Chapter 2

"Yes, I know, Judy, but Miss White can't bring a pot roast. Mrs. Rice always cooks a pot roast, and she's as old as the church." Sloane Bueller, née Peterson, stirred a boiling pot of instant macaroni as she talked into the phone cradled on her shoulder. On her other shoulder rested her infant daughter against a spit-up rag. The cord of the phone circled around her oversized, orange turtleneck and slim black pants, twisted repeatedly from being dragged all over the kitchen. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and her long brown hair was pulled back into a haphazard ponytail.

"Have you talked to Linda yet about what she's bringing?" Sloane asked into the phone, moving over to the microwave to toss in a bag full of frozen fishsticks. As she did so, a Power Rangers playground ball bounced past her feet.

"...sure she doesn't bring meatloaf again. Cam!" She gave her eight-year-old son a disapproving look as he scurried after it. "What did I tell you about bouncing balls in the house?"

"Sorry, Mom! It got away from me!" Cameron called, chasing it back through the open screen door to the back porch.

"Don't get too dirty! Dinner will be ready soon!" She called after him, pulling the defrosted fishsticks out of the microwave. She dumped them hurriedly onto a cookie sheet and shoved them into the oven beneath the rack containing her rolls. "What, Judy? Of course I'm still listening..."

She caught sight of her seven-year-old daughter padding down the hallway and held out a hand to intercept her. "Patty, why are your feet all wet?"

"From the bathtub." The girl replied matter-of-factly. Her stringy brown braids twisted over her shoulders at odd angles. In her hands, she held a small model horse. She'd been careful not to get her clothes too wet, but her bare feet had dripped pools of water out into the hall. Her dark brown eyes curiously regarded her mother, as if to ask what exactly she'd done wrong. Sloane almost smiled. If it weren't for her overabundant smattering of freckles and a terrible overbite, the girl might have been pretty.

"Well, what were you doing in the bathtub?"

"Standing my pony." Patty held up the dripping model. "He needs it. His hocks was sore."

Sloane sighed and wiped her forehead. "Okay. I'll clean it up after dinner. Any more you have to go stand?"

Patty solemnly shook her head. "No, Mommy. Sunbeam's the only one that's lame."

She turned and padded out to the living room, where she carefully returned the pony to his stall in her little stable. She picked up a different one and pretended to brush it.

Across the room, her three-year-old sister Emily was scribbling in a coloring book and making airplane noises with her mouth. After a few minutes of this, she shut the book and began fiddling with the dial on the television set.

Patty frowned. "MOM-MY! Emily's playing with the TV!"

"Hang on for a second, Judy, the ceiling's ready to fall in." Sloane covered the mouthpiece, scowling in annoyance. "Is she crawling on it or anything?"

"No, she's messing with all the buttons!" Patty wailed.

"Then let her play! Just don't let her break it!" Sloane shook her head, shifted the baby's weight on her shoulder and turned back to the macaroni on the stovetop. "Now, Judy," she said into the phone, her voice returned to its sweetly complacent tone. "I was wondering if we couldn't get Mrs. Jones to bring her cabbage rolls..."

Patty stuck her tongue out at her little sister, placing a tiny saddle on her plastic horse.

"Where's Bugs Bunny?" Emily whined. She turned the dials all the way one way, then all the way the other. When she didn't get the results she expected, she began making pathetic sobbing noises. Emily had been blessed with dark blonde hair and the face of an angel. Used to being the baby in the family before little Andrea had been born, she was pampered by her parents so much so that she was spoiled. Unlike her older brothers and sister, she'd been impressed upon that there was nothing she couldn't get if she just yelled loud enough.

"TV no go!" She presently protested in a trembling voice, her lower lip protruding out sullenly. She crossed her stubby arms and sat down on the floor right in front of the stubborn television. "Sissy, help!" She cried.

Patty glanced at her nonchalantly. "Can't get it to work, can you? You can't cause you'd just break it. You're not smart enough to make it work."

"Am too! Am too!" Emily got up and stomped around, yelling just because she could. Patty gathered up all of her model horses and shielded them protectively from her sister's wrath.

As quickly as the storm surfaced, it blew over. The sound of wheels turning in the drive arrested her attention, causing her to climb up on top of a chair to see out the front window. At the sight of the family station wagon, she gasped excitedly. "Daddy's home! Daddy's home!"

"Really?" Patty looked up with interest, slowly setting her horses down.

