Miss Match (9 page)

He sighs. "I'm glad you work here, Laurie."

I pause midpat. "Can I have a raise?"

"No."

"Just checking. Eat up. Lots of nutrients in there. Grease, oil, grease,

and ..." I snap my fingers repeatedly. "What else? Oh! Oil."
A smile twitches in the corner of his mouth.

"A perfect specimen from Bud's."

Brandon pulls the burger from the bag. "How's Mikey?"

"Obviously still eating his pop's food. A colony of acne relatives are
living on his face." I watch him rip the paper off the hamburger. "I have
a date tonight and Tuesday."

Brandon nearly swallows his tongue. "You do?"

He could be more flattering. "Yes, me," I say with a growl. "Why is
that so hard to believe?"

"Well, who asked you?"

"Dad." Brandon's face relaxes for a moment. Only a moment. "And
Stephen Weatherby."

His mouth drops open. It isn't a pleasant sight with the half-chewed burger lolling around in there.

"Stephen?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"Weatherby?"

Nod again. "Uh-huh."

"The doctor?"

"One and the same."

Brandon stares at me. "And you said yes?" He is incredulous.

"Sure I said yes. He's a doctor. You don't say no when a doctor asks
you out."

"I thought you weren't ever getting married," he accuses.

I avoided his eyes. "Stephen knows that."

"Then why did he ask you out?"

The question could be strung up in the air with blazing, brightly
colored Christmas lights.

"I ... don't know," I falter. "Maybe just to catch up on old times?"

Brandon rolls his eyes. "Uh-huh. Right. Well, give my regards to the
poor man."

"Doctor's aren't poor men." I turn on my heel and walk out.

Brandon has to be wrong.

He has to. Stephen only wants to chat about the good old days in
elementary school.

After lunch I photograph six families, four of them with kids under the
age of five. So the day passes relatively quickly. My headache, however,
does not. I am taking aspirin when Dad shows up.

"What's wrong, Honey?" The bell over the door chimes as
he enters.

I swallow the pills. "I'm attempting to convince the little elves with
jackhammers in my head to take a break."

Dad frowns. Hannah smiles.

"Hi, Mr. Holbrook. I'm Hannah. I talked to you earlier on the
phone."

"Hello, Hannah, nice to meet you."

"Good night, Laurie. Have a good dinner," she says.

"Night, Hannah."

Dad watches her leave. "Ready to go?"

"Sure am."

I follow Dad out to his Mustang convertible and manage to cajole
him to put the top down. We drive the six minutes to Vizzini's in silence,
the cold wind whistling through my hair and drying out my eyes.

Once we are seated, Dad hands a twenty to the waiter, a tall, skinny
guy with a gold name tag reading "JACK," and asks that the breadsticks
keep coming and the water glasses stay full for the next two hours. JACK
is quite happy to oblige.

"So. What's up, Dad?" I ask this after Dad finishes blessing the two
plates of spaghetti in front of us.

Dad smiles. "You're a wonderful daughter, Laurie. I really have
enjoyed all the time we've been able to spend together since your
mom died."

I frown. "Are you going somewhere, Dad?"

Dad folds his hands on the table. "Yes and no."

This is what I don't like: Beating around the bush.

"What are you saying, Dad?" The tiniest smidgen of worry skitters
up my spinal cord.

He grins at me. "Actually you are the one who gave me the idea."

Already this is sounding bad.

"Remember when you told me to tell Brandon you had taken up squid fishing?"

I blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. "You're going to take up squid
fishing?" I ask very slowly.

I expect a chuckle, a laugh, a hand slap, and then a profuse answer
telling me how absolutely ridiculous this is.

Dad shrugs.

Not good at all.

"Not squid fishing, per se. Just regular fishing. All I've done since
retiring, Hon, is hang around the house. I'm going stir crazy!" He waves
his hands. "I want to do something outdoorsy for a change. My friend
John did, and look at him now."

John is the poster child for Game & Fish.

"Yeah, but, Dad." I scramble. "Think of all the diseases you could
catch from the water!"

Dad nods. "I have considered that. But I went to that new hunting
store today and found these." He slides a box across the table.

"`Purification tablets,"' I read.

"Yep. Those, my dear, will kill any bacteria in the water."

I have a vision of a U-Haul backing up to Lake Michigan and depositing four hundred pounds of these Alka-Seltzers into it, the lake suddenly becoming crystal blue bottled water.

I set the box down. "You're serious about this."

His eyes are sparkling. "I'm planning a trip for the month
of March."

"March. Dad, that's in like six weeks."

"I know." He reaches across the table and takes my hand. "I was
hoping you could go with me."

I look in Dad's eyes, and every excuse I have crumbles. Fishing is not
my thing. I will take electricity and running water over a grimy, scaly,
squiggly fish any day. Up to this point, I figured Dad agreed with me.

"Okay," I mutter. How bad can a long weekend fishing be? It's not
long enough to die of boredom. A cozy, short trip to some hole-in-thewall lake, catch a few bass, go home.

Sounds fairly easy.

Dad's elation shines in his face. "I'll start getting the supplies
this week."

"Well, don't overdo, Dad. I mean, we probably have enough food at
home. And sleeping bags." I twirl my fork in my spaghetti.

"Not for a month we don't, Laurie."

My fork stops centimeters from my mouth. Dad has good timing. A
millisecond later, spaghetti would have been rocketing out of my mouth
and splattering all over Dad's white shirt.

"A month!" I can't help it. I yell.

