On the way to school the next morning, Guthrie was lacking his usual cheerful mood.
"I'm tired of stupid school," he complained. "I wish it was summer."
"There's not that much school left," I consoled him. "Just a few more weeks."
Guthrie turned to give me an exaggerated eye roll, and popped a piece of hard candy in his mouth, and I giggled.
"It's sure good to have Daniel home," he said.
"Yeah," I said in agreement.
"How's it feel?" he asked. "Bein' back at home?"
"It feels good," I said. "I'm glad to be home."
"You are? Even with the stiff grounding Adam gave you?"
"Even with that," I said.
"There's somethin' different about you," Guthrie said.
"What?" I asked, looking down at my shirt and jeans, thinking that's what he meant.
"Not that," he dismissed. "I mean somethin' about you. You're calmer-or more settled, or somethin'."
I looked at Guthrie, thinking about what he was saying.
"Really?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"I'm just trying harder. To be a better person," I told him.
"You were never a bad person, Har," Guthrie said, with loyal certainty.
"Thanks, Guth," I said, giving him a grateful smile.
"Maybe Kristin can come over on the weekend," he suggested, in a change of subject.
"That'd be great. Maybe Ford will come home, too."
"Full house," Guthrie said.
I couldn't think of anything better than that.
7
The rest of the school week passed fairly quickly, at least for me. I don't think that Guthrie felt the same.
On Thursday night, Adam pulled me aside to tell me that he'd finally had a return call from John, and that he'd let
the lawyer know about what I'd said, concerning the drinking and driving with Karissa.
"That's good," I said.
It had already been determined that Kristin was going to spend at least one night over the weekend, and on Thursday night
I called Ford's dorm. It took him forever to come to the phone.
"Hey," he said, sounding as though he was really far away, with all the background noise.
"Hi."
"What?" he asked, over crackling on the wire.
"Hi!" I said again, really loudly.
"Hi! What's up? You back at home?" he asked.
"Yes. Daniel's here. Will you come home for the weekend?"
"I've got a lot of studying to do," he said.
"Aw, please Ford? It's been forever since I've seen you."
"I don't know-" he said, but I could tell he was considering it.
"I miss you," I said.
"What? I can hardly hear you."
"I said, 'I MISS YOU!'" I practically yelled into the phone.
"Say that again," he said, still acting as though he hadn't heard me.
"Oh, my gosh," I muttered, and then I heard him laughing.
"Brat," I accused him. "Pretending you didn't hear, just so I'll keep saying nice things!"
"I'll be home," he said. "It'll be late, though."
"I'll wait up," I promised.
"Little girls need to be in bed early," he taunted.
"Humph," I sniffed, pretending to be mad. "I was-and I mean was-going to make a certain brother some delicous lemon bars.
But I guess I don't have to now-"
Ford laughed again, and it made me glad just to hear him. "You'll make the lemon bars," he said, with arrogant
confidence.
"Oh, yeah?" I said.
"Yep. Make it a double batch, while you're at it. Bye, Har."
7
On Friday afternoon, when Guthrie and I got home from school, I changed out of my school clothes, and went down to the
kitchen. I'd run into Hannah upstairs, where she was going thru the hall closet, sorting out sheets and blankets.
"I thought I might make some lemon bars," I told her. "Since Ford's coming tonight."
"Ok. Sure," she said, without looking up from her task. "Good idea."
"Okay. I just wanted to make sure it was alright," I said, and started to walk away.
"Harlie," she said, and I paused, looking back at her.
"This is your home. You can make lemon bars or anything else you want in that kitchen any time you want to." Her voice was strong, and
I nodded.
"You wouldn't have even thought about asking permission to do something like that a few weeks ago. Why now?" she asked me, directly.
I hesitated, thinking out my answer. "I just-I don't know," I said, shrugging a little.
Hannah set down the set of sheets in her hands, and walked the few feet over to me.
She gave me a long look, without saying anything, just looking into my eyes. "You're forgiven," she said. "You don't have
to tiptoe around on eggshells here, afraid of upsetting somebody."
"Do you hear?" she asked me, giving me a little shake.
"Yes, alright," I said, feeling emotional.
"Go make your lemon bars," she said, and smiled at me.
In the kitchen, I stirred up a double batch of lemon bars for Ford, and made some no-bake cookies for Daniel and Guthrie. I gave brief
consideration to making some oatmeal-raisin cookies. Those are Evan's favorite. But I didn't know about that.
