A Table By the Window (32 page)

“I guess we'll see how sturdy the china is,” Carley said lightly, handing Edward his change. She escorted them to the door with thanks and, not taking the time to lock it, turned and made for the kitchen.

Brooke burst through the doors when Carley was but five feet away, and hurried past.

“Brooke?” Carley said.

The girl turned, eyeliner smudged across crimson cheeks. “I'm sorry, Carley!”

By the time Carley reached the door, Brooke was pedaling away.

Troy and Paula had come into the dining room.

“She called Danyell the n-word,” Troy said.

Carley groaned. “Oh no…”

In the kitchen, Danyell and Lisa were on their knees before the sink, picking up shards of china.

“My fault,” Danyell said, her own face wet with tears. “I was handing her some dishes, and let go too soon.”

“That's no excuse for name calling,” Paula said.

Carley nodded thanks at Rachel, returning from the storeroom with a broom and dustpan. “I'm so sorry, Danyell. Here now, move back and let us get it, okay?”

It was fortunate that tomorrow was Sunday. Two days to find someone else. Carley had not been overly impressed with the applicants whose files were in her office, but if they could wash dishes and refrain from using racial epithets, she would have to be satisfied.

Danyell got to her feet, wiped her eyes with the napkin Troy handed her. “She was worn out.”

“We're all worn out,” Carley said. “But she's gone.”

****

“How do you get along with people of other races?” Carley asked twenty-two-year-old Renee Brown, whose inch-long multicolored nails were out of proportion with her petite body. Hopefully they were not attached with superglue, for there was no way on earth she was going to be able to wear a pair of rubber gloves.

“You mean…black people?”

“Well, in this case, yes.” Tallulah had only one Hispanic family, the Murillos, who raised cattle on a small acreage out on Highway 42. The only Asian residents were the two young girls that the bank manager, Eric Baker, and his wife had adopted from China.

“I get along fine with everybody,” Renee said, her voice high-pitched like a little girl's. “My mama taught me that. You treat other people like you want them to treat you.”

Some of the tension eased from Carley's shoulders. “Very good, Renee. I'll let you know by morning.”

But her application revealed something odd, Carley realized after giving it closer attention. No local references, just the manager of a furniture store in Hattiesburg and an instructor at Jones Junior College in Ellisville.

Neither reference existed, she discovered by making some inquiries with telephone book in hand Monday morning. She was curious enough to call Dale in his office.

“Renee Brown? Throw the application away, Carley. Better yet, burn it. We've arrested her five times for shoplifting.”

“You're kidding.”

“She's banned from every shop in town.”

Carley breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Dale.”

“Anytime.” He hesitated. “I've given you some space so you could focus on training and your grand opening but I'd sure like to spend some time with you. Are you up for pasta and a movie on my big screen this evening?”

“It's not
Batman
or anything like that, is it?”

“No way,” he drawled. “
Especially
not
Batman
. What kind of superpower does he have? A utility belt and fancy car? And don't get me started on Robin, with his prissy little outfit.”

“Okay, okay,” Carley said, smiling. “May I let you know? It depends on if I find a dishwasher by evening.”

“Then I'll think positive thoughts. What's your favorite movie?”

Carley thought for a second. “
The Last of the Mohicans
.”

“Whoa! Great choice. Now, get busy rustling up a dishwasher so I won't have to watch it alone.”

“All right.”

But first, she had to telephone Renee Brown, as promised. The woman reinforced Dale's evaluation of her by exclaiming, “Two interviews and I still don't get the job? I ought to come up there and tear your—”

“I'll have you arrested if you come near me,” Carley said, replacing the receiver with pulse racing.

Besides four applications from high schoolers seeking only part-time work, there was only Gaye Archer, who had complained during her initial interview about how badly she wanted to quit the video store she was employed in because a “pimply-faced college kid” was promoted manager over her.

