In Between (28 page)

Sam clears his throat. “Um . . . er, uh . . . Maxine here was just bringing us some cookies. Weren’t you?”

Maxine proudly holds out a plate of cookies, partially covered by foil. “These just came out of the oven. Take one now, everyone. I insist!”

Sam looks at me. “Ladies first.”

“No, no. Age before . . . reformed, rebellious foster kid.”

Maxine shoves the plate closer to Sam. “Come on now, fresh, warm cookies.” She bats her mascara coated eyelashes.

“Katie’s worked so hard lately, I want her to have the first one, Maxine.”

“No, thank you.” I’m not risking my life with that woman’s baking.

Maxine sniffs indignantly. “I didn’t say they came out of
my
oven.”

Oh. That changes everything.

My hand collides with Sam’s as we make a dive for the goods.

“Who made these?” I ask, my mouth full.

“Patricia Rigglebottom. As you may or may not know, I am the coordinator for the Shady Acres Harvest Ball, and Patricia is a member of the food committee. We are considering her cookies for the event, and she brought over a sample, which I wanted to share.” Maxine’s cheeks glow pink. “Share with Millie, of course. To get her opinion. She said she’d help me with the ball, and I thought she might be here.”

“Yes, imagine running into Sam here instead. Crazy, crazy coincidence, huh?”

Maxine jerks the cookie out of my hand midbite. “Go scrub some toilets or something, would you?”

“Well, I am pleased to see you, Maxine,” Sam says, his evident hope making the man look almost silly.

“Thank you, Samuel. Good to see you. I didn’t know you’d be here.” Maxine elbows me in the ribs. “But I would appreciate a man’s opinion of these snickerdoodles. Tell me, is there enough sugar?”

“He definitely needs more
sugar
, Maxine.”

I’m rewarded with a heel stamped on my toe.

Sam takes off his hat, as I’ve found he does in times of stress, and wipes his nearly bald head. “These cookies are fine. Just fine. God bless the hands that made them. And the hands that brought them.”

“Well now, isn’t that nice?” Maxine giggles. “Isn’t that just the sweetest, Katie?”

Stay down, cookies. Stay down.

“I guess there will be some fine eats at the Harvest Ball this year—with you in charge, Maxine.”

“Sam, you are such the gentleman. Yes, I think we’ll have some wonderful food there.”

“If you would like . . . well, I was wondering . . .”

“Yes?” Maxine coos, and she and I both lean in.

“Er . . . if no one else has asked you . . .” Sam swallows. “Would you like, um . . . Oh, shoot! I gotta go! How did the time get away from me? Oh, no, I . . . uh . . .”

I don’t know if you can freak out when you’re a senior citizen, but that’s definitely what I would call what Sam is doing. Maxine looks to me for help, but I just shrug.

Sam takes off his hat, this time to tip it like an English gent, “I must . . . run an errand.”

And the white-haired carpenter jets out like his overalls are on fire.

Again.

Hmm, very interesting indeed.

Maxine clutches her cookie plate to her ample bosom and her eyes narrow. “What, pray tell, just happened?”

“I don’t know. He did the same thing a few days ago.”

“Left? Left at this particular time?” She consults her rhinestone-crusted watch. “At four thirty?”

I pause. How much do I tell? I don’t want to get poor Sam in trouble. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Something doesn’t smell right here.”

“I totally agree.” I sniff my foster granny. “I think you have on way too much perfume.”

“No! I mean with Sam.”

Oh. Right.

“Well, for one thing, the poor guy was trying to ask you out for the Harvest Ball, and—”

“Shh!” Maxine waves her hands in front of my face. “I think I hear Millie.”

Sure enough, my foster mom, juggling bags of supplies from the hardware store, appears at the door and knocks on it with her foot to get our attention.

Maxine puts the clutch of death on my arm. “Don’t say a word. You got me, Sweet Pea?”

Bang! Bang!