Brian came in a few minutes later, going to the sink to wash his hands, and then reaching with one hand into the
cabinet for the first aid kit.
"It smells like a bakery in here," he commented.
I came closer to see what he was doing. Blood was running at a good rate into the sink, from two of his fingers.
"What did you do?" I asked him.
"Bit myself, just to see what it would feel like," he quipped.
"If I talked like that, you'd tell me I was a smart-ass, and to knock it off," I reminded him.
"I probably would," he agreed.
I took the first aid kit from him, and reached inside, taking out the antibiotic crème and the bandaid box. I tore off a
paper towel and dabbed his hand dry, and then squeezed out some of the ointment, and smeared it on his fingers.
Then I took the back off a few bandaids, handing them to him, while he wrapped them around the tips of his fingers.
"There you go," I told him, and started washing my own hands. "Surgery complete."
"Thank you, doctor," he said.
"Have you had a tetanus shot lately?" I asked him, going back to putting the no-bake dough onto the Saran wrap.
"Why?"
"Well, if you bit yourself like you said, you might have infected yourself with rabies or something," I said, and grinned
at him.
"Uh huh," he said, coming closer to me. "Watch it, girl," he warned, and gave me a dig in my ribs with his good hand.
"What all you cookin' up here?" he asked me, looking over the cookies, and bars with interest.
"Just doing some baking."
"For an army, it looks like," he said.
"Here," I said, scooping up a lemon bar, and handing it to him.
"Good," he proclaimed, biting into it.
"I was thinking about making some oatmeal-raisin cookies, too," I said, casually.
"Yeah?"
"They're Evan's favorite," I reminded him.
"Hmm," he said, looking thoughtful.
"Well?" I asked. "Should I?"
Brian reached down with his unbandaged hand and took another lemon bar. "Couldn't hurt," he said.
7
So I made the oatmeal-raisin cookies, and when everything was done baking, I went outside to do my regular chores.
During supper, Hannah started talking about the next day, when Ford would be home, and every McFadden would be present and accounted
for. Add Kristin and Nancy to that, and it would be a crowd.
"We could have a picnic," she suggested, to the table at large. "Or is it still too chilly for that?"
Without thinking, I piped up. "It's not chilly here. It's downright balmy. No cold winds."
Daniel chuckled a little, and said, from his place across the table, "Little sis didn't take to the cold temps."
"Are all those cookies for tomorrow?" Guthrie asked, pointing to the stuff I'd baked that was sitting on the far counter.
"You can have some," I said. "I made no-bake for you and Daniel."
"Oatmeal-raisin too, right, peach?" Brian spoke up.
"Uh huh," I said.
"How about that, Evan?" Brian went on.
Evan looked up from buttering his third roll. "Huh?" he asked, obviously not following the conversation.
"Harlie made oatmeal-raisin cookies," Brian went on. "Because she knows you like 'em."
I heard something in Brian's tone of voice. I was fairly certain that Evan would hear it, too. It was sort of a controlled message.
"Yeah?'" Evan asked and his glance flickered my direction. "Thanks. You didn't have to."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything at all.
After supper, and a shower, and in my pajamas, I took my copy of 'Jane Eyre', and went out to the porch swing.
I could smell the lilacs to the side of the porch.
After awhile, the screen door opened, and Adam came out, a glass of sweet tea in his hand.
"Can I sit with you?" he asked me, and I scooted over to make room.
"Sure."
"What're you reading?" he asked me, tipping the book up so he could read the title. "Jane Eyre, huh?"
"For the night class."
"How's your grade in there?" he asked.
"A high B right now."
"That's good."
We swung in quiet for a few minutes.
"That was nice. You makin' all those cookies for your brothers," he said.
"I'll make some molasses ones for you soon," I told him. "We didn't have everything to make them."
Adam gave me a half-smile. "That was just me saying 'good job' to you." he said. "It wasn't a hint for you to make cookies
for me."
"Oh," I said, and gave him a half-smile back.
"Not that I'll complain if you do decide to make me some," he said, and elbowed me in the ribs.
When it began to get dusky outside, Adam said he was going in. "You coming?" he asked me.
"I'm going to wait for Ford," I said.
"I thought he was goin' to be pretty late," Adam said.
"That's what he said."
"But you're gonna wait up for him, huh?" Adam asked, pausing at the screen door.
I nodded, and Adam smiled a little.
"It's gonna be darn nice, havin' all my kids under the same roof again," he said. When he'd gone inside, I sat there
alone, watching the stars, and waiting for Ford.