JACK comes running. "Is everything okay?" He twists a dishtowel
around in his hands.

"Fine, fine," Dad says, seeing my jaw is stapled to the fake
wood table.

Still wringing the towel nervously, JACK leaves.

Dad looks at me. "Laurie?"

"Where?" It's the only word I can form.

"A place by the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta. A little town."

I blink. "For a month."

Dad's eyes are shining in excitement.

Drat my guilt complex.

"Fine." I sigh. "I'll go if Brandon will give me that month off."

He could have been jumping up and down. "Good! Ah, Laurie, this
will be so much fun! Just the two of us, the open water, the rustic cabin
on the river...:.

"Running water?" Incredible.

"Of course running water. And electricity. What did you think? We'd sleep in a tent?"

I shrug.

"No, this is a cabin. You don't even have to fish with me if you don't
want to. The scenery is gorgeous. Bring your camera."

"March," I say again.

"Yep. Temperatures in the fifties and sixties."

I twirl my fork around, contemplating. How bad could it be? A
month of relaxation, picture taking, and fish for dinner.

"How are you doing?" a voice murmurs near my ear.

I jump. A meatball flips cleanly off my fork and lands splat, right in
my lap.

JACK stands there, water pitcher in hand. His expression registers
horror.

I can see it coming before it happens, yet my brain doesn't work fast
enough. "Oh my gosh," JACK says, "I'm so sort - "

Swosh.!"Ihe water sloshes out of the pitcher, rinsing the meatball and
soaking my jeans.

A normal person would have screamed and jumped up.

I am not normal.

I sit there. Exhale. Take the dishtowel hanging from JACK's apron
and mop it up, all the while being stared at by not only the whole restaurant but also two men with their mouths wide open.

"Oh my gosh," JACK says again.

I give him the towel. "Ready to leave, Dad?" I chirp.

"Sure, Honey."

Dad sets a couple of bills on the table and gives JACK a withering
look. I smile at him. "Have a good night."

I put my coat on, but it doesn't reach low enough. A big circle of water
and a few flecks of spaghetti sauce mar the entire front of my pants.

How embarrassing. Mostly for JACK, I think.

Dad opens the door for me and a blast of cold January wind hits
my pants and immediately freezes them solid. Sitting is going to be
an issue.

"Here, Honey." Dad opens the car door.

"Th-thanks, Da-ad." My teeth chatter. Being wet outside in January
is miserable.

"Oh dear. You'll catch your death. Get in."

He drives to the studio to pick up my car, coming very close to
breaking the speed limit. My dad always drives ten miles under. He's the
old guy in the Mustang no one feels they can pass. Never ceases to drive
me nuts. I follow him home as best I can.

"Get out, get out." He grabs my arm and hustles me into the house,
into the living room, and onto the couch, where he pulls out a big afghan
Laney made and wraps it around me mummylike.

"I'll make you some tea." He disappears before I can protest.

Lemongrass. Blegh.

Coffee sounds good. Vanilla coffee. Lots of sugar. Whipped cream.
Steaming, warm, sweet.

"Here you go." Dad passes me a mug full of thick, pale sludge. It
smells so strong my eyes start watering.

"I put honey in there because I know you like things sweet."

What is it with putting honey in drinks to sweeten them? Just put in
God-given sugar for Pete's sake.

"Thanks," I say, because I'm nice. I take a sip and gag, but disguise it
as a cough, which is a bad idea.

"Oh land. You're coughing now. This is not good. Not good at all."
He leaves the room and comes back with his hands full of antibacterial
room spray, hand gel, and wipes. He sets to work immediately, wiping
down door handles, spraying the nose-tickling stuff in my face, and
smothering my hands with the goop.

Yuck.

Friday ends with a hot bath and then another round from the sanitation department of my household. I get in bed and don't move the whole
night - mostly because the glop didn't dry completely and is now stuck
to the sheets.

Monday morning I wake up feeling convicted.

I hate it when that happens.

Stephen Weatherby has to know how casually I'm approaching this.
Period. No exceptions.

I slide out of bed and pludge to the bathroom.

Here's what I like to do: Make up words. Pludge: (v) The halfwalking, half-dragging of oneself. Designated for sleepiness, laziness,
and Laurie-ness.

I brush my teeth and decide to skip the hair regimen. I believe ponytail elastics exist to show the kindness of God.

Dad is halfway through the paper, and my breakfast is on the table.

"Morning, Honey. Are you feeling better yet? Here, take this." He
hands me two caplets of vitamin C, three immune-building pills, and a
mug of muck.

"Thanks, Dad."

Even though this is the fourth cup of gag-me stuff I've had in the
past four days, I still swallow it with difficulty and wash it down with
four cups of coffee and two bowls of Coco-Odies.

Coco-Odies: The only cereal where you can actually OD on chocolate. I'm pretty sure that's how the name was picked.

"Bye, Dad."

"Have a good day at work, Laurie-girl."

I walk into work at nine o'clock and fourteen seconds, cringing, my ears
preparing themselves for the verbal lashing I have coming.

"Morning, Laurie."

"Hey, Hannah."

I look around. "Where's Ruby?" I ask. Again.

Hannah brushes her hair out of her eyes. "She's getting Studio Two
ready for ... never mind."

Ruby comes around the corner, tugging self-consciously at her hair.
"Laurie. Hi."

Her hair! I gaze in inanimate wonder at the short, sassy bob cut and
highlighting done on Ruby's used-to-be-plain, past-her-shoulders hair.