by Lois Richer
“Did you choose Darla’s clothes? No, let me guess. You told a sales associate what you wanted and she picked them out.” Susannah chuckled at the evidence radiating across his face. “I thought so. Probably a commissioned sales woman.”
“What difference would that make?” he demanded. “I got the best for my sister. Darla doesn’t need to alter her own clothes.”
“She might be happier if she could tear them all apart,” she mused.
“What? Where is this going?” He looked defensive and frustrated. That was not her goal. Susannah straightened, leaned forward.
“After she cut her dress, Darla told me she wore black the day of her mother’s funeral. Then she talked a lot about spilling and messes.” She inhaled a deep breath for courage. “Did you notice when you were in her room how many of her clothes are black, brown or gray?”
“Good serviceable colors,” David said.
“For men’s suits!” Susannah blew the straggling wisps of hair off her forehead and tried again. “Your sister is, what, three years younger than me? Can you imagine me in any of her clothes?”
“No.”
Susannah surveyed her jeans. “I don’t have good clothes, David. I bought most of mine at a thrift store. But you’re right,” she said flatly, “I wouldn’t wear Darla’s clothes if you gave them to me.”
David glared at her. “Why don’t you just come right out and say what you mean?”
“Did Darla choose any of those clothes?”
“I don’t recall.” He frowned, his gaze on some past memory. “Her arm was still bothering her and she had some bandages yet to be removed when we shopped. We went for snaps and zips she could manage.” Then he refocused. “Does it matter?”
“Yes!”
“Because?” He waited, shuffling one foot in front of the other.
“Because she should be young and carefree. Instead she wears the clothes of a forty-year-old,” Susannah snapped, unable to hold in her irritation. “Because she needs to dress in something that lets her personality shine through. Because Darla is smothering under this blanket you keep putting over her.”
“Well. Don’t hold back.” David stiffened, his face frozen.
“I wouldn’t even if I could,” she assured him. “I’m here to help Darla. That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“I’m not sure you fully understand Darla’s situation,” David said crisply. “Until about eight months ago, she could barely walk. She’d been wearing jogging suits while she did rehab. By the time she finished that, she’d outgrown everything she owned.”
He’d done his best. That was the thing that kept Susannah from screaming at him to lighten up. No matter what, David Foster had done the very best he could for his sister. Because he loved her. Connie was right. He did have integrity. How could you fault that?
But Darla was her concern, not sparing David’s feelings. Susannah leaned forward, intent on making him understand what she’d only begun to decipher.
“Darla is smart and funny. She’s got a sweet heart and she loves people. But she doesn’t have any confidence in herself.” Susannah touched his arm. “She gets frustrated because she wants so badly to be what you want, and yet somehow, she just can’t get there.”
“I don’t want her to be anything,” he protested.
“You want her to be neat and tidy.” Susannah pressed on, determined to make him see what she saw.
“That’s wrong?” David asked.
“How many teens do you know who fit that designation? By nature teens are exploring, innovating, trying to figure out their world. Darla is no different.” Susannah said. “Except that she thinks you’re embarrassed when she spills something.”
“I’m not embarrassed about anything to do with my sister.” She saw the truth in his frank stare. “I thought…”
The complete uncertainty washing over his face gripped a soft spot in her heart.
“David, listen to me and, just for a moment, pretend that I know what I’m talking about.” She drew in a breath of courage. “Most teen girls love fashion, they love color. They experiment with style, trying to achieve the looks they see in magazines. It’s part of figuring out who they are. I’ll bet Darla used to do that, didn’t she?”
“She always liked red,” he said slowly.
“I didn’t see anything red in her closet.”
“No.” His solemn voice said he’d absorbed what she’d hinted at. “Go on.”
“With her current wardrobe, Darla couldn’t experiment if she wanted to,” Susannah told him. “Her clothes are like a mute button on a TV. They squash everything unique and wonderful about her.”
“But—” David stopped, closed his mouth and stared at her.
His silence encouraged Susannah to continue, though she softened her tone.
“I think her accident left her trying to figure out how she fits into her new world. She’s struggling to make what she is inside match with those boring clothes.”
“So how should she dress?” he asked, his eyes on her worn jeans.
“I want her to express herself. If she’s in a happy mood, I want her to be able to pull on something bright and cheerful. If she’s feeling down, I want her to express that, instead of becoming so frustrated she blows out of control and tantrums.”
A timid knock interrupted.
“Are you mad at me for cutting my dress, Davy?” Darla peeked around the door, her big brown eyes soulful as a puppy’s. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Dar. It was just a dress.” David patted the seat beside him. “Come here for a minute, will you?”
Susannah wanted to cry as the tall, beautiful girl shuffled across the room, shoulders down, misery written all over her demeanor when she flopped down beside her brother.
“Ms. Wells has been telling me she thinks you need some new clothes.”
“Really?” Darla jerked upright, her face brightening.
“Would you like to go shopping?” he asked.
For a moment hope glittered in Darla’s dark eyes but it fizzled out when she shook her head.
“No. I have lots of clothes. I hung them all up, Davy.”
