by Lyn Cote
Vickie’s knitting needles clicked in the background. “How soon is Peter coming back?”
Thea reminded Vickie about the lesson in progress by putting her index finger to her lips.
“Sorry,” Vickie whispered.
Thea closed her eyes again, concentrating on Tom’s lulling performance.
The phone rang.
“I’ll get it!” Vickie hopped up before Thea could stop her. Thea always let the machine pick up during lessons.
Tom played the last bars of the Brahms.
“Well done, Tom.” Thea touched his shoulder
“Thanks.” He gave her a dubious smile. “I practice a lot. It zones out Mom and Thad yelling at each other.”
Before Thea could think of what to say to this rare revelation, Vickie interrupted from the other room. “It’s your stepmother.”
Apprehensive, Thea walked to the kitchen. She took the receiver from Vickie. “Myra, hello, what is it?”
“I told that woman it wasn’t important, but she insisted I stay on.” Myra sounded fretful.
“Is there something wrong?”
“No, no. Just wanted you to know your father will be in California for the two weeks of training.”
“Oh?” He went for training once or twice a year and Myra had never called before to tell her.
“Yes, I wanted you to call me if anything comes up.”
What was Myra expecting to come up? Thea tried to get up enough gumption to ask Myra why she’d called. “Myra—”
The phone went dead.
Thea hung up and slowly walked back to the piano. Were Myra and her father having problems?
“It’s so nice your stepmother calls you like that.” Vickie smiled up from her knitting.
Thea nodded and sat down on the chair next to the piano. It isn’t nice. It’s peculiar.
“Should I do my finger exercises, Miss Glenheim?” Tom asked.
Thea stared out the windows at the untroubled blue sky, trying to come up with a reason for her stepmother’s calling twice in two months for no obvious reason.
“Don’t you want to correct my theory while I play the next piece like you always do?” Tom prompted.
Thea looked at him as he offered her a music book. “Of course.” I need to call Myra and just ask her. Thea wished she knew her stepmother better, but they’d never gone deeper than surface politeness. Tom played; she corrected. At the end of the lesson just as Tom and Vickie were leaving, an older, silver-gray station wagon pulled up.
“Who’s that?” Vickie asked, stepping back down from her van.
Thea liked Vickie, but right now she would have liked Vickie to go home. Myra’s peculiar phone calls occupied Thea’s mind. Maybe there was something Myra wanted to tell her about her father, but couldn’t get up her courage. Is he sick? His heart?
“Hello.” A plump, gray-haired woman waved cheerfully from the car window. “Are you Thea?”
“Yes.” Troubled, Thea stepped up to the side of the car. She’d already guessed who this couple was.
The woman looked Thea in the eye. “Child, you look worried to death. What’s wrong?”
The woman’s keen perception shocked Thea speechless.
Drawing close, Vickie offered her hand to the woman in the wagon. “I’m Vickie Earnest and this is my son, Tom.”
“We’re the Dellas—Irene and Aldo.” The woman shook Vickie’s hand. “Do you know our son, Peter?”
Thea sighed silently. Peter’s parents—just as she’d thought. Together Irene and Aldo looked like a couple who’d stepped out of a sixties children’s film. Wearing a yellow smock printed with giant sunflowers, Irene looked as round and soft as a comfortable cushion, while Aldo was distinguished-looking with salt-andpepper gray hair and a long lean body.
Vickie exclaimed, “He said you would be coming!”
Tom touched his mother’s sleeve. “Mom, I’ve got to pick up my papers and get them ready to deliver.”
Vickie looked disappointed, but started to move away to her van. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”
The Dellas nodded and smiled. “We came to ask Thea if she’d go to town with us. We need to pick up a few things.”
Thea’s stomach quivered at this news. Go to town with the Dellas? They’d draw the camp’s opponents like bees to honey.
Tom touched his mother’s arm again. Vickie seemed to have to tear herself away from the scene of “breaking news,” but finally she waved one last time and she and Tom drove away.
Pressing down her misgivings, Thea stood beside the wagon in the sudden stillness.
