“There’s nothing to fishing. When we were at the hardware store ordering the door locks I installed yesterday, I noticed they sell fishing rods. It isn’t necessary to catch any fish. The fun is sitting on the dock bobbing your fly in the water.”
“Flies! Yuck!”
“They’re fake. And I’ll bait your hook. Does that sound better?”
“I s’pose. Can I ask Sylvie to go with us?”
Joel almost blurted out that women didn’t usually like fishing. But what kind of message did that send to his daughter? “Sure,” he muttered reluctantly. “After we get back you can invite her.” With luck, she’d be busy or gone by then.
* * *
RIANNE’S PREVIOUS SCHOOL had been the penthouse suite of a posh high-rise. This school was built of clapboard and stood in the middle of centuries-old towering trees. Joel assumed they were sugar maple and hickory, because a sign along the road said they’d entered Hickory-Maple Gorge. There were hints of red and gold in the leaves, a sure sign that autumn was around the corner. Joel had only ever visited his great-aunt during the summers, but she had shown him pictures of the vast wilderness known as the Great Smoky Mountains. Kicking through crisp leaves to reach the entrance to the rustic school filled Joel with heightened anticipation. He envisioned taking Rianne on weekend excursions to explore this beautiful countryside.
Inside the office they were greeted by a pleasingly round woman. Her name tag read Mrs. Pearson, and in smaller letters under the title School Administrative Assistant, it said, Ellie.
“Mr. Mercer,” she exclaimed before Joel introduced himself or produced Rianne’s records. Her knowing his name gave Joel pause, as did her next words.
“I wondered when you’d get around to registering Rianne...isn’t it? Moved into Iva’s place over a week ago. Took your time getting here. Does that mean we’re the tardy type?”
“Uh...no,” he said, pulling a thick, cream-colored envelope out of his back pocket. Meeting her unwavering eyes, Joel slid the packet across the polished counter. The room smelled of paper, aging wood and furniture wax. It wasn’t pungent, but very different from Rianne’s kindergarten, with its modern decor. He shifted his gaze downward when he felt Rianne clutch his leg. “Say hello to Mrs. Pearson.”
“’Lo.”
“Mercy,” the assistant exclaimed. “Her kindergarten curriculum reads like nothing I’ve ever seen. Cultural Studies? Reading? Beginning French?” Peering over the counter, Mrs. Pearson gave Rianne a thorough once-over, then frowned at the child’s father.
“Atlanta is a progressive, multicultural city,” he murmured.
Her response to that was simply to pass him a clipboard of forms. “Fill these out on both sides. I’ll need to run copies of her vaccination record, if you remembered to bring one. If not, she won’t be fully registered for school until you provide us with an original.”
Joel produced that from his shirt pocket, feeling as if he needed to gain the approval of this tart-voiced woman.
“Goodness, a sensible dad. I’ll fire up the copier and give this back for Dr. Randall’s records. I expect you’ll be taking Rianne to him. Doc Randall is the only pediatrician currently practicing in Briarwood.”
Rianne tugged on her dad’s pant leg. “Will I get to meet my teacher and see my classroom?”
Hearing her query, Mrs. Pearson turned from the copier. “Angie Wallace is due to get the next first-grader. Students were parceled out between her and Donna Martin at the end of last year. Teachers aren’t officially back until a week from next Monday. If you’re Baptist, ask at church on Sunday. Somebody will introduce you to Angie. If you’re Methodist, Presbyterian or other, you’re out of luck till school opens. I’ll lock the office and give you a tour of the classrooms as soon as you finish with those forms,” she said, dealing Joel a pointed stare.
“Yes, ma’am. Snooks, have a seat, please. Daddy needs to concentrate.” He was grateful she complied without her usual why. Maybe Miss Ellie wouldn’t consider him a total bumbler. Joel was glad he’d been through this drill once before and knew how tedious it was. If not for an open window behind the secretary’s desk, which allowed in the chirp of an occasional bird, the silence in the room would have frayed his nerves.
“There, I think that’s everything,” he finally announced, pocketing his cheat sheet before spinning the clipboard around.
