Chapter 3
"How can you eat that? That cheeseburger is 98 % fat and grease, 2% nutrition, Kristina. And you put enough salt on those fries."
"Brad," Kristina rolled her brown eyes. "Unlike you," she looked pointedly at his half-eaten salad, "I ENJOY my food. I actually LIKE to eat."
"I'm not going to argue with you on that point," Brad chuckled. "I just can't figure out where you put it, that's all." He pushed her plate aside to join his.
"The one thing my mother gave me that was a blessing instead of a curse," Kristina tried to joke.
"Kristina," Brad sighed, reaching across the table and grasping both of her hands in one of his own. "Your mother loved you. She.I'm sure she didn't mean."
Kristina pulled her hands away, refusing to meet Brad's eyes. "Brad, I don't want to talk about her."
"That's kind of impossible, seeing as she's the reason we're here. Kristina," his voice dropped to a gentle plea. "Being back in this.place," Brad said slowly as he glanced at the almost deserted street outside, "it has to bring back memories. Memories I'm sure hurt. Talking about them can only help, and."
"Brad," Kristina cut him off tersely. "You know I don't appreciate the pop psychology spiel. The memories aren't going to go away, but I'll deal. Why don't you order some food for tonight? We have a lot of work to do, and I don't think I'm going to be the only one making a pig out of myself," she smirked, leaning across the table to press a kiss against his cheek. "Meet you outside."
Brad watched her stroll out the diner's front doors and waited for the bells to stop tinkling before picking up a menu and walking to the front counter.
Her reflection in the diner's mirrored windows had always fascinated Kristina as a child, and when she raised a slender hand to trace the boldly painted letters with her fingertips, she was shocked to see the face of the child she used to be staring back at her with the hint of a smile on her full pink lips.
"Kristina," Rachel chided boredly behind her, twisting one long brown pigtail around her index finger as she held her melting strawberry ice cream cone in her other hand. "Those people inside the diner can see you, you know. They can see all of us, but we can't see them, and they'll probably thinking 'that Kristina O'Leary's a real looney. Always walking around with that weird little smile on her face.' I'm telling you, Kristina. Sometimes even **I** think you're a little weird. Just like your mom."
Anger and hurt blazed in Kristina's deep brown eyes as she whirled around to face the smaller girl perched on the sidewalk's edge with her ankles crossed and practically sticking out into the street. "Take it back, Rachel," Kristina warned, towering over Rachel.
Rachel gave the ice cream dripping down her wrist an absent lick as she pulled her legs up beneath her, tucking her knees beneath her chin. "Which part?" she asked, unconcerned with her friend's show of anger. "The part where you're like your mom or the part where I said your mom is weird? She IS weird, Kristina. It's not like everybody doesn't know it already. She not like all the other moms. She never comes around, and she's always sad. Why is she so unhappy? Did you do something really, really bad?"
"If you don't want to be my friend, Rachel," Kristina muttered as she wiped carelessly at the tears she felt forming in the corner of her eyes, "why don't you just say so?"
Rachel rolled her green eyes as she rose to her feet, dusting off the seat of her denim shorts and pulling the edge of her tie-dyed bikini top down where it rode up on her sweat-slicked back. "I didn't say I didn't want to be your friend. Geez, Kristina. I was just sayin'. I'm going home," the eleven-year-old huffed in annoyance, unlocking the chain around the neck of her bike and mounting it.
Kristina shuffled her feet against the cracked concrete of the sidewalk, refusing to look up and let Rachel and the whole world see her crying. She gasped in surprise, mumbling a frantic apology, when she nearly knocked down an elderly lady she recognized from her infrequent trips to Rachel's church. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying attention where I was going, and.I'm sorry. I didn't mean to run into you," Kristina lowered her head as she felt a fresh onslaught of tears brewing. Her chin trembled as she felt the paper-thin texture of cool fingers lifting her chin, and tears made her brown eyes even brighter and more luminous as she met the kind blue eyes of the diminuative elderly woman in front of her.
"You're the mysterious O'Leary child, aren't you? Don't cry, my Dear. You have such beautiful brown eyes. Eyes like yours should always be happy. Chin up," the old lady lifted Kristina's chin again when she stared down at her feet. "I haven't met your mother. You must get your eyes from her. I bet she isn't half as pretty as you though."
"My mother's eyes are blue. Like the ocean my daddy says," Kristina whispered, "I'll never be as beautiful as her," she cried, pulling her chin from the woman's loose grasp and running back toward the diner.
A crowd of people-a family-exited the diner in front of her, cutting off her path of escape.
Kristina's brown eyes were drawn back to her reflection in the mirrored windows, and as she searched her face for evidence of her own mother, her own father, the image of her face started to blur and ripple like a reflection on water, and she cried out when she felt a strong hand grip her shoulder, whirling around in a panicked state.
"Kristina? Are you sure you're okay? I got the food," Brad uttered softly, shifting the greasy white bags to his other arm so the arm nearest her should be free to hold her.
Kristina pushed away the unwelcome feelings the forgotten memory recalled and snuggled into Brad's embrace. "I'm fine. Just take me home, okay?"
Home, the whispers of the past mocked her. Did home really exist? Did YOU ever really exist, she heard her own childhood voice ask sadly. Where is my daddy in me?