“Not a single word.” Maxine’s voice sizzles as she backs up and opens the door for her daughter. “Millie, dear! What a wonderful surprise to see you!”

I intercept Millie and take some of the bags out of her hands. She catches my eye, waiting for me to translate her mother’s odd behavior. Yeah, that’ll be the day. There isn’t a decoder ring in existence that could explain that woman.

“This is my theatre, Mother. Of course I’d be here. What are you doing here?”

Maxine falters, but she plods on. “You were going to help me with the Harvest Ball, remember? I have so many decisions I have to make by tomorrow, and I desperately need your help.”

“Okay, sure.” Millie runs a hand through her hair. “Katie, I don’t know what Sam wants you doing today. Is he around?”

“He had to go, but he didn’t get to show me exactly what to do. He needed to run an errand.”

“Again?”

Maxine’s eye twitches, and I rub a hand over my grinning mouth.

Millie sighs. “I don’t have a clue what he wanted you to do, so why don’t we all take a seat in the theatre and watch the rehearsals, discuss the gala.”

We enter the theatre to find the cast gathering their belongings.

“See you tomorrow. And Stephanie, make sure you let us know next time you have a hair appointment.” Bev turns away from the actors and holds her script over her face, rambling incoherently.

Millie rushes to the flustered director and puts a gentle arm around her. “Bev, is everything okay here?”

“I don’t know, Millie. To be honest, I don’t know if we’re going to be ready for the opening.”

“But you
have
to be.” Millie’s voice rises in pitch.

“We need practice, practice, and more practice, but Romeo is often late due to baseball practice, our Nurse had to be out last week when her son had the chicken pox, and today Stephanie is leaving to take care of her split ends. It’s just not coming together.”

“Here, Katie.” Maxine scoots in, grabs Bev’s script and shoves it into my hands. “Here’s your job for today—Juliet.”

“Wh-wh-what? No way! I can’t go up there. I—”

“Oh, it would be
such
a help.” Relief softens Millie’s face. “You can read her lines, can’t you?”

“Oh, this girl reads like a dream. Millie, have I not been telling you what a beautiful job she does for me on Tuesdays? When she reads, the story just comes to—”

“Hey, Millie,” I say. “Did you know Maxine brought cookies for S—” Maxine shoves a snickerdoodle between my teeth. “
Oomph
. Nebbermindh.”

“We could really use your help.”

Bev nods in agreement with my foster mom, and I embrace the inevitable. The unavoidable.

“
All
right. Let me see the script.”

Bev squeals and returns to the stage to stop her cast from leaving.

“Come on, Millie. Let’s park it in a seat and discuss the Harvest Ball.”

Maxine wraps a bangled arm around her daughter and steers her away from where I’m standing. And fuming. My foster grandmother takes one final look and winks in ornery satisfaction.

“Break a leg, Toots.”

“M
y bounty is
as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”

“I have no idea what you just said, but Rocky seems entranced by it.”

Startled at the sound of James’s voice behind me, I fling my script across the room in a spastic motion and nearly fall off the bed.

“Oh, my gosh.” I hold my racing heart. “James, you scared me.”

On this early Sunday morning, my foster dad takes in the scene before him: me standing on my bed, a silk flower tucked in my hair. And Rocky, a shirt tied around him like a cape, sitting at attention, waiting for his next command.

“You’re kinda scaring me too. I did knock, but I guess you didn’t hear me.” He pats his dog on the head and walks across my bedroom to pick up my projectile script.

James reads the cover. “Ah,
Romeo and Juliet
. Of course. Great stuff.”

I know if I looked in the mirror right now my cheeks would be feverishly red, and my neck would probably be broken out in weird splotches like it does when I experience total, utter humiliation.

I sit down on the bed, very aware of how ridiculous I look (not to mention how I’ve shamed the family dog). “I . . . um, still have the script Bev gave me when I stepped in for Stephanie at rehearsal last week.”