Ellie rose from her desk, pen in hand. She separated out the first page and touched the tip of her pen to each completed line, one after another. “Nice printing,” she noted drily. “You wouldn’t be a teacher, would you?”
“No.” Joel let it drop at that.
“I see you’re self-employed. What do you do?”
“I work at home. I’ve listed a cell phone number and my home phone. I can always be reached at one or the other should Rianne need me.”
“Huh. The secretive sort, I see.” Ellie snorted. “Hope it’s nothing illegal or immoral. Nicer woman than Iva Whitaker never lived. If you’re up to mischief, she’ll be turning in her grave.”
“Could we get through this process, do you think? I promised Rianne lunch in town. I’d like to be seated before the work crowd rolls into the café.” Actually, he planned to eavesdrop, hoping he might pick up tidbits of local gossip. Not that he’d hear very juicy stuff with Rianne in tow. But he might overhear something to indicate where singles in Briarwood went to hook up with other singles.
“Divorced, huh? For a minute there, I thought you might be one of those adoptive fathers of a different persuasion. Especially since you checked ‘nondenominational’ under religion.”
Is she kidding? Joel realized she wasn’t. He leaned over and said in a low but firm voice, “Mrs. Pearson. Federal equal-opportunity laws prohibit establishments that receive federal aid from asking those kinds of questions.”
“You work for the government, Mr. Mercer?”
Confused, he shook his head, and she went back to ticking off each line on the form. “Kay Waller, soon to be Kay Ramsey, told her cousin you asked Sylvie Shea if she had a kennel license. If you were a gov’ment man, I figured to call poor Sylvie and commiserate. A finer woman never lived.”
“You just said the same about my great-aunt.” Joel drummed his fingers on the counter.
“I like Sylvie lots,” Rianne piped up from where she sat idly kicking her feet in the air because they didn’t reach the floor. “Yesterday, she let me bake cookies with her. Today I’m gonna ’vite her to go fishing with Daddy and me.”
“Well, now.” At last a smile lifted the edges of Ellie Pearson’s lips.
Joel groaned inwardly, recognizing that vulture-sensing-a-bachelor look. It was so blatant, Joel felt compelled to state, “Inviting Ms. Shea to go fishing is Rianne’s idea. Not mine. Aren’t we about ready to see the classrooms?”
“Yes, indeedy.” Ellie dropped the forms on her desk and retrieved a big ring of keys. From then on, she gave a running dialogue regarding points of interest in and around the school. Joel was happy to escape some half hour later with no further mention of his career, his religion or lack thereof or his neighbor.
“So what’s the verdict, Rianne? Do you think you’ll like this school?”
“It felt comf’table.”
That answer produced a smile from Joel. “Exactly how I recall feeling about the house and the town when I used to come here as a boy.”
“Were you my age?”
“Older. I was ten my first visit. I begged to come back every summer, and did for five years. There’s the café ahead. Help me find a parking place on the street.” He knew Rianne loved to spot parking spaces when they visited the mall at home. This was probably her first experience with parallel slots on a main street. And meters, he saw.
“There’s a pickup leaving, Daddy. Oh, oh...you came close to that car.” She leaped back as Joel pulled abreast of the vehicle directly in front of the opening. He explained why he had to do that to successfully back in.
“When will I be bi
g enough to drive?”
Her query sent a ripple of apprehension through Joel. Of course he knew the day would come when he’d teach her to drive. As would the day he’d have to deal with boys and dating. Woes for the far-off future. “Chickadee, let’s not rush things. You’re trying to make your dad old before his time.”
“What’s a chickadee?”
“A cute little bird. And before you point out that birds don’t drive, let me say it’s a figure of speech. An endearment. Think about what you’d like for lunch instead of giving your old man heart failure thinking of you behind the wheel, okay?”
“I don’t know what this restaurant’s got.”
Joel pocketed his van keys and hurried around to her side, leading the way into the café after he shut her door. “Hamburgers. Smell them.” He sniffed appreciatively and flashed a smile at a busy waitress, who directed them to a booth near the center of an old-fashioned room decorated in fifties fashion. A wave of nostalgia at the pink-and-white booths and a soda fountain along the back wall hit Joel full force. Nothing had changed since he used to come here with Iva or Bill.
