Read Online A Dad for Billie by Susan Mallery - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Mallery
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can’t make me.”
“Your grandmother went to a lot of trouble to find one that matched that dress.”
“I know, but it’s dumb looking.” Billie planted her hands on her hips. “I don’t think God cares if I wear a dress to church or not.”
“We dress nicely to show respect,” Jane answered, trying not to smile at the familiar argument.
“Maybe.” Her daughter brushed her bangs out of her face. “But I
know
he doesn’t need me to wear a hat.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s got ribbons and flowers. People will laugh at me.”
“You’d look very pretty.”
Billie opened her mouth wide and made a gagging noise, showing exactly what she thought of looking pretty.
Jane sighed. Compromise. It was the first rule of parenting. “You don’t have to wear the hat.”
“Whew. Thanks, Mom.” Billie spun in a circle. The hem of her dress flared out exposing the denim shorts she wore underneath. “I’ll even leave my softball at home.”
“Thank you.” Her gaze drifted past her daughter’s bare legs down to sneaker-clad feet. “But you have to change your shoes.”
“I’m not wearing those patent leather things. Yuk.”
“Sandals are fine.”
“Okay.” Billie dashed from the room.
Jane picked up the brush. She’d given up trying to get Billie not to run in the house. As long as nothing terribly expensive was in danger of being broken, it wasn’t worth the fight. Besides, the kid had way too much energy.
She smiled fondly as she remembered her own childhood. Being a tomboy had never been a question, let alone a problem. No, she had been a typical girl. Dolls and books, quiet games with two or three friends and little time outdoors. She hadn’t even learned to swim until she was almost twelve.
Her fingers nimbly worked with her hair as her eyes drifted half-closed and she remembered the muggy heat of that summer, when the temperature alone had driven her to the local swimming hole. The big kids—the teenagers—had taken over one side, but the rest belonged to everyone else. Jane had stayed in the shallow part, dangling her feet while she sat on a fallen log. The combination of sun and friends and laughter had wooed her into relaxing. Then she’d seen him.
Goose bumps erupted on her skin as she remembered looking up and seeing a boy—a young man really—poised at the top of a platform one of the fathers had constructed. With the sun in her eyes, she hadn’t been able to see his face, but she’d watched him dive cleanly into the water, barely making any splash at all. He’d surfaced close to where she sat.
When he’d gotten out, water streaming off his developed and tanned body, and laughed, she’d found herself giggling with him. Their eyes had met. Adam, she’d thought with some surprise. The boy who lived next door. But he wasn’t a boy anymore. He’d shaken himself then, spraying her with water, and had invited her to jump off the platform with him.
She refused. She couldn’t swim. Instead of mocking her like the other boys had, he’d held out his hand and led her to a quiet cove. He’d taught her to swim that summer, Jane remembered, finishing the braid and clipping a silk rose at the bottom. Slowly,patiently. He’d been a football player in the fall, a swimmer in the spring at high school. He’d been to the state championships once. A jock. Nothing like her. At eighteen, he’d been a prize catch in a small town like Orchard. She smoothed down her dress and allowed herself a bittersweet smile. He would have been a prize catch anywhere. And despite the other teenage girls ready and willing to spend their days with him, he’d taken the time to teach his twelve-year-old neighbor to swim.
A scholar, an athlete and a gentleman. Her heart never had a chance. He was her first crush. It had been as inevitable as the coastal tide. Her desires had been unfocused, just vague longings that had made her heart beat faster whenever she saw him. It wasn’t until high school that
“Your grandmother went to a lot of trouble to find one that matched that dress.”
“I know, but it’s dumb looking.” Billie planted her hands on her hips. “I don’t think God cares if I wear a dress to church or not.”
“We dress nicely to show respect,” Jane answered, trying not to smile at the familiar argument.
“Maybe.” Her daughter brushed her bangs out of her face. “But I
know
he doesn’t need me to wear a hat.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s got ribbons and flowers. People will laugh at me.”
“You’d look very pretty.”
Billie opened her mouth wide and made a gagging noise, showing exactly what she thought of looking pretty.
Jane sighed. Compromise. It was the first rule of parenting. “You don’t have to wear the hat.”
“Whew. Thanks, Mom.” Billie spun in a circle. The hem of her dress flared out exposing the denim shorts she wore underneath. “I’ll even leave my softball at home.”
“Thank you.” Her gaze drifted past her daughter’s bare legs down to sneaker-clad feet. “But you have to change your shoes.”
“I’m not wearing those patent leather things. Yuk.”
“Sandals are fine.”
“Okay.” Billie dashed from the room.
Jane picked up the brush. She’d given up trying to get Billie not to run in the house. As long as nothing terribly expensive was in danger of being broken, it wasn’t worth the fight. Besides, the kid had way too much energy.
She smiled fondly as she remembered her own childhood. Being a tomboy had never been a question, let alone a problem. No, she had been a typical girl. Dolls and books, quiet games with two or three friends and little time outdoors. She hadn’t even learned to swim until she was almost twelve.
Her fingers nimbly worked with her hair as her eyes drifted half-closed and she remembered the muggy heat of that summer, when the temperature alone had driven her to the local swimming hole. The big kids—the teenagers—had taken over one side, but the rest belonged to everyone else. Jane had stayed in the shallow part, dangling her feet while she sat on a fallen log. The combination of sun and friends and laughter had wooed her into relaxing. Then she’d seen him.
Goose bumps erupted on her skin as she remembered looking up and seeing a boy—a young man really—poised at the top of a platform one of the fathers had constructed. With the sun in her eyes, she hadn’t been able to see his face, but she’d watched him dive cleanly into the water, barely making any splash at all. He’d surfaced close to where she sat.
When he’d gotten out, water streaming off his developed and tanned body, and laughed, she’d found herself giggling with him. Their eyes had met. Adam, she’d thought with some surprise. The boy who lived next door. But he wasn’t a boy anymore. He’d shaken himself then, spraying her with water, and had invited her to jump off the platform with him.
She refused. She couldn’t swim. Instead of mocking her like the other boys had, he’d held out his hand and led her to a quiet cove. He’d taught her to swim that summer, Jane remembered, finishing the braid and clipping a silk rose at the bottom. Slowly,patiently. He’d been a football player in the fall, a swimmer in the spring at high school. He’d been to the state championships once. A jock. Nothing like her. At eighteen, he’d been a prize catch in a small town like Orchard. She smoothed down her dress and allowed herself a bittersweet smile. He would have been a prize catch anywhere. And despite the other teenage girls ready and willing to spend their days with him, he’d taken the time to teach his twelve-year-old neighbor to swim.
A scholar, an athlete and a gentleman. Her heart never had a chance. He was her first crush. It had been as inevitable as the coastal tide. Her desires had been unfocused, just vague longings that had made her heart beat faster whenever she saw him. It wasn’t until high school that
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