Capture the Wind for Me (9 page)

“Katherine worked as a caterer for how long, five years?” Daddy offered. “She could probably talk to you about recipes all day.”

“Miss Jessie told me,” I replied. Suddenly I wondered if Katherine would see my dessert as a reconstruction.

“Are you able to eat, honey?” Katherine asked Clarissa. “You don't want to miss your sister's wonderful meal.”

“A little.” Clarissa's forehead etched with martyrdom as she picked at her food.

I gave my sister a pointed look. “I don't know when you're going to learn not to stuff yourself with candy.” I turned to Katherine. “I watch how much she eats here. But when she's at a friend's house . . .” I sighed. Daddy shot me a glance. I pretended not to notice.

The conversation lulled, and Katherine began asking questions. She pulled more information out of us than I'd ever have imagined. She asked Robert about school and softball. He answered her queries and more, adding details about his friends and not-so-favorite teachers. And by the way, did she know that today was the first time he'd ever gotten into a fight? Clarissa alternately giggled over her games with Della and complained of how Alma Sue always got her way.

“Why is that?” Katherine wondered.

“Well, for one thing”—Clarissa twisted her mouth—“she's a lot bigger than me and my other friends. All her older sisters and brothers are big, too. And she's better at stuff than anybody. She runs faster and jumps higher and kicks balls farther, and everything.”

“Yeah,” Robert added, “and she's got a much bigger mouth.”

Katherine raised her eyebrows at Daddy. “She does tend to boss the other kids around,” he said.

“Especially Clarissa.” I shook my head. “Alma Sue towers over her, and she's not above using her height to get what she wants.”

Clarissa took a tiny bite of meat and shrugged.

Daddy told stories about various customers at the bank. How old Mrs. Watlin, who lived in the country, came in wearing a different out landish hat each time, and how Mr. Hetherbockam always had his miniature poodle prancing around his feet. I listened to Daddy tell his tales with growing dismay. We hadn't talked this animatedly at the table since . . . well, since Mama had been with us. Now here he was, unfolding in Katherine's presence like some hearty blossom in the sun.

The pork tenderloin and sauce lost its flavor. I set my fork down.

“You done eating?” Daddy asked.

“I did a lot of sampling in the kitchen.”

Before Katherine could start pestering me with questions, I turned to her with a hostess-polite smile.
Know thine enemy,
as they say. “So tell us about you.”

Katherine swept a lock of hair behind an ear. She leaned back in her chair, one forearm on the table. Although I could feel the chilly vibrations rising off my shoulders, she didn't seem to notice. “There's not a great deal to tell. You knew my grandma Wilma, I'm sure. And you know my parents and brother.”

Miss Wilma had been a prayer warrior in our church until her death five years ago. This family information was hardly what I cared about, but since Katherine had brought up the subject . . . “You're really Derek's half sister, aren't you?”

I didn't dare look at Daddy, after such a rude question.

Katherine didn't miss a beat. “Yes, that's true. Mama married Jason King when I was six months old, so he's been the only dad I've ever known. They didn't have Derek for another twelve years.”

I forced as much friendliness as possible into my voice. “What about when you left Bradleyville? You went to the University of Kentucky for a while, right? But then you started working? What all have you done since then?”

“Bet you didn't know we'd play Twenty Questions,” Daddy remarked to Katherine with a frowning glance at me.

“Oh, no matter.” She played with the bracelet on her wrist, pushing it toward her hand, letting it fall, pushing it up again, letting it fall. “I don't mind answering.” She shifted in her chair, then offered me a small smile.

I can't say what it was exactly. Maybe the way she toyed with the bracelet. Maybe her self-conscious smile. Whatever the reason, for the first time I glimpsed a hairline crack in the smooth sheen of Katherine's poise. I'd hit on something. She didn't like to talk about those years outside Bradleyville. Now here's the surprising part. Given my attitude, you might assume I felt glad for her discomfort. But I didn't. In fact, I felt something far different. The moment I sensed her anxiety about proving herself to me was the moment Katherine May King became human.