“Thea, are you still upset about that vandalism?” Irene asked in a soft, sympathetic voice. “Peter told us you’re the one who called it in. How awful for you.”
“Some coward who has to do his dirty work in the middle of the night.” Aldo tamped down his full mustache. “Must have upset you.”
“We’re so sorry you were upset, dear.” Irene patted Thea’s hand, which lay on top of the rolled-down car window.
Through the window, Thea tried to read them. Their resemblance to Peter wasn’t so much physical as it was in personality. They sounded and acted just like him. Warm. Exuberant. Two kind, concerned faces stared back at her. Thea pushed aside her reluctance. She was being a poor neighbor. “I’m fine. Wouldn’t you like to come in first?”
“No, thank you, dear,” Irene said. “We didn’t drive up all in one day. I can’t sit that long any more. We stayed in Wausau last night.”
“We’d just like you to ride into town with us if you can spare the time today,” Aldo invited in a cheerful rumble of a voice. “Show us around.”
“We need some bread and milk. Some fresh fruit.” Irene smiled at her brightly.
“Add a few nails and sandpaper to that,” Aldo interjected.
Thea didn’t want to go into town with them, but she didn’t have the heart to refuse. It would be like slamming the door in Santa’s face. “I have a few hours before my next student.”
Thea climbed into the back seat of the station wagon for the ride to town. They shopped at the Hanleys’ grocery, and Carver Hardware. At each place, the Dellas blithely declared their identity to one and all as though the dispute over the camp didn’t exist, as though they expected a welcoming committee. They’re just like Peter. Warm. Open. Personable. They don’t understand. Thea groaned inwardly.
With a stomach already tightening, Thea walked into The Café with them. She felt like she’d just entered the Temple of Doom. Though well after the lunch rush, Lake Lowell’s grapevine must have been working at high speed because The Café was full. As they walked in, every eye turned to them.
“Something smells delicious,” Irene exclaimed, seeming completely unconcerned about the audience.
Thea led them to a table near the front. Why try to hide? Might as well be on full display.
The waitress came over and handed them menus. “Hi, folks,” the waitress said with her pad in hand.
Thea wondered how the woman could keep such a deadpan expression amid the avid interest all around.
“What is it that smells so delicious?” Irene asked.
“Pasties.”
“Pasties?” Irene repeated.
Thea was glad to hear Irene repeat the name of the regional specialty correctly so it rhymed with “past”, not “paste.” She’d been raised eating the folded pastries filled with meat, gravy and vegetables, but today the heavy food didn’t appeal to her.
“I haven’t had a pasty for a long time. Do yours have turnips?” Irene asked.
“Some,” the waitress answered, still showing a complete lack of interest.
“Sounds good to me, Irene.” Aldo handed back his menu. “What about you, Thea? Our treat.”
“I’ll just have a cup of soup.”
“Chicken with wild rice?” the waitress intoned, scribbling on her pad. Thea nodded.
After the waitress waddled away toward the kitchen, Irene beamed at Thea. “Peter said you w
ere a pretty little thing.”
Thea felt herself blush, not just over the compliment, but because of all the ears listening to it.
Aldo objected, “No, he didn’t. Said she was tall and elegant.”
Irene slapped his hand. “Stop it. We’re embarrassing her. Now, Peter said your grandmother is at the nursing home.”
“Yes, she is.”
“When we get settled, I’ll have to drop over and take her one of my calzones.”
Oh, no. Thea felt herself break into a cold sweat. She’d read about them in books, but she’d never actually felt it. She stammered, “G-grandmother isn’t usually up to visitors.”
“And she isn’t crazy about Peter’s camp, either,” Aldo said. “Irene, this isn’t the neighborhood back home. Here you have to let people get used to you.”
“Oh.” Irene made a hushing gesture toward him. “People are people. Here or in Milwaukee. Don’t you think so, dear?”
Before Thea could say something to moderate Irene’s enthusiasm, the waitress delivered the pasties and soup. As Thea took her first sip of thick rice soup, she heard a “Humph” from someone standing beside her. She glanced up to see Mrs. Chiverton. Oh, no. Thea hoped Mrs. Chiverton would act neighborly, but the older woman quivered with emotion. “Are you really that Peter Della’s parents?”