And I like to dress up your dog and call him Romeo, and together we put on plays.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” James pulls out my desk chair and sits down, like he has all the time in the world. Like he doesn’t have to leave for church soon. “I heard you were some kind of wonderful on that stage.”

My blush intensifies. “I was wonderful?”

James smiles wide. “That’s the report I was given. I hear you can ‘wherefore art thou’ with the best of them. And you saved the practice.”

I was wonderful.

“Katie?”

“Oh. Right. Well, it was no big deal. You know, just glad to help out.”

James rolls his chair closer to me, his face serious. “Even Maxine was bragging on you, and she’s a hard sell—believe me. I’ve been trying to win her over for thirty years.”

We share a smile, and I begin to relax.

“Maybe next semester you can see about getting out of art and into drama. You’d probably enjoy that.” James taps his fingers on his knees. “And maybe you could talk the teacher into letting Rocky audition for a play too.

I launch from my seat on the bed and pull on the shirt until Rocky is free of it. “No animals were harmed in the reading of this script.”

James shakes his head and grins. “Katie, I . . .” He clears his throat. “I want to tell you how proud I am, how proud Millie and I both are of the job you’ve been doing at the Valiant. I know it’s a lot of work, and you haven’t complained a bit.”

My fingers follow a ring pattern on the quilt. “No problem.”

“And we’re also really excited about your math grade coming up. It’s hard asking for help, and you’ve been very open-minded about Frances and tutoring.”

Yep, that’s me. Miss Open-Minded. Not a judgmental bone in this body.

Coming to his feet, James puts a hand on my shoulder. “You’re doing a great job, Katie. I don’t get to be around as much as I’d like, but I want you to know I see it.” James nods thoughtfully. “I see how hard you try. I know it hasn’t been easy for you, and I really admire how you’ve hung in there.”

I blink a few times to relieve my stinging eyes. “So I’m through with my punishment?”

“Not on your life. Do you know how many people we’ve gone through, trying to find someone who can stand Maxine long enough to read to her for an hour or two?”

“The number must be in the hundreds.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll never know. I think Maxine must eat them alive because they’re never heard from again.”

“But you send me over there?”

James laughs. “Even Maxine doesn’t eat children . . . yet.”

“No, she just tortures them.”

James pauses on his way out the door, his hand on the knob. “I thought you didn’t like Rocky.”

“He seemed to have the depth I wanted to see in the part of Romeo. And he works cheap.”

“Well, if you and Rocky can break away from rehearsals, breakfast is ready. I fixed my world famous omelets.”

“I don’t know. We’re kind of at a pivotal scene here.”

Shaking his head at his dog’s discarded cape, my foster dad exits stage right. “Katie, you do have issues.”

“Right back atcha, big guy.”

I double-check my hair in the mirror, slip my feet into some funky heels, and descend the stairs, ready to grace the Scott breakfast nook with my presence.

James stands at the stove, his navy tie hanging loose around his neck. He adds more eggs to the skillet and winks in my direction as I walk past him to join Millie at the table, where she sits drinking coffee and ignoring her toast.

“Hey, Millie.”

She partially drops the paper she’s reading. “Good morning, sweetie. Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“That outfit looks great on you. Pink is your color.” Millie smiles over her coffee cup, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Here we go, one Spanish omelet coming up.” James flaps his masterpiece onto my plate, and Millie’s nose goes back into the society section.

I study the chef. “Are you eating with us?”

His eyes dart to Millie before meeting mine. “Ah . . . I’ve already eaten, actually. Got up early this morning.”

“Oh, okay.”

Knowing I’m not going to do it myself, James says a breakfast prayer for me and my eggs. I stab into my omelet and let it melt in my mouth. Very nice. The eggs at Sunny were solid. In the way a brick is solid.

With my napkin I daub at some cheese on my chin. “You can still sit with us for a bit, right?”

James hesitates for one very uncomfortable second. I peer at Millie, but her head is lost in page three of her paper.