“Great, just great,” Carley muttered, tossing and palming her key chain. She flipped through the Hattiesburg Yellow Pages to a category she never imagined she would have to look up so soon.
Temporary Employment Agencies
.

However much stress this situation induced, it was mingled with relief that she had followed Aunt Helen's advice about not inviting Brooke to live with her.

The buzzer sounded. Carley walked through the storeroom and paused at the delivery door. She called, “Who is it?”

“It's Danyell.”

“I came to ask you to give Brooke another chance,” Danyell said in the office.

“But why would you want that?” Carley asked. “You have no guarantee it won't happen again.”

She nodded understanding. “Carley, the word she used is one of the biggest insults you can give a person of color. But she's young, and I've heard what her homelife is like. How's she gonna learn how to act right, if people don't give her another chance?”

Carley sighed, realized she was jangling her keys again, and set them back upon her desk. “She
was
a hard worker.”

“
I
couldn't have stood at the sink all day like that.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely sure.”

“You're incredibly gracious,” Carley said.

“Not really.” Danyell returned her smile. “In fact, I'm being a little selfish. When I'm on my knees asking God to watch over my Curtis in Iraq, I want my prayers to get through. I don't want my own unforgiveness comin' between Him and me.”

Carley was touched in spite of the discomfort over having Danyell bring up spiritual matters. “I
still
say you're gracious. But if Brooke ruins this chance, you can forgive her all you want, but she won't come back.”

She waited until 10:30 to dial the Kimball number, hoping Mr. Kimball would not bawl her out again. But it was a woman's voice on the line, shrill and grating.

“Brooke ain't here. She toted some clothes over to the washer-teria on that bike. If ye see her, tell her she fergot the soap powder here on the table.”

“When did she leave?”

“I don't know. Ten minutes ago? Ig-nert girl would ferget her head.”

Carley went next door to the drugstore and paid almost twice as much for a small box of Gain than the Dollar General would have charged. She walked a block down Main. No bicycle was parked outside Kangaroo Washaroo. The only person inside was the woman attendant, who sent her an apologetic little wave from the half-door in back and resumed talking on the telephone. A dryer made muffled clanking noises, as if a pair of tennis shoes had gotten mixed-up in the laundry. The place smelled of bleach and detergent, not unpleasantly, though Carley could feel the humidity frizzing the ends of her hair.

“You need some help, honey?” the attendant called with hand over the receiver.

“No, thank you.”

From a metal chair she kept watch through the window. Three minutes passed, and then she could see Brooke walking her bicycle, one hand holding steady the white bundle bulging in the basket. Carley opened the door.

“Carley,” Brooke said thickly.

“Hi, Brooke.”

Inside, the girl dropped the bundle to the tile floor, shook her head. “I'm so sorry I ruined your first day.”

Carley shrugged. “It wasn't ruined. It just didn't end very well. Would you like to come back?”

Hope diluted the misery in the green eyes, just a little. “Are you kidding?”

“I wouldn't kid about this. Danyell came over to plead your case, by the way.”

Brooke's mouth parted. “I can't believe it.”

“The question is…can you restrain yourself from any more scenes?”

“Yes! Oh, Miss Reed, I've beat myself up a hundred times for that.”

But Carley was not quite ready to close the deal. “What you called Danyell…”

The girl's cheeks flushed. “I know.”

“That can't happen again, Brooke.”

“It won't. I promise.”

“Well, maybe it would help if you stopped thinking of her
that way
. And again, if it weren't for Danyell, I wouldn't be here right now.”

Brooke nodded gravely. “I want to tell her I'm sorry. Do you know where she lives?”

“Save it for tomorrow. Let her enjoy the rest of her day off.” Carley motioned toward the bag in the chair. “By the way, I brought you some detergent.”

****

“Just like that?” Dale said, rinsing a colander of whole-wheat penne pasta, cooked al dente.

With a knife tip, Carley scooped the liquid and seeds from a large quartered tomato. Six pods of garlic lay in a corner of the cutting board, waiting to be minced. “Well, there's more to it than that. She's on probation.”