7
Eventually, though I hated to admit it, I got a little chilled in the night air. I slipped inside and grabbed a blanket
off of the couch and went back out, wrapping it around myself, and curling back up in the porch swing.
I saw a vehicle turning into the end of our driveway, the headlights coming closer. When it had stopped, and parked,
I was going to stand up, and get ready to ambush Ford as he came up the sidewalk. Then I looked closer in the near-darkness,
lit only by the single yard light. It wasn't Ford. It was Evan, home from a date with Nancy most likely.
I stayed where I was, huddled under my blanket. It was too late for me to try to escape inside to avoid him seeing me.
Besides, I had every right to sit on my own front porch, I told myself, feeling defensive. Still though, even knowing that to be
true, I still felt my stomach lurch with nerves.
Evan came up the front walk, and then took the steps. He was at the door, opening it, and I thought that I'd managed
to go undetected.
Then he turned and saw me. "What are you doin' out here?" he asked.
I supposed I should be grateful for that. It was the first time that he had actually talked to me on his own, since I'd been home.
The other couple of times, was only to give a one-word answer when I'd said 'good morning', or apologized for bumping into him. Or a
terse comment about how I hadn't needed to make the cookies that he liked.
"I'm waiting for Ford," I said.
"Oh."
When it seemed as though he was going to go on inside without saying any more, I gathered my courage.
"The cookies are still out. They're on the kitchen table."
When he was silent, I added lamely, "If you wanted some, I mean."
"Cookies don't fix what happened, Harlie," he said, shortly.
I winced at his tone. "I know that."
"Just let it go," he said then. "Stop tryin' to work me."
"I'm not!" I protested. "That's not it at all! I just want you to know that I understand what I did! And that I'm sorry."
I heard him sigh. "Okay. I forgive you," he said, sounding tired.
My heart leaped a little, in hope, and I pushed off the blanket, sitting up in the porch swing.
"For real?" I asked.
"Yeah. Sure."
A little warning bell went off in my head. There was something about his voice...something not quite all there.
"So, everything's alright?" I asked nervously.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"We can talk and stuff, and hang out together. Like before," I said.
"I said I forgive you," he said then. "I didn't say we were gonna hang out."
I sat there, shocked in silence. I couldn't believe he was being this way.
"Wow, Ev," I said, feeling wounded.
"I don't know what you expect, Harlie. You think an 'I'm sorry', and some cookies takes care of everything? Well, it
doesn't," he said.
I wanted to yell at him. Throw something at him. Tell him he was being a jerk, of the worse possible kind. Instead, I sank
back in the porch swing, biting at my lip to keep from doing any of that stuff.
I tucked the blanket back up around my neck. "Okay," I said, super quietly.
He waited a moment longer, obviously expecting me to argue or lose my temper.
When I didn't, he went inside, letting the screen door shut softly.
7
I found that I was shaking after Evan went inside. I was caught somewhere between sadness and out-and-out rage. I thought
if I had the chance, and some of those rotten apples from last year, that I could make a human dart board out of him. Or a human
apple board, rather. Only, of course, if I had somebody to run interference and save me, when he charged after me, intent
on murder. I huddled under the blanket to wait for Ford, thinking that I sometimes had the retaliation aspirations of an eight year old.
7
Coming out of the bathroom the next morning, I met up with Guthrie, who was pulling on his boots as he walked.
"Ford's home," he informed me.
"I know. I waited up for him last night."
"He's still sleepin'." Guthrie's eyes lit up in mischief. "Wanna go wake him up?"
I knew I shouldn't. I mean, Ford was no doubt exhausted. But it was Saturday morning. The sun was out. Daniel and Ford were
both home. And Guthrie, when his eyes are sparkling like that at the prospect of pranking somebody, well, my self-control wasn't that
strong.
"Okay," I agreed, and we went back down the hall to Guthrie and Evan's bedroom, which is also Ford's room when
he's home. Guthrie opened the door just a crack, and we both looked in. Ford was completely covered by blankets. The only
part of him showing was a couple of toes.
Guthrie motioned me back out into the hallway. "Go get some lipstick," he told me.
"Lipstick? I don't have any lipstick," I whispered.
"Nail polish?" he whispered back. "You got any of that?"
When I nodded, he said, "Go get it."
I went to my bedroom, and rooted thru my drawer, until I found a bottle of pale pink nail polish. When I met Guthrie back in the hallway,
he took the bottle from me, and we went back to where Ford was sleeping, easing the door open.