“Daddy, she said we could sit here.”
“Right. It’s just so weird. I feel as if I’ve stepped back in time. It looks the same as when I came here as a kid.”
“Do you remember their menu?”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Fantastic burgers with big fat French fries. That’s standard fare for boys. Girls are pickier.”
“Says who?”
They both glanced up in surprise at hearing a familiar lilt. Sylvie Shea stood next to their booth, grinning from ear to ear, a pad in hand and a pencil over her ear. She wore a white uniform and a pink apron.
“Don’t tell me you have a third job?” Joel found it hard not to show she was the last person he wanted to see. Especially in the very place where he’d like to gather facts that would allow him to add a comic character patterned after her.
“I worked here through high school to earn money for college, but then used it to pay rent in the New York Garment District.” Not knowing why she’d revealed that, Sylvie untucked her pencil from her hair, cleared her throat and muttered, “The owner’s daughter, Kristi, had an appointment out of town today. Rianne, I heard what your dad wants. A burger and fries.” She scribbled on the pad. “The cook does a really great grilled cheese sandwich. If you like those, I recommend sharing your dad’s fries.” She winked. “That way you can save room for a chocolate sundae. I guarantee it’ll be the best you’ve ever eaten.”
“Can I, Daddy?”
“Why not? And I’ll snitch a bite of your sundae.”
“Just water to drink?”
“Coffee for me. Rianne, milk?”
“If Sylvie thinks water’s the best, that’s what I want.”
Joel noticed the hero worship in his daughter’s eyes. He’d have to break that growing bond, he feared. But the next words out of Rianne’s mouth made that difficult if not impossible, for the time being at least.
“Daddy and me are going fishing this afternoon. Will you come, Sylvie? Daddy said I could ’vite you.”
Sylvie didn’t have warning enough to conceal her shock. “Uh, what time are you planning to go? Just down to Whitaker Lake, right?” She actually had no plans for the afternoon, except to do a bit of work on the dress.
Rianne nodded, clearly expecting Joel to supply a time.
“Two, two-thirty, I thought,” he mumbled, aware that would be cutting it close as far as eating, purchasing poles and getting home. He hoped he’d cut it too close for Sylvie.
She tore their order off her pad and dropped her voice for Joel’s ears only. “You said four or four-thirty, Joel?” Bending slightly, she said, “Striped bass surface in the early a.m. after the mist clears off the lake, and they rise to feed again shortly before the sun goes down.” More loudly, she said, “Sounds like fun. I’ll cook whatever we catch for dinner. If you’d like me to, that is.” Clearly flustered again, she grew red. “Uh, my dad has Iva’s rowboat and canoe stored at his place out of the weather—to keep them from rotting. If you were thinking of using either, we’ll all need life jackets. I can phone and have Dad haul the boats to your dock.”
“Four o’clock works. I was planning to fish from the dock. Guess I’d better buy Rianne a life vest in any case. Thanks for the reminder. It’s been years since I’ve been fishing. If Mr. Shea made me wear a life jacket, I’ve forgotten. As for cooking whatever we catch...will we catch anything?”
“Oh, ye of little faith. Unless local kids have sneaked down there recently, the lake’s gone unfished for a while. But if you’re not a fan of eating bass, we can toss them back instead of cooking them.”
“No. Cooking’s great, thanks. Rianne’s never eaten fresh-caught fish. Your grandpa showed me how to clean and fillet. I hope I haven’t forgotten how.”
“Locals will tell you it’s a skill that comes back, like riding a bicycle. I do it, but cleaning fish isn’t my favorite part of the deal, so thanks for offering. Well, hey, I’d better turn in your order or you’ll both be gnawing on the table legs.”
Rianne giggled, and Joel thought he’d never heard a nicer sound. She laughed aloud so seldom. Now he worried that might be his fault. His and Lynn’s. Because they couldn’t make their marriage work.
Wanting her laughter to continue, Joel reached across the table and tickled his daughter. “Gnaw away, snooks. That’ll leave more fish at dinner for me.”
His ploy worked. Rianne laughed long and loud, drawing the eyes of others.