“Well, I'll be honest,” she began. “I left Bradleyville to go to school. But I soon discovered that I really just wanted to experience
life.”

Funny how she made that word breathe with longing and dreams and . . . passion. I understood all that. Suddenly, I realized that Katherine was speaking of when she'd been eighteen, not much older than I. What a thought—that she and I would have something in common.

After only one semester at the University of Kentucky, Katherine took a job in the office of a radio station. She worked there for two years, loving the music (top forty hits), and even getting free tickets to concerts. Then she worked as a caterer for another two years. At twenty-three, she moved to California with a girlfriend, working in San Diego as an office assistant, then again as a caterer. After that, she worked for the City of San Diego in the tourism department. Finally, she just got tired of it all and wanted to go home. She returned to Bradleyville.

Mighty short story,
I thought. What about boyfriends? Surely Katherine had been pursued by hordes of men. There had to be things she wasn't telling us. Important things.

“Are you gonna stay here now?” Clarissa pressed. “'Cause I don't want you to go.”

Robert took a purposeful drink of iced tea, as if Katherine's answer concerned him not in the least.

“Yes, I am,” Katherine told my sister firmly. Maybe a little too firmly. “I've seen enough of the world, Miss Clarissa. I'm ready to settle down.”

The moment the words left her mouth, Katherine realized their dual meaning. She blushed. Lowering her eyes, she worked at placing her knife just so across her plate.

“I can understand you're wantin' to do all those interesting things.” Daddy sprang to her rescue. “But I know what you mean about bein' back here, near family. I never even wanted to leave, myself.”

My throat tightened at that. He'd never wanted to leave because Mama had been here. Every state in the country could have beckoned with golden opportunities, and he wouldn't have been tempted to go. Now Mama was gone, and Katherine King sat at our table, talking of her adventures, declaring them behind her. And Daddy nodded his head, saying he understood when I knew he didn't, not at all. What adventure had he ever pursued in his life? What had he done, other than be completely, achingly, content to live in Bradleyville, married to Mama?

At that moment, I didn't know who I understood more, Daddy or Katherine. My sudden confusion made me feel as if I'd been buffeted by some wild wind into unfamiliar territory. I didn't like that feeling one bit. Abruptly, I pushed away from the table. “Time for dessert.”

With concentrated efficiency, I stacked plates and whisked them into the kitchen.

chapter 10

M
ama knew this day would come.

I pushed that thought away easily enough as I served dessert. As I played hostess and poured coffee. As I whirled through the kitchen, wiping every sticky square of tile and cleaning every dirty dish. Including the blackened glass pan I'd shoved into a cabinet. I even managed to block the thought as we bade Katherine goodbye and watched her glide down our sidewalk to her car. I saw Clarissa to bed, accepted Daddy's gratitude and accolades for supper, shook my head over Robert's shiner as I bade him good night. Finally, then, I had nothing to do but retire to my room and slump, exhausted, upon my bed. I did not bother to turn on the light but did turn my radio on low. One of my favorite songs played.

If only you would see me for all my soul can bare,
The inside of me, the best of me, the part I long to share . . .

Picking at my bedspread, I stared vacantly at the posters of singers on my wall, my mind elsewhere. Thinking,
Mama knew.

Some things in this world cannot be adequately described. One is watching your mama, bubbly, full of life, waste away into a rag doll of pain and sedation. Through the summer of 1996 she went in and out of the hospital. Finally they sent her home to die. When the pain tied her face in knots, we gave her extra medication and prayed for drugged sleep to hurry. Other times, Mama would be more lucid. I think she saved her most important thoughts for those moments, spilling them like picked blossoms from an apron. During one of those times she called me to her side—alone—to prepare me for this day. I did not want to hear what she had to say.

“Mama.” My throat pinched as I sat beside her on the bed. “Don't talk now.”

“I know it's hard.” Her voice rasped. “Hard to talk about rebuildin' when the tearin' down's not even through yet. But hear me out, Jackie, then you can set these words aside. They'll come to you again when you need them.”

