by Lyn Cote
“Please.”
Thea cracked another egg into the skillet. “How’s your mom?”
“Fine,” Cynda replied tartly. “How’s your grandmother—as grim as I remember?”
Thea looked askance at Cynda. “Whatever Grandmother Lowell’s eccentricities, she’s still my grandmother.”
Cynda squirmed on the kitchen chair. “Did I go too far? Sorry.”
Thea said with a touch of sternness, “She’s a sick old woman.” She scooped the egg out of the iron skillet and made the second sandwich.
Cynda kept turning the salt and pepper shakers around and around and crossing and uncrossing her legs. She seemed edgy, as though she were an engine idling too fast.
Thea put the plate in front of Cynda and now prepared to confront whatever had prompted Cynda’s arrival. “Now what—”
Outside Molly interrupted her by barking vigorously to announce a silver van pulling up.
A rap on the screen door frame and little Tracy Johnson leaned in. “Miss Glenheim, I’m here!”
“Come in.” Thea smiled. In the months since the “twin disaster” day, she’d become closer to this sweet, spontaneous child.
The little girl, clutching her music books to her, stepped in, then halted. “Who’s this?”
“My…sister, Cynda.” Thea felt instinctively she should drop the “step” today. A brand-new protectiveness for Cynda touched Thea. After all, Cynda was the closest thing she had to a sister.
“Are we still gonna have a lesson?” Tracy twisted one of her brown pigtails around her finger.
Thea’s concern over Cynda ratcheted higher, but Tracy had come for a lesson.
Cynda nodded, then wiped a yellow egg drip from her chin. “Go ahead, you two. I’ll be fine.”
Thea eyed her stepsister. Had she just stopped for a meal? Would she disappear while Thea was distracted?
Nan walked in, a twin holding each of her hands. The twins wore matching blueand-white sailor short sets and white sailor hats.
“Twins. Wow!” Cynda put down her sandwich.
“I wish I had a dollar for every “Twins. Wow!” I’ve heard in the past two years.” Nan, also wearing a blue shorts outfit, grinned. “Isn’t this sunny weather great?”
Still uneasy over Cynda’s plans to stay or go, Thea introduced Nan. “Let’s go, Tracy.” As Thea guided the little girl toward the living room, she wanted to say, ‘Cynda, stay. We need to talk,’ but too many ears were listening. God, keep her here.
“Say, Cynda,” Nan asked, “do you baby-sit?”
Tracy looked up at Thea as they reached the piano. “Nobody wants to baby-sit for us. My brothers are a handful.”
“Two handfuls.” Thea chuckled.
Tracy replied in a serious tone, “That’s what Daddy says.”
Thea laughed out loud. Soon Tracy proudly played the “Raindrop Prelude” from memory. Right in the middle of the “thunderstorm” part of the piece, Thea heard a car pull up outside and doors slamming. Who could that be? Had Myra actually left home to pursue her daughter? Maybe her earlier call had been made from a pay phone.
Cynda came to the arched living room doorway. “Thea, two fishermen are here for the weekend.”
Thea stood up. I forgot all about them! “They’re early. I haven’t taken down the linens and made up their beds.” The trip to town with the Dellas had put her behind in her day’s schedule.
“I can do it,” Cynda offered. “Where are the lin-ens?”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“No problem.”
Thea told her where to find the linens and keys, then sat down with Tracy again. Having someone to lend a hand was a new experience for Thea. Making beds would keep Cynda busy for a while. Outside enjoying the sunny day, the twins with Nan running behind them raced past the French doors on their way to the lake. Their short, chubby legs churning, they squealed with delight.
“Can I go wading, too?” Tracy asked wistfully.
The sounds of splashing and cheerful yelling called to Thea to come and go wading, too. She said with a slight smile for Tracy, “You’ll have to ask your mother when we’re done. Now play the prelude all the way through.”
With the two fishermen—wearing cloth hats studded with colorful fishing flies—Nan, twin boys, Cynda, Molly and Tomcat breezing in, out and around the house, Thea and Tracy stayed at the piano, the eye of a cheerful, active storm.