“I hope she's learned her lesson.” He began wiping baby portobello mushrooms with a wet paper towel. “But you'd better have a backup plan this time.”

“Well, Uncle Rory offered to come help me out.”

When Dale gave her a sidelong look, she smiled back. “Don't worry. I would hire Renee Brown before I did that to him.”

In a large high-sided skillet he sautéed the garlic in olive oil before adding the minced tomato, chopped mushrooms, and several shredded basil leaves. A small bottle of drained capers came next, then he added the pasta to the pan and tossed it until the mixture was warm.

“I bought parmesan cheese too,” Dale said, taking the glasses from the cabinet. “Just in case you want it on yours.”

“You did that for me?”

“Yes. I violated the sanctity of my refrigerator with a dairy product.”

She wondered if all men were so thoughtful. They carried their plates and iced tea into the living room, and Dale loaded the movie into the VCR. The first scene, of Hawkeye and his adopted father and brother chasing a deer through a forest, stirred a memory.

“I'd like to see your land,” she said.

“Why?”

“Well, just because. It must be pretty, if you plan to build on it.”

“It's a long way from being ready for that.” He sighed. “Okay, I'll take you to have a look sometime. But you'll be disappointed.”

The movie rolled on. He paused it when the telephone rang.

“A big day here in the sticks,” he said, replacing the receiver. “Lassie comes home.”

When she gave him a blank look, he said, “Lassie. It was this dog…”

“I
know
who Lassie was.”

“Sorry. That was Marti, reporting that a farmer on Rocky Branch Road caught a boxer puppy that had escaped from his owners on Fourth Street.”

Carley rose and picked up the two plates. “That's good to hear.”

“I'll get the glasses. It's just not very exciting.”

She turned. “Well, then, here, take the plates instead.”

He laughed. “You know what I meant. I'll bet the San Francisco Police Department doesn't get calls about stray dogs.”

“San Francisco has over seven hundred thousand people, Dale.” She rinsed the plates under the tap. “But if you want more excitement, why don't you move? You didn't commit to a certain length of time here, did you?”

“Well, no.”

“With your resumé, I'll bet you could go anywhere. You might have to start lower than chief, but if it's excitement you want…”

“Excitement's not everything.” He handed her the towel. “I'm just grousing about my job, like most fellows do now and then. Don't pay me any mind.”

“All right.” She dried her hands. “I
could
rob the bank for you.”

That made him laugh again. His smile remained as he met her eyes. “You're good for me, Carley. You know that?”

She could feel warmth in her face. “Thank you.”

“Hence, another reason for me to stay in Tallulah.”

He looked seriously poised to kiss her. The quickening of her heartbeat signaled it would not be such a bad thing to happen. She thought of what Aunt Helen had said about moving too quickly. One kiss, and their relationship would jump to another level. If she decided later it was a mistake, there could be no going back to the comfortable friendship they enjoyed now.

She broke eye contact, folded the towel, and set it on the cabinet, pretending not to be aware of what had just transpired between them, even though the knowledge hung heavy in the air.

After the movie he walked her out to her car. And then he did kiss her. On the cheek. Casually, lightly. As one friend might kiss another, but with a smile that said he understood what she was going through. That meant more to her than any passionate kiss at the kitchen sink would have meant.

And he bought parmesan cheese,
she thought, backing out of the driveway, watching him raise a farewell hand in the perimeter of his porch light.

****

Brooke arrived at work Tuesday with a package about half the size of a shoe box, wrapped in pink paper sprigged with violets. “It's for Danyell,” she explained sheepishly. “I wanted to buy you one too, but you said not to give you gifts.”

Maybe this was going to work out after all. Carley smiled approval. “Danyell's the one who deserves it anyway. That was very thoughtful of you, Brooke.”

The girl shrugged but looked relieved, and she took her uniform into the restroom to change.