Promise Me A Rainbow (34 page)

She looked up briefly, then away, and she continued to stand in the doorway.

“I’m . . . okay,” she said finally. “I’m still taking medicine. It doesn’t taste very good.”

“Well, it’s working, at least. You look a lot better than you did last Sunday. Come in and sit down. That’s a long climb and you’ve been sick.”

Fritz nodded. She
was
tired, but she was more worried about what to tell Catherine when she asked about Joe. She didn’t know what she should say. Joe wouldn’t tell her
anything
, not even when she asked. He just kept having arguments on the telephone with Della; he’d had one with her right before they left to come here. When they got here, he’d just said, “I’m not coming in with you” when he’d pulled up out front—and that didn’t seem the right thing to tell Catherine. She thought that Catherine would ask why, and there was no
why
as far as Fritz could see. He just wouldn’t come in. She really thought that he’d only promised to let her come see the gnomes because she’d been sick last Sunday and, if he hadn’t promised, she wouldn’t be here at all.

“What’s the weather like outside?” Catherine asked, helping her off with her coat.

“Cold. It’s going to rain again.”

“Hot chocolate weather, do you think?”

Fritz looked up at her. Maybe Catherine wouldn’t ask. “It’s
especially
hot chocolate weather.”

“Well, then, you go make yourself comfortable, and I’ll make it.”

Fritz didn’t offer to help. Catherine was wondering where Joe was, she could tell. Her eyes were all disappointed, and she’d looked twice down the stairs before she closed the door. Right now she was like Brenda from the office or Aunt Margaret when they expected Joe to be around and he wasn’t, only so far Catherine hadn’t said anything.

Fritz thought she had better say what she was supposed to say now. “Catherine, Mrs. Webber is going to pick me up when she closes the store.”

There was a pause before Catherine called to her from the kitchen. “All right,” she said, but something about the way the words came out made Fritz think it wasn’t “all right” at all.

She gave a soft sigh and pulled the afghan with the pink flowers down off the back of the couch so she could arrange it over her legs when she sat down. She reached for the gnomes, and she picked out just the place where she wanted to sit. She thought that she was going to feel better here, that the feeling she’d had ever since Della had run away would be gone. It felt like she’d done something wrong, and she was sorry for it, only she didn’t know what it was. She knew that it had something to do with this business with Della; she just didn’t know how to fix it.

She got comfortable, the way Catherine had said to do. She had the afghan spread over her legs and she was holding Daisy and Eric close. But it wasn’t enough. It just wasn’t enough.

Fritz sat very still, waiting for Catherine to come in. When she finally did, she had the two Blue Willow mugs of hot chocolate on a silver tray, just the way they did it on television. They
always
took things to eat and drink into the living room on a silver tray.

“I thought we’d be special,” Catherine told her. “These napkins I embroidered when I was a little girl. My grandmother and I used to work on them on summer afternoons. We’d sit on the porch in the shade, and she’d try to show me how not to make such a mess with my stitches. I wasn’t very good, but I liked for my grandmother to teach me the things her grandmother had taught her. It always made me feel as if I knew all those long-ago women in my family, because they’d learned to do it just like I was learning.”

Fritz took one of the cloth napkins. Catherine was telling her things again, special things about when she was a little girl. She loved to hear about that, and she wanted to tell her so, but somehow no words came.

The napkin was stiff and crisp, and it had pale blue and pink flowers embroidered on it. The thread was shiny and thick, and she touched a flower gently with her fingertip. She could feel Catherine looking at her, and she bowed her head. She spread the napkin on top of her lap, and she kept her eyes on the gnomes. She was feeling so sad again, and she didn’t know what she might do if she looked up.

Catherine set the tray aside. “Fritz,” she said, her voice soft and quiet.

Fritz kept her head down, and she clutched the gnomes tightly. But they weren’t helping. Daisy and Eric weren’t helping at all.

She looked up at Catherine. “Catherine,” she said, surprised at how her voice sounded. She didn’t sound like herself at all. She sounded like she had on Monday, when her throat was so sore. Her throat hurt now, but it wasn’t the same kind of hurting. Her throat
hurt
, and her eyes burned.

“What is it, Fritz?”

“Can you—” she looked down at the gnomes “—be like a mother?”

She was afraid to look at Catherine. She was afraid that Catherine wouldn’t understand, that she’d have to explain it, and if she had to do that, she’d cry like a little kid. Only she
was
crying—and it must be because Catherine
did
understand—because Catherine sat down on the couch with her and held her arms out, just like mothers were supposed to do. She let Fritz crawl into her lap—afghan, gnomes, and all. She didn’t try to make her say what was wrong or anything like that. They just sat together for a long, long time, until Fritz grew quiet.