Aldo stood politely. “Yes, we are. How do you do? I’m Aldo Della.”
Mrs. Chiverton bristled.
Remembering her grandmother’s cutting remark about Mrs. Chiverton and her own desire for peace, Thea took a deep breath and pasted a smile into place. “This is Louella Chiverton. She lives directly across the lake from both of us. She’s my grandmother’s oldest and dearest friend. I depend on her so much now that Grandmother is at the care center.”
At Thea’s unexpected tribute, Mrs. Chiverton’s expression changed from hostile to surprised, but gratified.
“Well, how nice to meet a neighbor.” Irene held out her hand.
Mrs. Chiverton shook it, still looking startled.
“You must come over some time,” Aldo said. “And I’m quite handy with tools if you need any small jobs done.”
Looking confused, Mrs. Chiverton nodded. “Nice to meet you.” Glancing back at Thea repeatedly, she nodded and walked out.
“She seemed sweet.” Irene lifted a forkful of pasty. “Mmm. Yummy.”
Thea sat astonished at the effect her simple tribute had had on Mrs. Chiverton. Maybe she’d been unfair to the woman who had been a part of her life as long she could remember. Mrs. Chiverton was maddening, but obviously the verse in Proverbs, “A soft word turneth away wrath” worked!
“I liked that woman.” Aldo nodded agreeably. “I think she would like one of your calzones, Irene.”
Thea now knew where Peter got his charming ways. It must be genetic.
“I hope, Thea, people here will begin to have a change of heart about the camp,” Aldo said quietly.
Irene nodded. “Yes, it’s been Peter’s dream since he was about fourteen.”
“He’d only been ours about a year then,” Aldo said.
Startled, Thea asked, “What?”
Aldo grinned. “Didn’t he tell you? We adopted Peter when he was thirteen.”
“Peter’s adopted?”
“All our children are adopted.” Irene reached for her large bursting-full handbag.
“Please, Irene, don’t start with the pictures.” Aldo held up his hands good-naturedly. “Thea will start avoiding us.”
“She should be right now.” Mr. Crandon hurried up to them.
Thea looked up sincerely nonplussed. Would this never end?
Aldo and Irene looked to Thea.
“Aldo and Irene Della, this is Dick Crandon,” Thea said with resignation. Let the games begin.
“Dick,” Aldo greeted him and Irene smiled.
“You won’t be happy to see me after I tell you I’m the one who’s organizing the opposition to your son’s camp.”
Why did he sound so proud of all the unpleasantness he was causing? Thea wished she could ask him that.
“Sorry to hear that.” Aldo gave a wry grin.
“Yes, you should really save yourself all this trouble,” Irene said amicably.
“Why?” Crandon demanded, “Has your son decided to change his plans?”
Thea folded her hands in her lap. She couldn’t eat with an argument exploding around her.
“Oh, no.” Irene gave a bubbly giggle. “Only an act of Congress could make Peter change his plans.”
Aldo chuckled. “Yeah, that’s our Peter. You know, he worked his way through college on his own and stayed on the honor list the whole time, then got his first job and did his MBA at night Nothing stops that boy when he’s on his path.”
“Well, he’s never run into me before.” Mr. Crandon pointed to a clipboard in his hand. “This is going to stop him.”
“What is it?” Thea asked against her own will.
“A petition to change the zoning of Della’s property. That’s what.” Mr. Crandon looked smug. In an acid tone, he went on, “I would ask you to sign, Thea, but we can see which side you’ve chosen.”
Aldo surged to his feet. Peter’s father towered over Mr. Crandon. For one breathless moment, Thea feared Aldo would lift the portly retired real estate agent right off his feet.
Aldo spoke deliberately, “Thea has made it clear to our son that she is remaining neutral in this…debate. I don’t think that just because she was raised to be a good neighbor it should be held against her, do you?”
Mr. Crandon glowered at him. Aldo stared back not giving an inch.
