The words leapt from me before I could stop them. Too late, I realized what I'd done. Daddy's eyes narrowed. He leaned back slowly in his chair. “And just how would you know that?”
My face burned as I sought an answer. I could not bear to give myself away. How unfair this wasâthat any of Daddy's suspicions this infamous morning would be directed at
me.
“Who told you that?” Daddy spaced out the words as if talking to an errant child.
“Nobody.”
“Then how did you know?”
I swallowed, my gaze falling to the floor.
“You listened to our conversation, didn't you?” His voice hardened. “You purposely eavesdropped on us.”
What was I to do? I couldn't bring myself to lie. I could only nod miserably. Daddy's ensuing silence spoke more than any words could. “I didn't mean to,” I said after a moment. “I was just going to theâ”
“Didn't mean to? For how long did you stand around the corner in the hallway and ânot mean' to listen?”
“I don't know,” I whispered.
Air seeped from Daddy's throat. I glanced up to see the residue of some momentous thought trail across his features. I knew that he'd remembered our past conversation about Celia, that he now realized just how much I had heard. He pressed his lips, regarding me with a mixture of defensiveness and accusation. I dropped my eyes. Fingered my pajama top.
“Well,” Daddy said, his voice clipped. “Since you consider yourself grown up enough to be privy to our personal conversations, you should be able to understand very well why I can forgive Katherine her . . .” He cast about for the right word. “. . . past choices. I haven't exactly been mistake-free myself.”
The formality of his tone cut right through me. I felt like some school child being dressed down by the principal.
He has no right to treat me like this,
I railed silently. I'd hardly made the mistakes Katherine or he had. Suddenly, the questions about Daddy and Celia swirled back into my head. How had he loved someone else even as he dated Mama? How could he have hurt her the way he did? And Katherineâhow could she so blithely jump from one man to the next? What if that man was right? What if she left Daddy too?
“So.” Daddy concluded his little lecture. “When Katherine's with us today I expect you to treat her with respect. And tenderness. Believe me, she feels bad enough as it is.”
The softball game would be hard enough, but I could not imagine sitting at the table with her at supper. Tainted Katherine in Mama's chair. I needed some time to rearrange my thinking for that. Like about ten years.
Summoning my courage, I looked Daddy in the eye. “Greg wanted to take me out tonight. I wasn't sure if I could, because I wanted to be here if you needed me. But since you seem okay with everything, I'd like to go.”
I felt not the least bit repentant about twisting this absurd situation for my own benefit. Hadn't he done the same thing?
Daddy gazed at me, lines etching around his mouth. “Go then,” he said tersely, pulling to his feet and turning his back on me. He exited the kitchen to dress for his day with Katherine, leaving me alone and wondering how on earth, after our horrible night, he and I were the ones who'd ended up fighting.
B
y the time the next hour had passed, I felt as incensed as a smoked-out hornet, having spent the time mentally telling Katherine everything I thought of her. Only because of her was Daddy so mad at me. Meanwhile I had work to do. I awakened Clarissa and Robert, fed them breakfast, started some laundry, fed Winnie. Then slammed around the kitchen, making sandwiches and assembling them with drinks in an iced cooler to take to the game. High and irritating voices from a cartoon show filtered in from the family room. Clarissa giggled like a nine-year-old without a care in the world. Apparently last night's ills were forgotten, some short-lived fever soothed in sleep. Robert had returned to his bedroom after breakfast to begin the arduous task of dressing himself. Seemed to me the only graceful way to deal with a cast was to have it taken off.
Daddy had driven down to witness Officer Hankins's escorting Trent Baxter out of Bradleyville. Apparently, the man had agreed to Daddy's terms once he learned the ring was long gone. What else to fight for? He'd certainly made it clear he didn't want the likes of Katherine May King back.
The phone receiver still lay stuffed in a drawer. I knew I needed to call Greg about our date, but I didn't want to sound as if I was ready to bite someone's head off. I thought of his wounded face and wondered if it looked better or worse. Probably worse.