Though anxious over Cynda, Thea kept on with the lesson. Tracy’s attention wandered occasionally, but in spite of all the interruptions, Thea was pleased with her performance. “You did an excellent job on your memory work.”
“Do I get a sticker?”
“Two.”
“Two!” Tracy hopped up from the bench. “That was a funny day when the twins got into trouble here,” the little girl said, making the connection between the “Raindrop Prelude” and the day Peter had arrived.
Remembering that peculiar day, Thea touched Tracy’s nose affectionately. “Yes, that was a funny day.”
Peter’s arrival in Lake Lowell had been just the beginning of so many challenges and changes this spring, now this summer. Now Cynda had come. What would that lead to? What had happened to her wellordered, predictable life?
“All done?” Windblown, Nan stood at the doorway. The twins hugged her knees.
Tracy picked up her music and skipped to her mother. “I got two stickers—a horse and a flower!”
“Good job!” Nan started to turn away, but turned back. She pointed a finger at Thea. “Remember, Thea, the next organ committee meeting I’ll be calling you about it. Don’t forget your report on repairs.”
Thea sighed as she followed Nan outside where Cynda joined her in waving goodbye to the Johnsons. How did Nan keep up with a daughter and twins?
Thea glanced at Cynda, wondering what the fishermen whom Thea had known for years had thought of Cynda greeting them. “Everything okay at the fishing cabin?”
“Done. And Nan is neat. She hired me to baby-sit Saturday night.”
Thea’s eyebrows rose. And I was afraid she’d leave before Tracy’s lesson ended? “Are you staying that long?”
“Well, I kind of thought I’d spend the summer.”
For several moments, Thea couldn’t speak. “The summer?” she repeated lamely.
“Yes, the summer,” Cynda said, sounding ready for a fight.
“I didn’t think you liked it here. You always complain about having to come for a visit.” Thea studied Cynda. Were things that bad at home?
“I told you, Duluth is a drag.” Cynda pouted.
In order to buy time to think, Thea poured two fresh glasses of iced tea, sliced more lemon, then sat down. The citrus scent hung in the air. Cynda had been very ready to show her anger. Perhaps honesty would be the best policy. “Cynda, sit down here at the table, please.”
Her stepsister sat down, but wouldn’t look at Thea.
Saying a quick prayer, Thea sipped her chilled tea, then coaxed gently, “Now, just tell me what’s happened.”
“Nothing.” Cynda snapped out the staccato word.
“But—”
“You don’t care. You never come to visit us. You never even call.” Cynda concentrated on the floor.
Then why come to me if I don’t care? Thea put her tea down sharply. “Have you ever considered that you never call me?”
Startled, Cynda glanced up, guilt showing in her expression. “I hadn’t thought of that. I’m sorry, Thea. We don’t, do we?” The teen put her hand on the table near Thea’s. “I never thought about how Mom treats you. She ignores you, too! That means you’ll know how I feel!”
Thea chose her words with care. “Was there anything in particular that made you leave?”
Cynda made a sound of disgust, stood, and started pacing. “Mom—she just talks and talks at me. And your dad just comes and goes and goes. No one listens. Sometimes I think I’m not a real person at all.”
Thea nodded. Remembered sadness began to
ache inside her. Though her stepsister had trouble putting her frustrations into words, Thea understood the kind of emptiness Cynda tried to describe. Often as a teen, she had felt like a mannequin that her grandmother merely enjoyed dressing to suit herself as though Thea weren’t a real person. “Myra said Dad was off to California for more training.”
“He’s always gone! And Mom just golfs and lunches at the country club.” Cynda paced more.
“What do you do, Cynda?” Do you practice piano for hours to drown out an unkind voice?
Cradling one arm within the other, Cynda said with exaggerated aplomb, “Oh, I’m supposed to get all A’s, make no trouble and be popular. What else?”
Tears jammed in Thea’s throat. She’d felt just the same way—though her grandmother had substituted “be a lady” for “be popular.”
Cynda stopped pacing and glanced at Thea. “What’s wrong?”
“Just remembering.” Thea fought the regret and pain that rippled through her.
“Did your grandmother treat you the same way?”