Guthrie put a finger to his lips, signaling me to stay quiet. He crouched down beside the bed, taking the top off of the bottle. He pulled the
blanket back just the slightest bit, to where part of Ford's head, and part of one hand were showing.
He dabbed nail polish on three of Ford's fingernails, and I pressed a hand to my mouth, trying to keep quiet, and not
laugh. Guthrie stood up, and then looked as though he was thinking. After a moment, he dabbed two big dots of nail polish in the
center of Ford's forehead.
Ford stirred, moving around, and Guthrie stepped back quickly, handing the bottle off to me.
I hid it behind my back, as Ford opened his eyes. "Hey," he said, sounding groggy.
"Morning," Guthrie said, smooth as a bank robber.
Ford raised himself up on his elbows. "What time is it?" he asked.
"Seven-thirty," Guthrie said, looking at the clock on the wall.
"What are you two doin'?" Ford asked.
"We just came in to see if you were awake," Guthrie said glibly.
"Oh," Ford said, and sat up the rest of the way, swinging his legs off the bed.
"Well, we'll see you downstairs for breakfast," Guthrie said, and gave me a push out of the room, closing the door behind
us.
"He's gonna look in the mirror, probably," I said, as we went down the stairs. "And he'll see those spots on his face."
"Naw, he won't," Guthrie predicted. "He won't know they're there until Brian or somebody says somethin' to him."
"You're so bad, Guthrie," I said, but I was giggling when I said it.
"Get rid of that," Guthrie told me, gesturing at the bottle of polish I still had in my hand.
I set the bottle on the piano as we passed by on our way to the kitchen.
Breakfast began rowdy and noisy. I was happy, except for one thing. And that happened to be sitting across the
table from me. I avoided looking at Evan. If he wanted to be that way, then what could I do about it, I thought.
I mean, I wanted to make up with him. But it's not like I was big enough or strong enough to kick his butt and make him.
Everybody was starting to sit down in their places at the table, and Hannah was talking about what food to take
on our big family picnic, when Ford came into the kitchen. He was in jeans and a t shirt and was barefooted, and his
hair was messy, sticking up a little.
And then of course, since no one had seen him yet, other than Guthrie and I, everybody got up again to greet him, passing
him around for hugs. Brian pulled Ford to his chest and gave him a bear hug, and then kept his hands on Ford's shoulders to
look at him.
"You're skinny, boy," he accused. "Look at this-" Then his voice trailed off a little. "What the hell?" he asked, and then
he started to laugh.
"What?" Ford asked, and Daniel crowded in closer. "Nice, Ford," he said, with a snicker.
"What?" Ford asked, again.
Daniel shook his head and went back to his seat at the table. "I'm not gonna tell him," he said, and stabbed a stack of
pancakes with his fork.
Guthrie was as cool as a cucumber, or as I said before, cool as a bank robber. He was pouring an inordinate amount
of syrup on his pancakes, and acted as though he had no interest in the conversation. I tried to copy his cool actions.
"Right here," Adam told Ford, and tapped his forehead. "Better take a look in the mirror."
"What?" Ford asked again, for the third time, going towards the living room, to look in the mirror over the piano, I assumed.
Adam sat down at his seat at the table, shooting Guthrie a glance.
"You have too much time on your hands, Guthrie?" Adam asked him.
Guthrie looked up, innocent as an angel. "What?" he asked, spreading his hands.
"Hey!" everybody could hear Ford yelling from the living room. "Guthrie!"
"Why does everybody blame me?" Guthrie asked.
Brian laughed and sat down.
When Ford reappeared at the kitchen doorway, he said, looking grumpy, "Look out, Guthrie."
Guthrie finally gave in to his laughter.
Ford went to wet a dishtowel with water, and began scrubbing at his forehead with it. All he accomplished was to
make his forehead get all red from the rubbing. The spot was still there.
"Ford, honey," Hannah said, "Sit down and eat. Water's not going to take it off."
"Good grief," Ford said, and went to sit in his place at the table.
When Ford reached for the platter that held the pancakes, Evan caught his hand.
Ford took a closer look, and saw the painted fingernails. "Your days are numbered, Guthrie," he warned.
Guthrie pretended to shake in fear. "Oooo," he said.
"I'll help you hold him down, Ford," Daniel offered.
"A guy can't have a little harmless fun around here," Guthrie said, in complaint.
"Oh, it's on, little brother," Ford told him, calmly loading up his plate with bacon and pancakes. "You'd best sleep
with one eye open tonight."
Guthrie just laughed, and reached for another pancake.
7