"How can you eat that? That cheeseburger is 98 % fat and grease, 2% nutrition, Kristina. And you put enough salt on those fries."
"Brad," Kristina rolled her brown eyes. "Unlike you," she looked pointedly at his half-eaten salad, "I ENJOY my food. I actually LIKE to eat."
"I'm not going to argue with you on that point," Brad chuckled. "I just can't figure out where you put it, that's all." He pushed her plate aside to join his.
"The one thing my mother gave me that was a blessing instead of a curse," Kristina tried to joke.
"Kristina," Brad sighed, reaching across the table and grasping both of her hands in one of his own. "Your mother loved you. She.I'm sure she didn't mean."
Kristina pulled her hands away, refusing to meet Brad's eyes. "Brad, I don't want to talk about her."
"That's kind of impossible, seeing as she's the reason we're here. Kristina," his voice dropped to a gentle plea. "Being back in this.place," Brad said slowly as he glanced at the almost deserted street outside, "it has to bring back memories. Memories I'm sure hurt. Talking about them can only help, and."
"Brad," Kristina cut him off tersely. "You know I don't appreciate the pop psychology spiel. The memories aren't going to go away, but I'll deal. Why don't you order some food for tonight? We have a lot of work to do, and I don't think I'm going to be the only one making a pig out of myself," she smirked, leaning across the table to press a kiss against his cheek. "Meet you outside."
Brad watched her stroll out the diner's front doors and waited for the bells to stop tinkling before picking up a menu and walking to the front counter.
Her reflection in the diner's mirrored windows had always fascinated Kristina as a child, and when she raised a slender hand to trace the boldly painted letters with her fingertips, she was shocked to see the face of the child she used to be staring back at her with the hint of a smile on her full pink lips.
"Kristina," Rachel chided boredly behind her, twisting one long brown pigtail around her index finger as she held her melting strawberry ice cream cone in her other hand. "Those people inside the diner can see you, you know. They can see all of us, but we can't see them, and they'll probably thinking 'that Kristina O'Leary's a real looney. Always walking around with that weird little smile on her face.' I'm telling you, Kristina. Sometimes even **I** think you're a little weird. Just like your mom."
Anger and hurt blazed in Kristina's deep brown eyes as she whirled around to face the smaller girl perched on the sidewalk's edge with her ankles crossed and practically sticking out into the street. "Take it back, Rachel," Kristina warned, towering over Rachel.
Rachel gave the ice cream dripping down her wrist an absent lick as she pulled her legs up beneath her, tucking her knees beneath her chin. "Which part?" she asked, unconcerned with her friend's show of anger. "The part where you're like your mom or the part where I said your mom is weird? She IS weird, Kristina. It's not like everybody doesn't know it already. She not like all the other moms. She never comes around, and she's always sad. Why is she so unhappy? Did you do something really, really bad?"
"If you don't want to be my friend, Rachel," Kristina muttered as she wiped carelessly at the tears she felt forming in the corner of her eyes, "why don't you just say so?"
Rachel rolled her green eyes as she rose to her feet, dusting off the seat of her denim shorts and pulling the edge of her tie-dyed bikini top down where it rode up on her sweat-slicked back. "I didn't say I didn't want to be your friend. Geez, Kristina. I was just sayin'. I'm going home," the eleven-year-old huffed in annoyance, unlocking the chain around the neck of her bike and mounting it.
Kristina shuffled her feet against the cracked concrete of the sidewalk, refusing to look up and let Rachel and the whole world see her crying. She gasped in surprise, mumbling a frantic apology, when she nearly knocked down an elderly lady she recognized from her infrequent trips to Rachel's church. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying attention where I was going, and.I'm sorry. I didn't mean to run into you," Kristina lowered her head as she felt a fresh onslaught of tears brewing. Her chin trembled as she felt the paper-thin texture of cool fingers lifting her chin, and tears made her brown eyes even brighter and more luminous as she met the kind blue eyes of the diminuative elderly woman in front of her.
"You're the mysterious O'Leary child, aren't you? Don't cry, my Dear. You have such beautiful brown eyes. Eyes like yours should always be happy. Chin up," the old lady lifted Kristina's chin again when she stared down at her feet. "I haven't met your mother. You must get your eyes from her. I bet she isn't half as pretty as you though."
"My mother's eyes are blue. Like the ocean my daddy says," Kristina whispered, "I'll never be as beautiful as her," she cried, pulling her chin from the woman's loose grasp and running back toward the diner.
A crowd of people-a family-exited the diner in front of her, cutting off her path of escape.
Kristina's brown eyes were drawn back to her reflection in the mirrored windows, and as she searched her face for evidence of her own mother, her own father, the image of her face started to blur and ripple like a reflection on water, and she cried out when she felt a strong hand grip her shoulder, whirling around in a panicked state.
"Kristina? Are you sure you're okay? I got the food," Brad uttered softly, shifting the greasy white bags to his other arm so the arm nearest her should be free to hold her.
Kristina pushed away the unwelcome feelings the forgotten memory recalled and snuggled into Brad's embrace. "I'm fine. Just take me home, okay?"
Home, the whispers of the past mocked her. Did home really exist? Did YOU ever really exist, she heard her own childhood voice ask sadly. Where is my daddy in me?