Thea nodded. She brushed away a tear. It was foolish to cry over the past.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Thea took a deep breath. Giving in to unnecessary emotions wouldn’t help Cynda now. “This has been a kind of upsetting spring and summer. The camp next door…” Thea swallowed. “There’s been a lot of controversy over it and people keep trying to draw me into it.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you had any problems. Except for your grandmother, I mean. My mom says your grandmother is your main problem.”
Afraid asking for clarification would only lead to more mauled feelings for her, Thea tried to think what this could mean. Did it mean that taking care of her grandmother was a chore or something else, more personal? She didn’t like to think of what else her stepmother might have said behind her back.
“Can I stay, Thea?”
Thea looked at Cynda’s very fair face, flushed with emotion. “I know your mother won’t want you to stay here. And don’t you usually spend part of the summer with your father?”
“You mean my real father, Doug?”
The tart tone Cynda had used alerted Thea to more bad news on the way. “Yes?”
“Well, I can’t. He’s getting married this summer. He’ll have me come when his new wife, Tara, can bear to have me around—when the honeymoon’s over.” Cynda’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
Thea felt awful for her. The new bride’s name led Thea to wonder if Cynda’s stepmother might be much younger than Myra, maybe closer to Cynda’s age. What Cynda had said about Thea’s father had been true in Thea’s childhood, too. Cynda must feel doubly rejected. At least, I was only disappointed by one father.
“I’m not very well off financially, Cynda. I don’t think my budget will stretch for one more person.”
“I’ll get a job. I’m sixteen now. I helped you today. And I’ve already got a baby-sitting job. I’m not a total zero.”
“No one would ever call you that.” Hearing zero stabbed Thea’s heart. She knew what it felt like to be treated like a nothing.
Cynda grimaced. “Don’t bet on it. You could lose.”
“Your mother doesn’t know you’re here then?”
“She might have guessed. I told her you were the lucky one. No parents.”
Curious about her stepsister’s resourcefulness, Thea asked, “How did you get here? Did a friend drive you?”
“Oh, I hitchhiked,” Cynda said airily.
“You didn’t!” Thea nearly knocked over her glass of tea. “Cynda, that’s so dangerous!”
“It’s not as bad as you think. A trucker picked me up and spent the first one hundred miles lecturing me about never hitchhiking again. He drove me to the Kwikee Shop near here and I walked the rest of the way.”
“Thank Heaven!” Though horrified, Thea had to admire her stepsister’s pluck. I would never have had the courage to run away. “We’ll have to call your mother.”
Thea picked up her iced tea. The chilled glass had left a little puddle on the table. Another thought occurred to Thea. Today had been the second peculiar phone call from Myra. “Did you try something like this about a month ago?”
“Yeah, I stayed away for a weekend. One of my friends hid me in her room.”
Well, that explains Myra’s first call.
Thea walked to the phone and dialed. Just then a noisy, disreputable-looking older car drove up by her door.
“Hello?” Myra’s voice came over the line sounding teary.
“Myra, this is Thea. Cynda’s here.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before? I thought she might go to you.” The close-to-tears quality switched to outrage.
“She just got here.” Thea hoped Myra would show some sensitivity.
Myra barked, “Put her on the phone. I want to talk to her.”
In a mute appeal, Thea held out the phone.
Cynda backed away with her hands up in the air as though touching the phone might sting. “I’m not talking to her.”
Thea stepped closer to her sister and said urgently, “She’s your mother. You need to talk to her.”
Through the screen door, Thea saw Thad Earnest get out of his car, push his long hair behind his ears, and stride to the house. Just what I need—more company. What’s Thad doing here?
Cynda let him in. “Hi.”
Acknowledging defeat, Thea put the phone back to her ear. “Myra, I can’t get her to come to the phone right now.”
“That’s fine!” Myra screamed into Thea’s ear. “If she wants you more than me, she can stay with you!” She slammed the phone.
Both teens stared at Thea. She didn’t doubt Myra’s words had been audible to them. Her ear still rang from the overload of sound. Regretfully she hung up the phone. “What can I do for you, Thad?”