I slipped some cookies in a self-seal plastic bag, fleetingly amazed at my own selfishness. Why wasn't I more worried about Greg? What if that bruise took two weeks to heal, as Robert's had, and Greg had some photo shoot right after he left town? I plunked the bag of cookies in the cooler. Well, at least he could leave. Walk away from all this mess while I remained stuck with it. This was my lifeâand it was about as far removed from his as east from west.
We would be leaving for the game before long. I really needed to call him. Easing open the drawer, I stared at the phone. Took a deep breath and picked it up. I hit the button to connect to a dial tone. Immediately, it rang.
Terrific. I smacked the drawer closed, as if it were to blame. Which titillated friend would this be?
“Hello?” Annoyance coated my voice.
“Hi, it's Katherine.”
Katherine. I fixed my gaze on the tile counter, searching for . . . what was it Daddy had demanded? Respect. Tenderness. All I saw were numerous dirty spots needing to be wiped up. Automatically, I reached for the sponge. “Hi.”
“Is everything okay? I've been trying to call for the longest time.”
Like sure, Katherine, everything's okay.
What a moronic thing to ask.
“We've had the phone off the hook.”
“Oh. Too many people callin', huh.”
“Something like that.” I wiped furiously. “Do you want to talk to Daddy?”
“Actually, no. I called to talk to you.”
One spot would not come up. I flipped the sponge over and rubbed with the scrubber side. “Oh.”
She hesitated. “I know the game won't really give us time to talk, and tonight we'll be with the family, so I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about last night. You have no ideaâ” Her tone bent. She drew in an audible breath. “I'm really, really sorry, Jackie. Your daddy and I have worked things out, but I feel I owe a special apology to you.”
Deep within, a tiny voice whispered that she didn't have to make this call, didn't have to explain herself to me, the adult to the teenager. That, just as she had done the first night she came to supper, Katherine once again graciously recognized my special place within this household.
And well she should. Hadn't she done her best to win me over the first time so I wouldn't stand in her way? And she'd done it too. With well-honed precision, I might add.
The tile glistened beneath the sponge, spots all gone. I moved to the sink, polishing around the edge and the faucets.
“Okay. Thank you.” My tone spoke louder than my words. I turned the water on, knowing she would hear it, and rewet the sponge.
“Well. I'll let you go. You sound busy.”
“Just getting stuff ready for the game.” I turned off the water. “By the way, I won't be here at supper tonight. I'm going out with Greg.” “Oh, Jackie, that's wonderful! I hope you have a great time.”
How sincere she sounded. I set down the sponge and wiped my hand on a dishtowel. Maybe she was. Of course she was. Hadn't Greg been her ticket to my acceptance? I could not bear to think of allowing myself any reason to be in Katherine's debt. At that moment I wholeheartedly wished that Greg and I would have a terrible time, that I'd expose all the ugliness and deceit and self-absorption that surely lay within him as some mystical mirror to Katherine's own soul.
“I'm sure we will. I have to get off the phone now so I can call him.” She said goodbye and I smacked the “talk” button off as if it were a hot iron.
Within seconds, it rang again.
I stared at the phone in weary disbelief. Too much was happening at once, and I simply did not know how to keep up. Suddenly, staring at that stupid phone, it occurred to me that for over two yearsâever since my mama had first taken illâlife had swept me along at a terrifying pace. I felt like a blind person being shoved down some unknown and obstacle-ridden path. I needed to stop, toe the ground, float my hands in exploration. Take it one step at a time, as I had done that day I walked away from my mother's grave.
The phone rang a second time.
“Hello?” I didn't even try to suppress the sigh that chased the word. Grandma Westerdahl was on the line. Demanding in a shrill voice to hear the truth about the horrible things she'd heard. My frustration piled higher, a growing mound of choking dust and debris in my chest. I told Grandma Daddy's version of the eventsâthe watered-down, Katherine-as-the-victim version. Disneyland meets Stephen King. But she didn't want to hear about Katherine.
“How is Bobby?” she pressed. “How are all of you?”
