“Jackie.” Daddy stuck his head in my door around nine o'clock. “Derek's all done. You need to come say thank you.”
“Don't worry about it,” I heard Derek mutter as I pushed back from my desk. He stood in our hallway, head tilted, one hand shoved in his pocket.
“Thanks so much, Derek,” I offered, meaning it. I knew he'd probably come straight over from work. “I don't know when you'll have time to do homework tonight.”
“Or eat a full supper for that matter,” Daddy added.
Derek lifted a shoulder. “I'll be okay. Don't need that much sleep anyway.” He glanced at me, then considered the floor. “Well.” He turned to Daddy. “Thanks again for the sandwich.”
“Hey, the least I could do.” Daddy opened the door.
“And if you run into trouble, just give me a call.” Derek threw me a shadow of a smile and stepped out onto our porch. Daddy and I followed to see him off.
“He's a nice kid,” Daddy remarked as we watched him drive away. “Mighty smart.”
“Mighty strange, too.”
Daddy focused on something in the distance. “Not strange, Jackie. Just different. He'sâhimself. That takes a strong person.”
“Uh-huh.” I pursed my mouth, irritated at his defense of Derek. I couldn't help but think he'd said it just because Derek was Katherine's brother.
An hour later in my bedroom I sang along to “I Want You Back” by 'NSync. I'd already seen Clarissa and Robert to bed. Daddy knocked on my door, saying he needed to talk to me again. Instinctively, I knew what the topic would be.
No, no, no,
I thought. Couldn't we talk tomorrow? How about next week, next year? How about never?
“Okay,” I mumbled and turned off my radio.
Daddy lowered himself to the edge of my bed and crossed his ankles, hands clasped between his knees. I waited. He regarded me with an expression of love and sadness that sent darts through my chest.
“I suppose you've guessed what I want to talk to you about.”
A stillness gathered within me. I nodded.
He inhaled slowly. “I don't know if I can do this very well. Just hear me out, okay?”
“Okay.”
He focused on his thumbs, lining them up side by side. “It's been a long road for me since your mama's death, Jackie, as it's been for you. In the last few weeks, I've felt an anticipation about life that's been gone for a long time. Katherine . . . is an unusual person. She has many fine qualities, and I would like to start spending some time with her to get to know her better.”
He paused, awaiting a reaction. I remained silent, denials humming through my head.
“You kids are the most important thing, though; I hope you know that. Robert and Clarissa like Katherine a lot. I'm mostly concerned about you. I'd like you to be honest with me about what you're feeling. And I want to tell you that I don't know where all this will lead. I simply want the chance to explore where it may go, and I can only do that by spending time with Katherine. Not that I need your permission. But I do want your understanding. Mostly, I don't want you to be hurt. This doesn't in any way mean I love you less. And it doesn't mean I loved your mama any less. Do you hear me, Jackie?
No one
will ever replace your mama. If I could have her back right now, believe me, I would.” His voice dropped. “But at the same time, after her death, I have to go on. Our family has to go on. Any future we may find does not take away from the past.”
My eyes flicked around the room, over the posters of singing groups and my schoolbooks stacked on the desk. A framed certificate from my cheerleading days hung crookedly on the wall, and before I knew it, I'd moved across the floor to straighten it. My gymnastics trophies sat slightly askew on top of my bookcase, and I straightened them too. A hair clip lay on the floor. I picked it up and tossed it into the butterfly dish on my dresser.
“Jackie.”
“This room is so messy.” I threw my shoes into the closet. Shoved a sweater into a drawer. My hands shook, hovering before me as I searched madly for something else to do. I glanced in the mirror and saw Daddy watching me, tension pulling at his lips. Left to no other device then, I turned and dropped back into my chair.
“Okay,” I said, defeated. “You want to go out with Katherine King? Fine. Why talk to me about it; what do you want me to do? Watch the kids at night while you're gone, is that it? Like that's a problem. I take care of everything around here anyway.”