A minute later, the girls' father burst through the door. The rain had drenched him from head to foot and he carried his sopping coat and briefcase on his arm. He was all bright smiles for the family. "Hey! I'm home!"

"Daddy!"

He looked down and laughed to see his two daughters barrel into him. He crouched down to their level and put his arms around each of them. "If it isn't the cowgirl and the princess! You know, I missed you today."

"You did?" Emily squealed.

He nodded. "Yeah. I even brought presents for you." He unsnapped the clasp of his briefcase and pulled out a postcard with a picture of wild horses galloping across the front. "This is for you, Patty..."

Patty gasped and gently took it, breathless with awe. She stood for a minute, admiring the image of horses of all different colors and sizes as one beautiful mass in flight. Her "thank you," was barely audible.

Ferris smiled at her obvious delight. "You can put it on your wall with the others."

"I will! This one's going right by my bed!" She exclaimed, then looked down at the model horse she held in her hand as though it were a neglected old friend. "Daddy...can I take Miss Blue out for a ride real fast? She gets awful wound up, an' if I wait till after dinner she'll be even worse with all the oats in her. Can I?"

Ferris studied the carefully tacked blue roan pony she held in her hand. "Where do you usually take her?"

"Down the street, to Mr. Johnson's yard. I run her round and round his big tree till she gets tired."

He smiled and patted her back. "Sure, the rain's let up. Why not?"

Patty grinned. "Thanks, Daddy!" She quickly set her postcard down and picked up the little twig she used as a riding crop. She swatted it against her thigh and chirruped, galloping out the door with the tiny model horse held up in front of her.

"What do I get?" Emily cried, bouncing up and down excitedly.

"I don't know, Princess. I don't think I see anything in here for you." Ferris rummaged around in his bag, then stopped and looked at her. "Wait a minute. There it is." He reached around and pulled a silver half-dollar out from behind her ear. Emily giggled and Ferris laughed with her lovingly. "Here you go." He held it out on his palm for her.

"Pretty!" The girl cried, snatching it up. She held it up in the faint, rain-streaked sunlight, laughing at its bright shine.

"You can go show it off to Junior while I get ready for dinner." Ferris stood and picked up his dripping things.

"No go in Junior's room." Emily shook her downy head. "Junior sick. Funny man said so."

Ferris frowned in concern. "Junior sick...?" He mouthed the words silently.

Before he could ask her any questions, Emily darted off running, holding her shiny coin in the air admiringly.

Ferris slowly set his briefcase down in its customary place by the door and hung his coat up in the hall closet. He murmured things about Junior being sick in a dazed voice under his breath, moving out into the kitchen. He smiled when he saw his eldest son coming in through the porch door, a playground ball tucked under his arm. "Hi, pal. You pick up your peanut brittle from Mr. Anderson today?"

"Yeah, Dad. You're still gonna help me with my sale spitch after dinner, right?" The boy raised his dark head eagerly.

"Of course I'm going to help you with your 'spitch,' bud." Ferris rumpled the boy's hair. "And when we're done, we'll go hit up the street before dark."

"Awesome! Thanks, Dad!" Cameron ducked past him and ran for the stairs, carrying the ball back up to his room.

"Uh-huh...yes, of course I'm writing all of this down." Sloane removed the lid from a can of green beans and poured the mushy vegetables into another pot of hot water on the stove. She hurriedly turned and switched off the burner under the macaroni, groaning and shifting the baby's weight yet again.

Ferris slowly came up behind his wife and put his arms around her, his head resting gently against hers.

"But Mrs. Knickenbacker has never made apple pie! Listen, she's always made apple streudel. She's famous for her apple streudel, and she'll make a hundred apple streudels before she bakes an apple pie!" Sloane rolled her eyes heavenward and set to work dumping mounds of applesauce onto each plate. Ferris she ignored completely.

"...I have at least twenty more women to call! Judy, I...well, how about I come over to your house and we can sit down and work on it...no, tomorrow morning's not good, I have to take Emily to her play group." She hurriedly stirred the beans around before slamming a lid on top of them. The noise was enough to startle baby Andrea from her nap, and she softly began to cry. Sloane sighed. "Hang on a second, I've woke the baby. Will you take her?" She turned around to Ferris and passed the infant over to him, pulling the spit-up towel from her shoulder and flinging it at him.

Ferris caught it easily and threw it over his shoulder. He took a few steps away from his preoccupied wife to turn his full attention on the three-month-old infant. "Hi, Andrea! Hi, baby! Daddy's home!" He babbled in an excited whisper, holding her up in front of him. Almost immediately, Andrea quieted and stared down at the man holding her, as if in mild bewilderment.

