made the now more-or-less lavender sheets kind of spotty.
Of course, the one sheet that had fallen on the ground was worse. It had dried
with strange ridges of color where the dye had collected in the folds.
She sighed. It would just have to be re-dyed with the next
batch. The color was a little darker. Hopefully it would hide the worst of the
jagged purple stripes. If not…. Maybe they only needed
eleven tablecloths.
* * *
Big John had exaggerated slightly when he said he recalled
how to make his wife’s orange pudding cake. He had the general idea—two boxes
of vanilla pudding and one can of frozen orange juice—it was just the other
ingredients and proportions of the things he didn’t quite remember that were a
little hazy.
Still, he had a couple of days to experiment. He should be
able to figure it out in time.
First off, he would need the big mixing bowl. He wondered
where Judy had put it. And cake pans. He wasn’t entirely sure where they were
either. He hoped there were lots and round kinds. Wedding cakes were supposed
to be tall and cylindrical.
Chapter 5
Ricky and I were fishing while the Flowers had a nap. We were
using rods because the capture with the hands thing was hard to teach to an
active child, and the lake was far too cold to let a child play in anyway. At
least I thought it was. I hadn’t raised a kid before and tended to think of
them as being very physically fragile. Which was odd, because
as a kid I had played outside in all kinds of weather, usually without a jacket
because I wasn’t aware of much beyond my play. And
keeping an eye out for my father, or anyone who might be after my father.
“I don’t know if Daddy is coming back to our home. Do you
think he’ll come here, Butterstotch ?” Ricky asked
suddenly. Max was lying near the boy, maybe providing comfort. Maybe just waiting for fish lunch.
“Not if he’s smart,” I muttered and got a surprised look.
Butterstotch . I was
surrounded by males who couldn’t say my name. Butterstotch was kind of cute though.
“I don’t know if he’ll be coming back,” I said, opting for
honesty, though lying would be so much easier. “It might be best if he didn’t,
at least for a while.”
The thing about children who were raised like Ricky—like me—is
that we weren’t innocent. At least, we weren’t oblivious. And people pretending
that nothing was wrong, that there was no potential danger associated with our
parents, did nothing to reassure us. And it would be dangerous if it did make
us feel safe. Because we weren’t. Not entirely.
And we often have ambivalent feelings about our families—which
is okay because it shows we are sane, even if it makes everyone else
uncomfortable when we don’t send Christmas cards of the whole happy family.
Sometimes it isn’t possible to like your family because they are poison.
That’s hard to say to a five-year-old though, so most people
won’t do it.
“Would you be sad if you stayed here with Judy and Big John
instead of going back to LA?” I asked casually.
He thought about this.
“It’s very different. I have a bigger bedroom here and new
clothes.” He looked at his flannel shirt. I noticed that it was the same plaid
as the one Big John was wearing and wondered if the Flowers had chosen it
deliberately.
“That’s nice.”
“And I already have red hair.”
“Very true—and it’s a lovely shade of red.”
He nodded seriously.
“Big John says there are bears.” This was not said with
apprehension when perhaps it should be. But on the other hand, should I say
anything about the danger just yet…? Kids were really hard to figure out.
“Sometimes there are bears. They don’t come into town
though. At least they haven’t for a long time. Only in winter if there is early
snow and they haven’t gone to sleep yet.”
“I’ve never seen snow.”
“It’s really pretty. Really cold.”
“Wendell said I could have a puppy if Judy
Of course, the one sheet that had fallen on the ground was worse. It had dried
with strange ridges of color where the dye had collected in the folds.
She sighed. It would just have to be re-dyed with the next
batch. The color was a little darker. Hopefully it would hide the worst of the
jagged purple stripes. If not…. Maybe they only needed
eleven tablecloths.
* * *
Big John had exaggerated slightly when he said he recalled
how to make his wife’s orange pudding cake. He had the general idea—two boxes
of vanilla pudding and one can of frozen orange juice—it was just the other
ingredients and proportions of the things he didn’t quite remember that were a
little hazy.
Still, he had a couple of days to experiment. He should be
able to figure it out in time.
First off, he would need the big mixing bowl. He wondered
where Judy had put it. And cake pans. He wasn’t entirely sure where they were
either. He hoped there were lots and round kinds. Wedding cakes were supposed
to be tall and cylindrical.
Chapter 5
Ricky and I were fishing while the Flowers had a nap. We were
using rods because the capture with the hands thing was hard to teach to an
active child, and the lake was far too cold to let a child play in anyway. At
least I thought it was. I hadn’t raised a kid before and tended to think of
them as being very physically fragile. Which was odd, because
as a kid I had played outside in all kinds of weather, usually without a jacket
because I wasn’t aware of much beyond my play. And
keeping an eye out for my father, or anyone who might be after my father.
“I don’t know if Daddy is coming back to our home. Do you
think he’ll come here, Butterstotch ?” Ricky asked
suddenly. Max was lying near the boy, maybe providing comfort. Maybe just waiting for fish lunch.
“Not if he’s smart,” I muttered and got a surprised look.
Butterstotch . I was
surrounded by males who couldn’t say my name. Butterstotch was kind of cute though.
“I don’t know if he’ll be coming back,” I said, opting for
honesty, though lying would be so much easier. “It might be best if he didn’t,
at least for a while.”
The thing about children who were raised like Ricky—like me—is
that we weren’t innocent. At least, we weren’t oblivious. And people pretending
that nothing was wrong, that there was no potential danger associated with our
parents, did nothing to reassure us. And it would be dangerous if it did make
us feel safe. Because we weren’t. Not entirely.
And we often have ambivalent feelings about our families—which
is okay because it shows we are sane, even if it makes everyone else
uncomfortable when we don’t send Christmas cards of the whole happy family.
Sometimes it isn’t possible to like your family because they are poison.
That’s hard to say to a five-year-old though, so most people
won’t do it.
“Would you be sad if you stayed here with Judy and Big John
instead of going back to LA?” I asked casually.
He thought about this.
“It’s very different. I have a bigger bedroom here and new
clothes.” He looked at his flannel shirt. I noticed that it was the same plaid
as the one Big John was wearing and wondered if the Flowers had chosen it
deliberately.
“That’s nice.”
“And I already have red hair.”
“Very true—and it’s a lovely shade of red.”
He nodded seriously.
“Big John says there are bears.” This was not said with
apprehension when perhaps it should be. But on the other hand, should I say
anything about the danger just yet…? Kids were really hard to figure out.
“Sometimes there are bears. They don’t come into town
though. At least they haven’t for a long time. Only in winter if there is early
snow and they haven’t gone to sleep yet.”
“I’ve never seen snow.”
“It’s really pretty. Really cold.”
“Wendell said I could have a puppy if Judy
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