It was later that evening, when Ford and Clare and I were all hanging out in the living room. Guthrie had gone to Trent's house to

play basketball, and so the three of us were playing with Isaac. Clare had spread a blanket out on the floor with some baby toys, and

Isaac was laying on his stomach, while we all sat around him, watching.

"He changes so much every time I come home," Ford said, as he laid on his stomach, too, in order to be face-level with Isaac.

"I know. It's amazing how he's growing," Clare said. In her voice I heard wonderment, and I looked at her face. There was pure longing

there, and I wondered if she was wanting to have a baby of her own.

Ford must have been paying attention too, because he looked upwards at me, and winked. I hid my smile, and went to the kitchen

to bring back some snacks. I was craving something sweet. I ate two chocolate chip cookies while I was gathering things together, and

then when I'd handed Ford a plate of several cookies, I took another off the top, and ate that, too.

Clare gathered Isaac up, laying him against her shoulder.

"No, thanks," she said, when I offered her a cookie. "I think I'll take him up and give him a bath."

"Okay," I said, and as Clare went up the stairs with the baby, I plopped down beside Ford with exaggerated enthusiasm, jarring

his arm so hard that the cookie he was holding broke in half.

"Just you and me," I told him, taking another cookie from the plate.

"Hey," he protested, "I thought you brought these for me to eat."

"This is the last one I'll take, I promise."

I told Ford about our mother's journal, and he was so interested that I went upstairs to get it.

I pressed myself up against Ford's side while he read the journal slowly, from the very beginning. Even though I knew that part by

memory, I sat quietly, being still as Ford read silently. As he turned the pages, sometimes I followed along, rereading the by-now familiar

words.

As he reached the point that I'd read up to, I put a hand out to pull it from his hands a little.

"Stop there," I told him.

"How come?" Ford asked, looking at me, surprised.

"Because that's where I stopped at."

"So? Why can't we keep on readin' together?" Ford pointed out. I thought about that for a moment. The journal was such a personal thing for me.

I hadn't shared it with anybody else, only telling Guthrie about certain things in it. It had seemed as if it was "my own" private venture into

my mom's young life. Still, sharing it with Ford had seemed right.

So, we did continue on reading for awhile. Together.

The part we read then dealt with our mother finishing up her senior year in high school. And planning her wedding. It seemed that

'Margie', a.k.a Karissa, felt the need to take over all the planning for the entire wedding. I shook my head a little. I wasn't surprised at all by that.

Mom wrote on the next few paragraphs of our dad's temper boiling over.

" May 30, 1954

Adam says he has reached his limit, and that if he has to continue to be around Karissa, he won't be responsible for what he does to her. I know he's only

teasing. He would never disrespect her in any way. Even though she disrespects him lots of times. I always know when it's bothering him, the way she talks and acts, because his jaw

will set like it does when he's trying to control his temper. Sometimes he will excuse himself and go out onto the front porch, to get a breath of air, is what he says, but I know

it's really to smoke, and rein his temper in.

Tonight, after supper, and after a longer time of all of us listening to her tell us what colors to use and that we weren't planning on enough flowers, I spoke up.

I reminded her that Adam and I just wanted a simple wedding. Sort of quiet and understated, not elaborate. She gave me the 'evil eye'. The look she's given me all my

life to make me do what she wants me to do. The look that suggests that she's so much smarter than I am.

'Kate," she says, "you should be able to have the wedding you've always wanted. Adam should be able to understand that.' Then she looked across the table at Adam

and said, 'After all, this shouldn't be some throw-together hillbilly wedding. You agree, don't you, Adam?'

Well, I recognized the set of Adam's jaw then. He looked at mama, and excused himself, and then went out onto the porch. Well, mama looked all upset and even Pop

tried talking to Karissa, telling her that she needed to let Adam and I handle our own wedding the way that we wanted. I got up to follow Adam out to the porch, and for

a couple of moments I didn't know just what to say. He solved the problem by crushing out his cigarette under his boot, and turning to take me into his arms, resting

his chin on the top of my head.

I told him I was sorry for the way that Karissa was acting. He told me that it wasn't my place to be sorry. It was hers.

I know she's my sister, and that I'm supposed to love her. But most of the time, I sure don't like her very much at all.

Kate'

Ford turned to look at me.

"Wow," he said.

"Yeah. Wow," I echoed.

Ford closed the journal, touching the cover almost reverently. "This is somethin' real special, alright," he said.

"I know."

"I wanna read some more with you if it's okay," Ford said. "Maybe tomorrow?"

"Yeah. It's okay," I told him.

"Aren't you ever tempted to skip ahead?" Ford asked me, with a grin.

"Never," I denied.

Ford's grin got wider. "Yeah, right."

"Well, okay," I admitted. "Maybe I'm tempted to, but I haven't."

As he reached for another cookie, I leaned back against the back of the couch.

"The way that Mom describes him, daddy sounds as though he was alot like Adam is now. Don't you think?"

"Yeah," Ford agreed, and then added, "Maybe with a little of Brian mixed in, too."

After that, we both sort of just lounged around for awhile. Ford made popcorn, and came back to the living room, carrying the bowl.

"Want some?" he offered.

"No, thanks." I was regretting my mass eating of all those cookies. I felt sluggish and had a headache again.

"I get so damn tired of having diabetes," I muttered.

Ford sat down on the couch, giving me a look of sympathy. "I'm sorry, Har."

And I knew he really was, too. I shrugged, not wanting to continue to talk about it.

We started talking about college then, and some of his classes. When I asked him if he was planning to go back to John F. Kennedy University next

year, he hesitated, looking a little uncomfortable.

"What?" I asked, instantly on the alert.

"It's nothing definite-" he began.

"Okay. What's not definite?" I demanded.

"I'm thinking about going to Cal Tech."

My eyes widened, and I felt a sense of impending panic. "That's like seven hours away, though, right?"

"Not seven. Five and a half, maybe."

I surveyed him seriously and he returned my look. I could tell he thought I was going to go all crazy on him. And that's what I felt like doing, too.

"What's making you think about going there?" I asked, trying to appear mature. I mean, he'd told me about it, so I owed it to him to not have

a conniption fit.

Ford launched into all the reasons he was considering the change to Cal Tech.

When he was done, I hesitated, and then said, "Crane will be super excited."

I didn't know what else to say.

"Well, like I said, it's not definite. I'm still thinkin' about it," Ford said, taking another handful of popcorn.

"Uh huh," I said.

It struck me then, that things were so much simpler when all of us were younger.

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