“I know you did, honey. That’s great.” He smoothed her hair back. “You know, Dar, when we got those clothes you were still getting better from your accident and you had trouble with zippers and buttons.” He laid an arm around her shoulders and hugged her. “But you’re much better now. I think we should get you some new things, especially with Thanksgiving and Christmas coming. What do you think?”
“Connie’s going to have a party. I could get a new dress for that.” Darla’s face cleared and she grinned. “Okay, Davy.”
Susannah wanted to cheer. He’d phrased it just right. Everyone got new clothes for the holidays. It was a natural decision, revealing no reflection on the ugly things now in Darla’s wardrobe. Little by little they could be shifted out.
“Can Susannah get a party dress, too?”
Susannah blinked, then shook her head. “Oh, no, I don’t—”
“Why not?” David smiled at Darla.
“I don’t want a new dress,” Susannah protested. “With the baby, that is—” She blushed and avoided his stare. “I won’t fit in anything for very long and—”
“There are such things as maternity dresses,” he said mildly. “Besides, you’ll need something for Connie’s Christmas party. It’s quite a fancy affair. Tomorrow’s Saturday. That’s a good day for shopping. I’ll pay you overtime.”
“No, you won’t.” Distressed by the way this had turned on her, Susannah rose. “I’m sure the two of you will manage very well tomorrow.”
“Oh, no. You’re not sticking me with a shopping trip on my own. We’ll pick you up at ten. Right, Darla?” He grinned at his sister, who grinned right back.
“Right. I’m going to tell Mrs. Peters.” She rushed away, all arms and legs and excitement, exactly as a teenage girl would.
Susannah stared after her, amazed by the change
. When she felt David watching her, she looked away from the intensity of his gaze and walked toward the front door.
“We could start at Bayley’s Store for Women,” he said, following her.
Her hand on the doorknob, Susannah froze. She turned and looked at him.
“For more of the same?” she asked.
“Point made.” He sighed. “Okay, you can pick the stores. But nothing too…”
Susannah couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “David, could you just lighten up? Try to remember what it was like when you were her age. It wasn’t that long ago,” she teased gently.
She thought she saw humor in those toffee-toned eyes, but before she could be sure, David blinked.
“Ten o’clock, remember. How much did you spend on the flowers?” He pulled out his wallet and handed her some money. “Will this cover it?”
“It’s too much.” Susannah held out her hand, offering it back. But David shook his head.
“No, it isn’t. I’m pretty sure you stopped somewhere along the way for a drink, didn’t you? And something to eat?”
“How do you know that?” she asked. He grinned, his smile dazzling her. She was momentarily stunned by how great he looked when he smiled.
“Because I’m getting to know you.” He reached out and touched the corner of her mouth. “And because you have a little smear of chocolate right here.”
“Oh.” Her stomach shivered and it had nothing to do with the baby or morning sickness. “Right. Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said. “Bye.”
Susannah turned and literally fled from the man whose touch had just sent warmth flooding through her. Her skin burned where he’d brushed his fingers.
She’d thought David stern and taciturn, but he’d surprised her. Maybe under all that lawyerly reserve and rule making, David Foster wasn’t quite the ogre she’d thought.
David shifted uncomfortably on the dinky little chair someone had thought to provide for men stuck waiting while women tried on clothes. He’d like to leave, but he wanted to vet every outfit his sister tried on. So far, his decisions had not been popular with Susannah, who, by the way, seemed perfectly at home on her little perch.
“Uh, I don’t think so,” he said, when Darla emerged in a swirling lime-green tank top and matching pants.
“Oh, why not?” Susannah asked. “Too much color?”
“No. The pants don’t fit her properly. They’re too short.” He didn’t understand the droll look Darla and Susannah exchanged.
“It’s a capri pant,” Susannah explained. “They’re supposed to be that length. It’s the fashion.”
“Oh.” Fashion. He felt like he was drowning.
“So?” Susannah nudged him with her elbow.
“Do you like it?” he asked his sister, studying her face.
“Yes.” At least she was definite. “Emmaline wears clothes like this at my school. She’s pretty.”
“You look pretty, too,” he told her. And she did.
Contrary to David’s expectations, Susannah’s choices for his sister were not outlandish or edgy. Nor were they as expensive as the clothes he’d chosen. He was amazed at Susannah’s patience as she taught Darla to choose the things that brought out her natural beauty. With each outfit, as Darla caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she grew more graceful. More and more she was becoming the sister he remembered, leaving behind the mulish child he’d battled with for the last eight months.
It wouldn’t last, of course. Darla had a long way to go. But she was learning, and Susannah had lasted much longer than any of Darla’s other caregivers.
“You should be proud. She’s a very beautiful woman,” Susannah murmured.
Woman? His sister?
David did a double take at the girl in the red dress now preening in the mirror. But Susannah was right. Darla looked more like a young woman than a girl. She was growing up and he’d have to face all that implied.
“I want Susannah to try on this dress.” Darla held out a garment of swirling patterns in deep, rich green. “It has room for the baby,” she said.