“Jackieâ”
“All my friends are startin' to date now,” I rushed on, my voice turning tinny, off-key. “You wanted me to go out, too; remember how we talked about that? 'Course now I won't have the chance. But maybe
you
could double-date with my friends, wouldn't that be nice.”
Sadness filled Daddy's eyes. “Jackie,” he said quietly, “I hoped you could be happy for me, knowing that I have healed enough from grief over your mama's death to become attracted to someone. I know that I'm speaking very plainly to you of adult things, when you're just a child yourself. But because you're far more mature than most girls your age, and because you've taken care of this family so wellâI thought we might be able to talk about this.”
Anger sucked up my veins. No fair, the way he trapped me. Using my very maturity to tell me I should understand. “We are talking about it.”
He nodded. “Okay. That we are.”
Part of me rose to another plane then, looking down at myself, miserable and rooted in my chair. I gripped its armrest until all energy and offense drained out my fingers.
God, I hate this! You can't let this happen!
“Okay, Daddy,” I managed, “I'm sorry. I'm . . . I
am
happy that you're happy.”
“Thank you. I know this is hard for you.”
I focused on my knees, pinpricks in my eyes.
“I thought it might be easiest if we first invite Katherine to supper Saturday. Just an informal meal so we can all get to know her a little better.”
My face muscles froze. Come to supper. I knew what that meant. Everybody in Bradleyville my daddy's age and older knew what that meant. It would signal to the town that their dating had officially begun, just as it had in the days when Daddy went out with Mama. Daddy seemed to read my thoughts.
“It's not the big deal it used to be.” He spread his hands. “Times have changed. I'm only suggesting it so that all four of us can be with Katherine. It's best for all of us.”
True, the days of “coming to supper” were over. I only knew the term's meaning through stories from Mama. But it remained part of Daddy's history. Ancient meanings of the heart didn't change.
“I'll cook,” Daddy offered, wheedling me with a little smile.
My throat tightened. “Oh, Daddy, you couldn't cook if your life depended on it.”
He feigned hurt. “Well. We'll have frozen dinners, then.”
“Like
that
would make a great impression,” I replied with bitterness. “Especially after she's displayed such talent.”
“Is that what this is about? You worried about cooking for her?”
Yeah, right.
I shot him a look.
“Okay, okay.” He sighed, dropping all pretense. “Will you do this, Jackie? Will you just . . . give it a chance?”
I gazed at Daddy, wanting so much to be happy for him, but too steeped in my own hurt to feel anything else. His eyes pleaded for my understanding. Fleetingly, I wondered what he would do if I told him I could never, ever accept Katherine King. Then I thought of his siding with her during the at-home and told myself I didn't want to know.
“I'll make a nice supper.” I tried to smile.
“Thank you for tryin'.” He started to say more, then apparently thought best of it. Instead he rose and crossed to my chair to hug me. “Just keep it simple, all right?”
I closed my eyes.
Nothing
about this would be simple. “Yeah, Daddy. Sure.”
P
ork medallions with orange glaze. Wild rice. Broccoli and cheese casserole topped with dried onion pieces. Spinach salad and fresh-baked herb bread. Peach cobbler and whipped cream. No matter that I'd not made even one of these recipes before. I merely chose the most exotic dishes I could find, poring Friday afternoon over Mama's cookbooks.
Herein lay my fallacious A+B=C logic: AâI would demonstrate that my skills in the kitchen could stand up to Katherine's. BâKatherine would realize there was neither room nor need for another female in the Delham family. CâThrough sheer intimidation, she'd quell her pursuit of my father.
Such colorful rationale that strutted before me, fluffing its plumage.
I realize now the underlying, driving need to this logicâthe need that Katherine's appearance in my life had wrought. The need that, at the time, had anyone dared name it, I would heatedly have denied.
In proving myself to Katherine, I would prove myself to me.
After supper on Friday, I drove to the IGA to buy all the ingredients.
“I thought we decided you wouldn't go to any great trouble,” Daddy said when I told him where I was headed.
“Don't worry, I'm not. But I still need a few things.” I wouldn't look at him. “Oh, Daddy,” I said as I turned to leave, “would you fetch the bread machine down from the cabinet above the fridge?”