Ferris broke into a wide smile. "That's my girl," he murmured, holding her close to him. He walked across the kitchen and out into the living room, gently bouncing her up and down in his arms.

"Yes, I know that, but Cam has a soccer game that afternoon...well, he's certainly not going to go alone and one of us has to stay at the house to look after Junior and the baby." Sloane gave the green beans another push with her spoon before taking them off the stove. Cameron started to run past her, but she put out a hand to stop him. "Set the table, will you, Cam?"

The boy's shoulders sagged. "Yes, Mom," he murmured, pulling handfuls of silverware out of a nearby drawer.

Ferris was flipping through his mail in the living room, still making cooing noises for the baby. He handed her a letter from Ed McMannis that almost instantly wound up in her mouth. "Bill, bill, bill, bill..." He muttered, going through them hurriedly. "Uh-oh." He stopped midway through the pile and studied the return address on the letter. "Des Moine Marketing Distribution...wonder what they want with me?" He sat down to read it, Andrea curled up snugly against his shoulder. The worried, drawn frown had returned to his countenance. The baby burped up a small portion of sour milk onto the towel.

The front door closed and Patty, slightly damp from the mist, dashed in with her model horse. "I'm not late for dinner, am I?" She hurriedly knelt down in front of her stable and began untacking the roan mare.

"Huh. Well, the rotten little...they know we need those brochures in time for the convention next week!" Ferris glanced up from the letter, noticing his daughter for the first time. "Hey, how'd your ride go?"

"Good, Daddy! Miss Blue is all stretched out and calmed down. Her oats won't hurt her now!" Patty gently replaced the horse in line with all the others. "They're hungry," she murmured, fastening tiny feedbags over their noses.

Ferris frowned and raised his head, sniffing the air. "Something's burning!" He called out.

Sloane darted frantically toward the oven, where smoke was starting to visibly waft out. "Judy, I've got to go. My rolls are burning." She slammed down the phone and yanked open the oven door. Coughing and fanning away the black smoke with a pot holder, she swiftly pulled out her crispy fishsticks and the tray of black-singed rolls. As she closed the oven and shut it off, she suddenly became aware of Ferris standing beside her, the baby in his arms. She swiped her forehead and threw the trays down on the stovetop. "Dinner's ready," she murmured, not even glancing at him.

Ferris watched helplessly as she untangled herself from the phone's cord and slowly began preparing the dinner plates. There was a calm, stolid air to her demeanor, yet her hands shook as she scraped up the burnt food. He swallowed. "Darling, if you needed help, I..."

"I don't need help. Nothing's the matter." She replied lightly, shrugging it off. She turned and looked her husband up and down for the first time since he'd come home. "You're all wet."

Ferris smiled and hung his head in abashment, running a hand through his dark brown hair. "Well, I..."

"You shouldn't be holding the baby," Sloane quickly took Andrea back from him. As soon as she left her father's grasp, the infant began to whimper again. "What if she catches a chill from you? The last thing I need is for her to end up like Junior."

Sloane passed by him, carrying the baby out to her crib set up in the living room. Ferris watched her go, frowning slightly. "Junior? What's wrong with Junior?"

"He woke up with a fever this morning, so I kept him home from school. His temperature kept rising all morning," Sloane calmly set Andrea down in the crib and wrapped her up in a blanket, talking softly. "When it hit one-oh-one five at noon I decided to call the doctor."

"The doctor? You called the doctor out here?" Ferris stood dumbfounded in the archway, his hands hanging uselessly in his pockets. His mouth opened and shut repeatedly, at a loss from the right words. "Was it...I mean...you know what a house call like that is going to cost us?"

"Yes." Sloane crossed her arms and looked up at him, an intense light shining in her tired hazel eyes. "Junior's not like you, Ferris. He's actually sick. The Tylenol wasn't doing him any good, what was I supposed to do? I'm not just going to sit there and watch my child die, I'm going to do something!"

She marched up to him, looking like she was going to say something more. Thinking better of it, she shook her head and dropped her gaze. Scraggly strands of her brown hair escaped her ponytail and fell forward over her face.

The two stood silently in an awkward moment together, neither quite knowing what to say. Ferris finally leaned down in a move to kiss her. Sloane ducked out away from him and strolled into the dining room, her head high and thin shoulders set once more. Ferris blew out a long sigh through his nose as he watched her go.