Mama laid frail fingers over mine. “I've watched you, Jackie. I know what's happenin' to you. You used to be full of laughter, never a care in the world. Now that's gone, and you're busy with cares you shouldn't have to face. Cookin' and cleanin', watchin' your brother and sister.” She stopped to swallow. I reached for the glass of water on her nightstand and put the bent straw to her lips. She drank with strained concentration.

“After I'm gone,” she continued, and I began to shake my head,
no, no, no.
Mama patted my hand. “Listen to me, Jackie, you've been actin' like a grownup; now I'm goin' to talk to you like one.” Her face blurred. “I know what you'll do. You'll keep on carin' for the family, takin' over my place. You will grieve, and so will your daddy. It will take a long time, but slowly your daddy will get better. Stronger. And one day, he's goin' to find someone else.”

I could not talk to her about this, I could
not.

Mama gave a little smile. “He has my blessing in that; I've already told him so. Your daddy has much to give, and I don't want him bein' alone the rest of his life. Robert and Clarissa are young enough to be all right with that, I think. What I'm afraid is, it will be hardest for you.”

I could find no response.

Her eyelids slipped shut, and she fluttered them open. Her words fell to a mere whisper. “God will send your daddy who he needs. Don't fight his choice. Just pray a lot and try to look to the future. Give her a chance.”

These words will come to you again when you need them.

“How could you know?” I moaned that night Katherine came to supper, nearly two years after the horrible conversation. Was I really supposed to be glad Katherine May King had entered our lives? Would Mama expect me to just welcome her with open arms, despite my misgivings? Part of me wanted to like her. The other part of me wondered about those eleven years, and what she hadn't told us.

Please, God, help us.
I tipped my head toward the ceiling.
Please help me know what to do. And don't let Daddy be hurt. None of us can stand any more hurt.

I prayed more and cried some. Finally, after midnight, I crept beneath the covers, leaving my radio on to rock me to sleep.

Not until I awoke Sunday morning did I realize I still wore my apron.

chapter 11

O
ver the next two weeks as my brother's bruised face slowly mended, Katherine visited our house six times, her luminosity filling the rooms. Clarissa took to asking Daddy when she'd come next. At Katherine's arrival, she'd bound to the door like a wayward fawn prancing into an open field. Even Robert's face lit up when Katherine hugged him. And Daddy stood back and watched them both, an ancient happiness gleaming in his eyes. Then he'd turn those eyes on me, on my ambivalent smiles and cautious acceptance, and the light would falter like some sputtering lamp.

Katherine seemed unfazed by my chilled response, allowing me my space. She never forced hugs, yet was warm. She asked me about school without seeming to pry. We talked about music, my favorite groups and songs. She'd try to help in the kitchen, but did no more than I allowed. I couldn't find fault with anything she did, really. Still, I could not allow myself to embrace Katherine King.

I walked around feeling confused and out of sorts. I wanted to be happy for Daddy. I was happy for him. But I also felt scared to death and, admittedly, somewhat jealous. Why did this sudden happiness and excitement in our home have to be because of Katherine? Why did we need an outsider to show us what joy we had lacked?

And, of course, I had to deal with my emotions while the whole town watched, for Bradleyville being Bradleyville, the news of Katherine's visits spread quickly. The desirous glances between Katherine King and Bobby Delham were leading to exactly what everyone had hoped for. Well, almost everyone. Grandma and Grandpa Delham were thrilled, but at church Mama's parents treated Katherine with reserved politeness. I'd never been as close to them as Grandma and Grandpa Delham, but for once I leaned more toward their sentiments.

“Jackie!” Mrs. Clangerlee beamed knowingly at me one day as she checked out my groceries. “How are things going at your house?”

“Fine.”

“Well.” She picked up a bag of frozen corn as if it were a wondrous thing. “I'm surely glad for y'all. I surely am.”

I managed a tight little smile.

At school the boys teased me no end. Billy Sullivan waited until a crowd had gathered to drape a muscular arm around my shoulders. “Hey, Jackie, I hear Derek's available.” He leaned in close, and in spite of my irritation, my heart did an odd little dance. “Y'all might as well keep it in the family.”