Half an hour later as I lugged two bags of groceries into the house, Robert met me in the kitchen. “Where's Daddy?” I asked.
“In the backyard, pullin' weeds.” He rescued a bag from my lagging arms and dropped it on the counter.
“And Clarissa?”
“Playin' with Della.”
Winnie trotted across the floor, ears up. I petted her quickly. “Go on now, out of my way.” She paced to her favorite spot between the table and wall and huffed down, tags clinking against the floor.
“Maybe we oughtta let Katherine bring the dessert,” Robert offered.
“I'll make my own, thank you very much.”
“Well, you'll have to work pretty hard to beat her cookies.”
“Thanks a bunch, Robert, but I am
not
working hard to âbeat' her at anything.” I pulled a package of cheese from a bag. “Any other wise remark you'd like to add?”
He regarded me with mild perplexity. “No.”
“Good.” I turned away from him. “Now get lost. I have work to do.”
“Like what?”
“Like cooking.”
He peered into the other bag. “But we just had supper.”
“I'm cooking for tomorrow night, you idgit.”
I bustled about, too busy to look him in the eye. He sidled in front of me. “I thought you weren't workin' to beat her.”
“I'm not.” I pulled the tenderloin out and plunked it in the sink.
“Then why are you actin' like the Queen a Sheba's comin'?”
I fisted my hands on my hips. “Would you get out of here? Go play on the computer. Better yet, take Winnie outside and brush her.”
“So what are we havin', caviar?”
“Out!” I shooed him away like a pesky animal.
After my brother's departure, I finished unpacking the groceries, then stood in the kitchen thinking, fingers pressed to my lips.
“Need any help?” Daddy stuck his head through the back kitchen door. Sweat dribbled down his forehead, the knees of his old jeans stained with dirt.
“No, Daddy,” I said quickly. “Just do your weeding; I'll be fine.”
He eyed the food spread across the counter. “You sure? I could look mighty good in an apron.”
“Uh-huh.”
He wiggled his eyebrows, then pulled his head back out the door.
“Jackie!” Clarissa banged in through the front door, Della at her heels. “Can I spend the night at Della's house? Her mama said it was okay.”
I looked to Della for agreement, and she bounced her curly head up and down. At normal size for a nine-year-old, Della stood a good head taller than Clarissa. “Is your room clean?” I asked my sister.
“Yuh-huh.” She jiggled on her toes. “Pleeeease.”
Perfect,
I thought. Get her out of my way for the evening. “Okay.” “Yay!” both girls cried, then flitted toward Clarissa's room.
“Come show me what you've packed before you leave,” I called after them.
My thoughts immediately scudded back to the task at hand. I could mix the casserole tonight. And whip the cream. And fix the table. Also assemble the spinach salad and make its dressing. That was about it. Everything else would have to wait till tomorrow.
I never dreamed that anything might go wrong.
As I cooked feverishly on Saturday, by 1:30 I still had everything well under control. Clarissa played at Della's, and Daddy prepared to leave with Robert for his softball game. Normally we'd all have gone, but I informed Daddy that he couldn't possibly expect me to set supper on the table at 6:00 when the game would run until 5:00.
“Jackie.” He regarded me askance. “Are you sure you're okay?”
I busily peeled an orange. “Of course, Daddy, what a question.”
“I just want you to
enjoy
this supper. Katherine won't mind if everything's not perfect, you know.”
No kidding.
“Well, I'll just do the best I can.” I looked up at him, struck by his anxious expression. My fingers stilled, the tangy sweet scent of the orange wafting through the kitchen. Quickly, I turned back, intent on my work. “You'd better fetch Robert; he's supposed to be there now.”
Daddy ran a gentle hand down my hair, then disappeared.
“Oh,” I muttered. I needed to put the ingredients for the bread in the machine. It would take four hours to bake. Time was of the essence; a delayed supper would hardly display the utmost of culinary talent. Hurriedly, I assembled the flour, salt, and the rest, measured them into the machine, and flicked it on. Then back to peeling and squeezing oranges for the glaze.