Thea heard no sound in the restaurant, not even a dish rattle in the kitchen. She hated all this. Why couldn’t Mr. Crandon and everyone else just wait and see what Peter’s camp did or didn’t bring to Lake Lowell?
Mr. Crandon looked away. “I suppose not Sorry, Thea.” Then he glared up at Aldo. “But I’m not giving up until I win.”
Aldo sat down. “Well, a little vandalism and a petition isn’t going to stop us.”
“I had nothing to do with that,” Mr. Crandon snapped.
“I thought you said you were organizing the opposition,” Aldo said coolly.
“I’m using only legal means. And I’m going to win.” Mr. Crandon’s face had turned pink.
Aldo lifted a forkful of food to his mouth, then paused. “Who wins this will be up to God, don’t you think?”
“You mean just because your son is supposedly doing a charitable work, he’s doing God’s will?”
“We’re glad to hear you’re such a quick learner,” Irene put in with a sprightly grin.
Red-faced, Mr. Crandon huffed and walked out.
Thea felt like a rubber band that had been snapped one time too many.
Irene patted her arm. “Now, dear, eat your soup. All this will blow over. You’ll see.”
This comment made Thea recall Peter’s identical resilience. “Are you sure Peter is adopted?”
Both Aldo and Irene chuckled warmly at this. “Peter didn’t say you were witty, too. But we like it!” Aldo took a big bite of his pasty.
Thea climbed out of the back seat of the Della station wagon. “Thanks for lunch.”
“You didn’t eat enough to feed a cricket,” Irene scolded.
Aldo asked, “You’re sure you don’t want me to drive you to your door?”
“No, it’s so close I’ll just walk back to my place. I have a few minutes before my next student.” Thea waved and set off at a brisk pace. The trip to town had been as stressful as she had expected. Peter’s parents were as intrepid as Peter himself.
As Thea walked over the uneven ground of the camp, she gazed longingly at the lake. A small skiff with a rainbow-colored sail wended a path eastward on the rippling blue surface. The peaceful sight eased Thea’s tension. She scooted over the fence. A few minutes relaxing on her chaise on the porch overlooking the lake was just what she needed. Add to that a tall glass of iced tea with a sli
ce of lemon. Already savoring her first cooling sip, she opened the kitchen door.
“Hi, Thea, do you always leave your door unlocked?”
Thea froze, her hand on the doorknob; shock waves lapping through her.
Chapter Seven
“Surprised you, huh?” Her petite stepsister with tousled short blond hair and china blue eyes sat at the kitchen table, sipping iced tea.
“Cynda.” Thea stared; her thoughts scattered like dry leaves on the wind. “Cynda.”
“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out—as your dad would say.”
Does your mother know you’re here? Had her stepsister run away? But why to here? Alarm bells clanged shrilly in Thea’s mind. Thea’s voice broke, “Cynda, what are you doing here?”
“Can’t you even say hi before you start sounding like my mother?”
Though Cynda said the words with a cocky lilt and a grin, Thea heard anger behind them. She reeled in her own rampant reaction. “What’s wrong?”
Cynda stood up. “Just needed a change of scenery. Duluth is a drag.”
This time Thea detected unshed tears just behind the flippant reply. Unsure, but sensitive to the tender feelings of a sixteen-year-old, she hesitated a moment. If everything were normal, what would she ask her stepsister? “Can I get you anything?”
“I’m a little hungry.”
Her mind racing with what she should do next, Thea opened the refrigerator and surveyed her usual neatly plastic-wrapped lumps of food. Nothing appetizing looked back at her. Then she recalled how she’d enjoyed the omelet Peter had made her. The scent of buttery eggs floated through her mind. “Would you like an omelet?”
“No, but a fried egg sandwich sounds good.”
So much for the Della touch. I don’t have it. “Fried egg sandwich coming up.” The butter melted in the iron skillet; the eggs sizzled. So many questions crowded into Thea’s mind. But she had never had more than a merely polite conversation with her stepsister. I should know Cynda better. I need to change that. She’s been my stepsister for nearly six years. I’ve never gotten close to her.
Within minutes, Cynda wolfed down the sandwich.
“More?” Watching Cynda intently, Thea asked from beside the stove.