Sylvie quickly introduced the newest additions to town. “I’ll leave y’all to give names,” she added hurriedly. “I see orders are up, and I’m not here to play the hostess with the mostest.”
Rianne giggled again. “Daddy, I thought you said bestest wasn’t a proper word. How come mostest is okay?”
Everyone found Joel’s predicament humorous. And even more when Sylvie muttered, “Yeah, Dad, explain that.” She promptly dashed away toward the pass-through that connected the main dining area with the kitchen.
“Sometimes, Rianne, it’s a case of do as I say, not as others do. That means don’t follow those who would lead you astray,” he called loudly enough for Sylvie to hear. “Lead you astray means steer you in the wrong direction.”
“Oh, Daddy, Sylvie would never do that.”
Joel felt another punch. How could Sylvie have garnered such devotion in such a short time? He thought it wisest to let that subject drop. He stood and shook hands with the local men and smiled politely at the women, some of whom he recognized as the bearers of casseroles even now filling his freezer. He was irked to hear a few whispers that he was divorced. Joel wished he’d written separated on Rianne’s school form where it asked for his marital status. Sweet Ellie Pearson had obviously lost no time in spreading the word.
The food came then, piping hot and as good as Joel remembered. He was a bit disappointed that the talk swirling through the room had nothing to do with anything suitable for his comic strip. Few lunchgoers, if any, fit his singles profile—except for Sylvie Shea. This might not work out for him, after all. A general topic of discussion among the women appeared to center on what each planned to wear Saturday night to Kay Waller’s wedding. The men, mostly shopkeepers from the area, discussed how much they wished their town would quit having so many weddings.
Now, that might be fodder for a strip. If he did more with the male viewpoint about weddings and other boring gatherings forced on them by girlfriends, wives or partners.
“Daddy,” Rianne said for the third time. “Did you forget we’re gonna share your French fries?”
“Oh, sorry. My mind wandered for a minute.” He dragged her plate over and scooped onto it the number of fries he thought she would eat.
“Where does your mind go?”
“What?” Joel pulled back from visions of his characters.
“When it wanders, where does your mind go?”
“Rianne, baby
, you take everything so literally. When someone says that, it generally means they’re not thinking about what’s happening around them, but that their thoughts have skipped ahead to planning the future.”
“Oh. You plan for a lot of future, I guess. You never hear me when I talk.”
That bothered Joel. “I am so sorry, honey,” he said. “The last thing in the world I want is to tune you out.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“You two aren’t arguing over who gets the last French fry, are you?”
Joel whirled, feeling Sylvie’s breath ruffle the hair above his right ear. Startled by the tremors it set off within him, he slid a foot across the bench seat, toward the wall. Still, her frothy, flowery perfume wrapped around him, triggering feelings long buried.
“We’re ’scussing Daddy’s mind. ’Cause it doesn’t stay where he sits.”
“Oh.” A frown, indicating that Sylvie didn’t understand, puckered between her eyes.
“Forget trying to make sense of it.” Joel folded his napkin and laid it beside his plate. “That was great, but I’d forgotten how big these are.”
“Would you like me to box the leftovers to go?”
Joel deferred to Rianne, who rubbed her tummy. “I’m full. I didn’t save room for a chocolate sundae.”
“How about if I give you a rain check on the sundae? You can come in someday after school.”
“Is that okay, Daddy?”
“Sure. Thanks, Sylvie. Do I pay at the register?” He wanted to bolt, and found it odd that Sylvie went about the business of cleaning the table so nonchalantly.
“Yes, at the register. So, I’ll see you guys again around four? I’ll, uh, meet you at the dock. That way if I’m late, you won’t be held up.”
She sounded suddenly shy, which to Joel was even more unsettling. If he’d been able to conjure up an acceptable out, he’d have done so on the spot. Because there was one fact that refused to be denied: Sylvie Shea affected his emotions and his mind. He couldn’t make tracks fast enough. However, he wasn’t willing to disappoint Rianne. And she wanted Sylvie to fish with them. But Joel didn’t breathe freely until he and Rianne reached the hardware store and he engaged the clerk in a no-nonsense discussion about fishing.
The Hope Dress Page 7