her aunt had insisted it was one of her sexiest features) was left bare, with long, sparkling crystal earrings dropping down either side of her neck.
Maybe the effect worked a little too well. John’s eyes were glued to that particular area. “Come on, you’re never speechless.”
He shrugged and smiled, continuing to admire her with unnerving frankness.
“You look good, too.” Candy had never seen him so dressed up before, and though John always looked nice (even in gym clothes, somehow), she hadn’t noticed how genuinely handsome he was until then.
“Thanks, you think?” He turned around once for appraisal. He wasn’t finished dressing, but had already donned black tuxedo pants with satin piping and patent leather shoes. A stark white shirt, vest and tie set off his tan, the fanciness in contrast to the adorable freckles sprinkling his nose. His hair was freshly washed and neatly styled, darker than when he was little, but sun kissed w
ith golden streaks. It was beginning to curl at the ends.
“Curls are coming back. You’re growing it out, I’m glad.”
“Yeah,” he went to run a hand through his hair automatically, but pulled it back laughing. “This took an effort, and quite a bit of ‘product.’”
“Me too,” she agreed, motioning to her own head.
He walked around her to check out the back. “Very pixie-like. It’s pretty.”
Candy circled him in turn, nodding approval. “I like the white-on-white thing.”
“Don’t worry, the jacket’s black.” John pulled his tuxedo jacket off the back of a chair and slipped into it. He filled it out well.
“Having trouble with that tie?” Candy gestured to his neck, where his tie was hanging loose under the collar, still open at the throat.
“Oh, yeah. I found a video, but it’s a little hard to follow.”
“Your dad’s no help?”
“No—he’s been digging out camera stuff for hours.”
“Oh my god, mine, too.” They both laughed, gently breaking through the mood that had settled between them.
“Crazy fools. Well, special occasion and all.”
“It is. Wow, Erica’s roses are beautiful,” Candy motioned toward a bouquet lying on a table by the front window. No roses for Candy. “Did you choose yellow for friendship?”
“Does yellow stand for friendship? She said her dress was cream and gold, so yellow seemed like it would harmonize well. The white roses seemed a little too…”
“Meant for a wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Good call.”
“And…” John reached a hand behind the table lamp looming over the bouquet and produced a single red country rose, fully bloomed. Its spindly stem was still dripping, the sharp thorns all carefully removed. “You get red, of course.”
Candy gasped. “It’s gorgeous.” She dug her nose into the center and breathed deeply, satisfaction washing over her. “Smells like heaven.” She held it up to John’s nose and he sniffed dutifully. Candy was sure he already knew what it smelled like; he probably selected it especially for its heavy fragrance, knowing how much she loved the smell of country roses.
His smile was shy. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Divine,” she said, honestly touched, and smirked inwardly at Grandma Pearl’s earlier remark. “Thank you.”
“Headlights everyone,” Pearl’s voice rang throughout the house, as if on cue.
John’s dad came into the living room to peer outside, kneeling on the cushioned window seat and cupping his hands against the glass to cut the glare from the lights in the house. “Who drives an SUV, Erica’s dad or Mieke Walsh?”
“Ugh. Mieke Walsh does,” Pearl said, her tone dripping with disappointment. She walked closer to the entrance to the den and bellowed, “Grandpa, it’s time to make your appearance, dear.”
John muttered, “Good, maybe Antonio can help me with this tie.”
“Son, I’m sorry. I forgot I was going to get to that.”
The new guests rolled in at an angle to the house and the car’s length became apparent. “Does Mrs. Walsh have a stretch Hummer?” asked Candy.
“What? No.”
“Cool, she must have rented it.” Candy beamed at John and they bounded to the door together, as the Hummer came to a stop. A uniformed driver got out, tipped his hat to them, and walked around the passenger side to open the doors.
“Hi, everybody,” Mieke Walsh cheered from inside the limousine. Antonio, rejecting the helping hand of the driver, hopped down first and then turned to offer assistance to his adopted parent. She descended demurely, in a plain T-shirt, jeans and sneakers.
Antonio let go of Mrs. Walsh’s hand with a kiss, then turned to his friends. “Hello, Candy. John.” He spread his arms wide, indicating the vast expanse of their chariot. “Is fabulous, no?”
John was already inspecting the cabin, his voice muffled inside. “Amazing.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Walsh, honestly,” said Candy.
“Well, you kids are worth it.”
Antonio hugged her around the waist and gave her a half-spin. “I love my Mamma Americano.”
“Oh, Antonio!” She laughed and swatted at him playfully until he put her down. “Okay, now the evening is yours. Everything is set, including the tip.” Mieke was full of pride and merriment. She straightened her T-shirt and hair without much thought, waving the driver over. “Randall, Antonio is in charge for the rest of the evening. You have my number, in case anything comes up. And other than that…” She clasped her hands to her chest, gazing at the group of friends affectionately, “have fun, you guys.”