“Mom left her knitting, so I had to come get it for her.” He stepped farther into the kitchen looking sideways at Cynda.
Without speaking, Thea went to the living room and picked up the denim knitting bag. Back in the kitchen, she handed it to Thad. Please go.
He made no move to leave, but glanced significantly at her stepsister.
Thea sighed inwardly. Why postpone the inevitable? Cynda and Thad were bound to meet each other in a small town. “Thad, this is my stepsister, Cynda Chasten. Cynda, this is Thad Earnest. His brother takes lessons from me.”
“Hey, Cynda.” His throat colored a touch.
“Hi, Thad.”
The two teens grinned at each other.
“You here long?” Thad asked.
“For the summer,” Cynda replied.
“Cool.”
They grinned on. Cynda fluffed her hair.
“Did you need anything else, Thad?” Thea asked.
His face lost its smile. “Guess not. Bye.” Within minutes, his old car creaked and rumbled away.
“I didn’t know you had any cool guys in this little berg,” Cynda said appreciatively.
Thea closed her eyes. When did I lose control of my life?
A week later, Thea stood at the kitchen sink, scrubbing a cookie sheet. A car door slammed. She glanced out her kitchen window and saw Peter’s van. Her breath caught in her throat. He’s back. Looking like a dream come, true, Peter sauntered toward her screen door, carrying a large bouquet of pink and white roses.
Thea froze with her hands in the sudsy warm water in the sink. For a few seconds, she let herself hope the roses were for her. But, of course, they were probably for his mother. She was too mousy, not the kind of girl men brought roses to. He’d probably stopped to say hi before he went next door.
This morning Irene had walked over to bring stillwarm, homemade cinnamon rolls. Their delicious aroma lingered in the kitchen. The Della attraction was hard to resist.
Outside, blond Cynda, dressed in light blue sweats, jogged up the drive straight to Peter. Thea overheard her say, “Hi! I bet you’re Peter.”
Thea quickly rins
ed the final dish left from a late lunch which had been followed by another new set of fishermen arriving for the weekend and three piano lessons. She drained the sink and dried her trembling hands on the terry towel hanging from the refrigerator door.
Peter, wearing khaki slacks and a dark blue knit shirt, followed Cynda into the kitchen.
Cynda flashed Thea a big smile and said in a wicked tone, “I finally met your mystery man.”
Thea wished her sister hadn’t used the word, your. But she had found out this week that Cynda spoke first and thought whenever.
Peter grinned at her. “Hi, Thea.”
“Hi, Peter.” Her voice betrayed her by shaking. She’d missed him even though she hadn’t wanted to.
Peter stood grinning at her until Cynda nudged him. “Oh! These are for you.” He offered Thea the bouquet wrapped in lavender paper.
Time stood still. She’d read that in a book a long time ago, but now she knew how it felt. She couldn’t move. Why had he brought her flowers? Was it personal or a polite thank-you for her help in his absence?
“Well,” Cynda prompted, “aren’t you going to take them?”
“Certainly.” Her own inadequacy chilling her, Thea claimed them, wishing more than anything she and Peter were alone, so she could ask him why he’d brought her roses. Or did she really want to know? “Thank you, Peter,” she said formally.
“What’s the occasion?” Cynda asked.
Thea looked up into Peter’s dark chocolate-brown eyes and forgot what Cynda had asked.
“They’re a thank-you for all your help, Thea. And barring present company, of course—” he grinned at Cynda, then turned back to Thea “—it’s also for being the most beautiful resident on Lake Lowell.”
“Wow.” Cynda looked visibly impressed.
The extravagant compliment made Thea chuckle. After all, she was competing with Mrs. Chiverton and Mrs. Magill.
In spite of this humorous thought, Thea had trouble dealing with Peter’s presence. How did he fill up a room, making her feel laughter lurked only a teasing word away?
She forced herself to walk to the cabinet and take down her grandmother’s best crystal vase. She wondered if she were radiating the warmth that glowed inside her.
Now don’t put more importance on this than you should, her grandmother’s voice intruded in her mind. Thea shook her head trying to rid herself of the mocking voice. She would enjoy this moment. But what do I say next?