“It’s very beautiful, Darla, and I appreciate you thinking of me,” Susannah said quietly. “But I can’t try it on. It’s too expensive.”
“I want you to. It’s a present.” Darla the woman disappeared, and the petulant girl returned, face turning red when Susannah continued to shake her head. “Davy, buy it,” she insisted, thrusting the hanger at her brother.
“Darla, I can’t accept it.” Susannah was firm but insistent. “Please put it back on the rack.”
“No. It’s your dress.” Darla was working herself up into a snit.
David rose, preparing to leave.
“Sit down please, David. We’re not finished yet.” Susannah never even looked at him, but her firm tone and calm manner left him in no doubt as to who was in charge.
David sat.
“Put the dress back, please, Darla. Then we need to look at shoes.” Susannah blandly continued to survey the list in her hand.
Darla was still angry but now she looked confused.
“I want you to have a new dress, too,” she said, her voice quieter as she stood in front of Susannah.
“I know you do, sweetie. And it’s very kind of you, but this shopping day is for you. When I decide to get a new dress, I promise you and I will go shopping for it. But not today.” She paused, studied the girl. “Okay?”
Darla’s internal battle was written all over her face. But Susannah’s calm tone and manner won. Darla returned the dress to the rack, changed back into her own clothes and calmly waited while the sales clerk totaled her purchases.
David handed over his credit card in total bemusement. How did Susannah do it?
“Can we have lunch before we start shoe shopping?” he asked as they stored the many packages in his vehicle. “I’m starving.”
“That’s because you didn’t eat a good breakfast. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. More than half of North Americans skip breakfast.” Darla told him, stuffing her last package into the trunk.
“Half?” Susannah sputtered.
David looked at her. She was trying to hide her laughter.
“Yes, half,” Darla insisted.
“Then I guess I’m one of those statistics,” Susannah told her. “I’m starving, too. And your stomach is growling.” She giggled out loud and soon Darla was giggling with her.
Shaking his head, David led them to a restaurant and left Susannah to deal with Darla’s insistence on chocolate cake while he scoured the menu for himself. He’d forgotten how nice it was to relax over a meal.
Susannah didn’t insist Darla choose anything, he discovered. She commented on the results of certain choices, and then left the decision totally up to Darla, who glanced at him for approval.
“You decide,” David said quietly.
And she did, visibly gaining confidence as she discarded the chocolate cake in favor of another choice.
“I don’t like soup,” she told the server. “It’s messy. Can I have something else?”
They settled on a salad to go with her cheeseburger and fries. Usually David ordered something she could munch on right away, but Darla seemed perfectly content to talk as they waited for their food. After a moment she excused herself and went to wash her hands.
“How do you do it?” David asked Susannah the moment his sister was out of hearing range. “She hasn’t tantrumed with you once, though I thought we’d have one in the store.”
“I did, too,” Susannah confessed with a grin. “And if she had, I would have sat there and waited it out.”
“Really?” He couldn’t imagine sitting through one of Darla’s tantrums.
“It’s a behavior she’s learned, David. She needs time to unlearn it.” She shrugged. “If we make her responsible for her actions, she’ll soon realize that the results she gets are determined by her. I want her to learn independence.”
“We had a big argument about her be
dtime last night,” he admitted. “She thinks she should stay up longer. Maybe she should,” he admitted. “I guess I still think of her as a little kid.”
“She is in some ways.” Susannah sipped her lemonade. “Why don’t you let her choose a time on the condition that she has to get up in the morning when her alarm clock rings without your help? Make her responsible.”
“Good idea.” He sipped his coffee. “I can’t believe you learned all this caring for the elderly.”
“Some of it,” she admitted. “But most of what I know about behavior, I learned in our foster home. And I took some university classes for a semester. They helped. I’m going to take some more. I want to get a degree in psychology.”
He was intrigued by her. More than a boss should be.
“The bathroom is really pretty,” Darla told them as she slipped back into her seat. “Lots of red.”
Their food arrived and conversation became sporadic. David dug into his steak, then paused to notice that Susannah picked certain items off her plate and set them aside but eagerly bit into a sour pickle.
“So it’s true what they say about pregnancies and pickles,” he teased.
She flushed a rich ruby flood of color that tinted her skin from the V neckline of her sweater to the roots of her hair. Finally she nodded.
“It’s true. For me anyway.”
“I don’t like pickles,” Darla said. “You can have mine, Susannah.”
“Thank you.” Susannah laid the pickles on one slice of toast, then spread peanut butter on the other. She put them together, cut the whole thing in half and then took a bite.
“That’s lunch?”
She blushed again when she caught him staring at her. “It’s very good. You should try it.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Then it dawned on him. “Some foods bother you.”
“Mostly the smell of some foods,” she murmured, eyeing his steak with her nose turned up. She returned to munching contentedly on her sandwich.
“Connie said you’d seen the doctor I researched. She says everything is okay.” It sounded like he was prying, he realized—which he was.
“I’m fine,” she said. She set down her sandwich and stared at him. “The baby is fine. I’m very healthy. There’s nothing to worry about.”