“This is where Joe always says I need to go wash my face,” Fritz offered when she knew she’d cried enough. She sat up and sniffed loudly. It surprised her to see that Catherine had been crying, too. “I guess we both felt bad, didn’t we?”

Catherine smiled. “I guess we did. Well. Let’s go wash our faces. I think that’s the best thing we can do.”

Catherine’s bathroom was small and had plants growing everywhere, and she gave Fritz a special washcloth and towel, thick blue ones with bands of white flowery lace across the ends.

“Are you going to tell Joe I cried?” she asked when they both had clean faces.

Catherine led the way back into the living room. She picked up the tray to carry it into the kitchen, and Fritz followed after her.

“Well, I think if he knew, he could help you with whatever the problem is,” Catherine said as she poured the hot chocolate back into a saucepan to reheat.

Fritz thought about this. “It would just worry him,” she decided. “He’s worried enough about Della.”

Catherine looked around at her. “What’s wrong with Della?”

It was all right to say. Fritz knew it was. Catherine was really and truly just like a mother. It would be all right for her to know.

“She ran away on Monday. She left school, and then Joe found her hanging out at the Cotton Exchange. But then she really ran away, and Joe couldn’t find her. He says it was a pretend running away. He thinks Aunt Margaret sent her someplace so he wouldn’t know where she was. He was really mad.”

“Is she . . . at home now?”

“No, she’s at Uncle Michael and Aunt Margaret’s house. She won’t come home. Joe’s trying to get her to, but she won’t as long as he—” Fritz stopped. She didn’t want to say that part of it.

“As long as he what, Fritz?”

Fritz shrugged instead of answering. “Is the hot chocolate ready?”

Catherine lifted the pan off the stove. “As long as he what, Fritz?”

Fritz looked up at her. This must be like a real mother, too, she thought. Catherine wasn’t being like Brenda or Aunt Margaret now. She wasn’t asking one thing so she could find out something else. Catherine wanted an answer, and she meant for Fritz to give one.

“Tell me, Fritz. As long as he what?”

“Likes you,” she said, because she couldn’t see a way out of it. She watched Catherine’s face. It didn’t change much, just enough to make her feel worried again.

Catherine poured the hot chocolate back into the cups and set them on the kitchen table.

“I don’t have any ice cream,” she said, and Fritz nodded.

“That’s okay, Catherine. It’s still good.”

But Catherine wasn’t listening to her. Fritz could tell that she wasn’t listening. Catherine sat down at the table and took a sip of the hot chocolate.

“Fritz, I’m sorry to cause you all this trouble,” she said after what seemed a long time.

“It’s Della,” Fritz said, because that was the one thing she was sure about. “You can’t help it.”

Catherine looked at her and smiled. “Yes, honey, I can.”

He stopped trying to kiss her and leaned back, his eyes searching hers. He was annoyed. He knew that it showed, and he couldn’t help it. She’d come all the way out here so that they could
talk
? He needed her, and somehow she didn’t see it. Or she didn’t care.

“So talk,” he said, stepping away from her.

She didn’t say anything. She looked around the makeshift trailer office instead.

“New car?” he asked, showing her he could make conversation if that was what she wanted.

“No, it’s Pat Bauer’s. Joe . . . ?”

“What, Catherine?” She was standing just close enough for him to smell her perfume. Or was it
her
scent? Whatever it was, it was making him crazy. He fiddled with some papers on the worktable so he could keep his hands off her. “What?”

The trailer door suddenly opened and Michael came in. He looked from one of them to the other, and he gave Catherine the barest of nods. But he said nothing to either of them. He pulled out the top drawer of the only filing cabinet D’Amaro Brothers had and began searching through some of the folders.

“I want to talk to Catherine,” Joe said to him.

“I’m looking for something Brenda needs at the main office,” Michael replied, clearly making no effort to take the hint and leave them alone.

“Catherine hasn’t done anything, Michael,” Joe said.

Catherine put her hand on his arm. “Don’t. This wasn’t a good idea. I’ll see you some other time—”

“No, you won’t. We’re going to talk now.” To hell with Michael, he thought. Apparently he was as malleable as Della when it came to having his opinion shaped. Thanks to Margaret his brother had somehow forgotten that a few days ago he’d liked the idea of little Joey and Catherine Holben being together.

Joe opened the trailer door for her and followed her outside. Catherine intended to leave, but he took her by the hand, making her walk along with him toward the beach. The wind was strong, flattening the sea oats and whipping the water rough and gray. He could taste the salt on his lips, and a few gulls hung motionless overhead, held aloft by the strong air currents that came off the ocean. He slowed his pace because Catherine was having difficulty walking in the sand in high heels, and he led her down the dune onto the beach. The dune was long and sloping and offered little shelter from the wind. He kept thinking about the day he’d brought her and Fritz here. In his mind’s eye he could see the two of them, laughing, running along the beach together.