“There she is,” Grandma Pearl sounded from the porch. She produced grunting sounds as she heaved her husband’s wheelchair over the threshold. “About time.”
“Mom, I’ll do that. Don’t ask Mieke to—”
“I’m not talking about her, James. I’m talking about the lady of the hour, John’s companion to the ball.”
“Is Erica here?” Candy wheeled around toward the road and saw headlights approaching, the glare mostly blocked by the expansive Hummer.
“John, get the roses.”
“On my way, Grandma.”
“Wait, wait. Let me get the flash for the outside. I didn’t think it would be so dark,” said John’s dad, rushing back inside.
Her dad followed him inside, offering advice. “What kinda film you got, Jamie?”
“Speaking of roses…” Antonio’s voice was close and gentle, his aftershave suddenly apparent and his words tickling Candy’s bare neck. He pulled her away from the fuss to the other side of the limo, where voices were muffled and the moonlight lent a soft glow to the darkening front lawn. He appraised her figure in the flattering luminescence and ran a finger down her jaw. “They write poetry about women as you.”
“Uh.” Candy felt awkward, bewildered by all the attention to her appearance and the yearning male gazes. She already felt strained by playing the princess. She wanted to be polished and polite for the occasion and she knew she wasn’t. “You got me roses?”
“Sei bella come una rosa.”
She understood enough to translate that to her being as beautiful as a rose. “Oh. I don’t know what to say…”
“Just say ‘thank you,’ honey. Live with the compliment.” And to accentuate, he slapped her velvety buttocks hard and let out a ridiculous, lupine howl, “Let’s party.”
“Do not smack my butt again.”
“Don’t worry, no roses for you, honey.” He snatched up her hand and towed her back to the bedlam ensuing on the other side of the front lawn.
“Oh no, of course not. Not for Candy.” She reminded herself to grab the one that John had given her before they left.
“Candy,” Erica’s voice emitted from a shapely, elegant form in a clinging satin gown, and Candy stifled her surprise. Normally one to hide her body in frumpy flannel shirts under baggy overalls, with her mousy brown hair slicked back in tight plaits and bulky glasses covering most of her eyes, Erica was the quintessential ugly duckling turned beautiful swan. Candy looked over her shoulder to check for hidden filmmakers producing a reality TV, after-school special.
“Erica, wow.” She went on tip-toe to hug her friend and whispered in her ear, “Didn’t know you were so stacked, girlfriend.” She had a stunning figure hiding under all those clothes.
Erica flicked a strand of hot-rolled curls over her shoulder. “Well, with a date on the Homecoming Court, I figured I had to step it up a little, you know?” She winked a catlike eye, and Candy could see that she had expert help with her make-up. Her friend usually never wore a smudge of it, but that night her eyes were artfully enhanced, her cheeks were rosy, her lips were glossy and her spots of acne were hidden.
“Are you wearing contacts?”
“Yes, I hate them.” Erica grimaced, glanced at encroaching parents and escorts, and added, “And how do people live with thongs up their butts every day?”
“My dear girl, you are a vision.” Grandma Pearl (who had left her husband camped on the porch, helpless in front of the stairs) advanced on Erica and kissed her lightly on each cheek.
“‘At’s my boy, John,” said the marooned Grandpa Joe, in a voice so unlike the bellow Candy expected from the enormous man. She worried how honest his family was being about the state of his health, before her face burned at the sight of John next to him. John was exiting the house with an armful of roses.
Grandma Pearl barked orders. Erica gushed her thank-you’s. John posed beside her with one arm around her waist, while his dad fumbled with the Canon. Pearl held down the shutter button on her phone and snapped off dozens of shots with a smug expression. Candy watched and tried not to roll her eyes, wishing it would just end. Then her dad shoved Antonio against her and started shooting. Antonio remembered the macho act and let his hands roam. Pearl decided to shoot some video, too. It was miserable.
“All the kids together,” said Mieke. She pulled out a compact camera and corralled the group in front of what she thought was the best background. While the adults argued about lighting and rearranged their subjects according to height and partnerships, Candy found herself smashed into John’s chest. When he rested his hand possessively on her hip, she felt her pilot light flaring with anger, deep within her gut.
“How many roses did you pick up today?” she whispered up into his face, sweetly mocking. “I’m sure Charice Hawkins got hers, too.”
He looked down into her eyes coolly, unsurprised by her jealous challenge. She felt ashamed, even as she had said it. “Nice of you to wonder about that. Thanks for showing up to watch the parade.”
“I’m sure you enjoyed yourself plenty, without me.”
“Riding in a mint condition ‘57 Bel Air Convertible, next to a pretty girl telling me how wonderful I am, was a horrible experience, in fact.” He held her glare as the group was rearranged for more photos.