“Daddy's sore but okay. The rest of us weren't hurt at all.”
“But what you saw!” Her tone wavered like a violin player seeking a lost note. She sucked in air. “I knew that Katherine King was bad news the first time I laid eyes on her. Now she's brought you terrible trouble, and you can bet this won't be the last of it. Your daddy needs to get as far away from her as possible.”
“Grandmaâ”
“Where is he? I want to talk to him right now!”
I wasn't all that happy with Daddy myself at the moment, but no way would I unleash my grandmother's tirade on him. Daddy had been through enough. “He can't talk now, Grandma, we're getting ready to go to Robert's softball game.” I promised her he would call later, or at least see her in church tomorrow. I did not want to tell her that Katherine would be with us the rest of the day.
By the time I hung up the phone, I couldn't begin to sort out who I agreed with more, Daddy or Grandma. I couldn't sort out much of anything. I'd have been happy to go to bed and pull the covers over my head.
Quickly, before one more intrusion, I dialed the Matthews' number. Celia answered. Shame washed over me as I identified myself, asking for Greg. I couldn't even apologize for returning her brother-in-law looking like he'd accompanied me to a barroom brawl.
“Greg,” I rushed when he came to the phone, “how are you? How's your face and your hand? Is your family mad?”
He laughed, unmistakably pleased at my concern. “You are right, I look terrible. But it doesn't hurt much anymore. And no, they are not mad.”
I closed my eyes, picturing his bruised face, remembering how quickly he'd jumped to Daddy's aid. I felt about two feet high. How on earth could I doubt his sincerity? How could I think of foisting my disappointment and distrust of Katherine upon him?
“How is your family? Your baba and his head?”
Inside or out? I wanted to ask. “We're all okay.”
He hesitated. “And Katherine?”
“Katherine is also fine,” I said, an edge creeping into my voice. “In fact she is so fine that she'll be with Daddy all day.”
“Ah.”
That's all he could say.
Ah.
As if he'd known it, expected it. Was I the only person around here with any sense about this whole thing?
I pushed the thoughts aside. “Anyway. I called to see if you still want to go out tonight.”
“Yes! You can?”
I told him we'd return from a softball game around five, and I could be ready by six. I wanted time to shower, put on makeup. Get my head on straight. I wanted time to stare at his picture, recapture the magic of dreaming about being with him. “I'll drive over and get you then, okay?”
He said that sounded great. I hung up the phone, then thought better of it. Punching the “talk” button, I stuck it back in the drawer. As I headed for my bedroom, thinking again that Greg Kostakis was too good to be true, I heard the faint, disembodied voice declare that if I'd like to make a call, I should hang up the phone and try again . . .
R
obert's team lost the game, which meant the end of their playoffs and the season. He shuffled back to the car, head down, a glum expression on his face. “We'd a won if I'd been able to play,” he pronounced. I had to admire Robert. He could say such things without sounding like an egomaniac. Fact was fact.
“I know.” I opened the car door and helped him sit down. He scooted backward across the car until his cast lay out in front of him. Clarissa climbed in front, tired and crotchety.
“I wanted to ride with Daddy and Katherine.” She folded her arms and frowned, mad at the world. I felt little sympathy. She'd spent the whole game leaning against Katherine as if her life depended on it, oblivious to the heat of body contact under the sun. Katherine had put up with Clarissa's clinging almost as if she'd expected it, which irritated me no end. If Clarissa needed extra nurturing, it was only because of last night, and I should have been the one she'd come to. On the other hand, Clarissa had seemed just fine as she watched cartoons that morning and as we'd driven to the game, so what was this all about? I didn't care for the thought that perhaps Clarissa indeed worried about something happening to Katherine. Why couldn't she worry about Daddy, for pete's sake? He's the one who got hurt.
Katherine and I had exchanged only chitchat during the game, and as little of that as I could manage. While still sounding respectful. “Tender” proved quite beyond me. “Tender” bespoke memories of Mama and my vague dreams about love. “Tender” spoke of the way Greg had held me last night when I cried.