Age Before Beauty

by Virginia Smith

  Then Ken’s gaze rose to the television set, and a different light glinted in his eyes. He crossed the room, pulling Joan along behind him by the hand. Edging around Mom and Tori and Joanie toward the sofa, he asked, “Is that the Raiders game?”

  Eric nodded, his eyes not leaving the screen. “They scored while we were in the car on the way over.”

  Ken released Joan’s hand and dropped to the cushion. “I was watching it next door at my place. You should have seen it. A fifteen-yard pass right over the goal line, and he was wide open.”

  Joan caught Allie’s eye and her lips formed an indulgent smile. She shrugged a shoulder as though to say, Men! Allie grimaced. Yeah, men.

  “Girls,” Gram called from the kitchen, “would you set the table?”

  Allie and her sisters trekked into the kitchen to gather the plates and utensils, and then joined in the familiar task they had shared since they moved in with Gram thirteen years earlier after Mom and Daddy’s divorce. Allie kept glancing across the counter that separated the dining area from the kitchen. Betty and Gram navigated the small space like they’d been working together all their lives. Betty quietly reached in to help when Gram, hampered by her walker, picked up the roast pan to pour the drippings into a skillet for gravy. Allie couldn’t help noticing how Gram accepted that assistance with a grateful glance. Anytime Allie or her sisters tried to help, Gram became irritated and insisted, “I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive, missy!”

  “Is Betty always so quiet?” Tori whispered as she laid silverware on the napkin Allie had just placed on the table.

  Allie nodded and matched her sister’s quiet tone. “I swear she doesn’t say ten words all day. No wonder Don hasn’t missed her. He never knew she was there to begin with.”

  The table laid, the girls stepped back and admired their handiwork. Gram’s imitation Wedgwood china, some pieces showing wear from years of use, gleamed in the light shining through the windows. The smell of homemade yeast rolls blended with the odors of the savory roast and a lingering hint of cinnamon from the apple pie resting on the counter.

  “Now, girls,” Gram said, “if you’ll just get the food on the table, we’ll be ready to call the men to dinner.”

  Joan picked up a basket of rolls from the counter and turned to set it on the table. “I’ll bet they’d rather eat in front of the television so they can watch the game.”

  Gram paused in the act of placing a serving spoon in a bowl of roasted carrots and onions. The fringe of white hair across her forehead accented the blueness of her eyes as she looked at Joan. “We could get out the TV trays for them.”

  Allie retrieved the bowl, trying not to scowl. “Eric was plastered to the television all day yesterday watching football. At another woman’s house, no less.”

  Joan’s jaw dropped, and Tori’s eyes went round as store-bought cookies.

  “What other woman?” Tori asked.

  Aware of Betty’s gaze, Allie wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Voicing the fear that had niggled at her mind all night made her feel foolish. She lifted a shoulder and spoke in a light tone. “Just a co-worker who needed some help with a little home repair project. No big deal. It’s just that football has taken over my life lately. Can’t we have a family meal without it?”

  Joan and Tori both relaxed, and Betty turned toward the sink to wash her hands.

  “Oh, don’t be such a grouch,” Joan said. “Let them watch their game.”

  Allie set the bowl on the table. If they made Eric come to the table, he’d just bolt his food and hurry back to the television. Might as well let him enjoy himself with Ken. “Fine.” She smiled to take the bite out of her tone.

  “Besides,” Joan said as she headed for the living room, “football hasn’t taken over your life. Varie Cose has.”

  Allie looked up in surprise as she disappeared through the doorway. “I don’t know what she means.”

  Tori laughed. “Are you kidding? That’s all you talk about anymore.”

  “That’s not true.” Gram’s tone held a note of loyalty. She made her slow way around the counter toward the table. “She talks about the baby too.”

  Betty set her broccoli casserole next to the rolls as Joan returned, followed by Eric, Ken, and Mom with Joanie leaning against her shoulder.

  “We got the trays out of the closet,” Joan said as everyone went to stand behind their chairs. Betty stood in the same position she’d occupied for Allie’s birthday dinner, maintaining her usual silent vigil. With a start, Allie realized she was becoming a regular around this dinner table, just as Ken had a few months before, and Eric even before that. One thing about the Sanderson family—they accepted everyone into their fold.

  They bowed their heads and Gram said grace. Eric slipped an arm around Allie’s waist, the pressure of his touch uncertain. Allie knew the reason for his hesitation. He wanted to make sure she was okay with his absence from the family table, but he didn’t want to mention it in front of the others. She supposed it would feel sort of like asking her permission, and what husband wanted to be seen doing that? But that was exactly what he was doing, seeking tacit assurance that she wouldn’t be upset with him if he plastered himself to the television screen once again. Warmth for him rushed through Allie, and she put an arm around him too. The least she could do was not act like a shrew.

  When the men had filled their plates, they headed back to the television with an eagerness that made Allie want to laugh. Soon the sounds of a roaring crowd drifted through the doorway from the direction of the living room. Allie kept the portions she spooned onto her own plate moderate and passed completely on the gravy. With a little luck, her willpower would last all the way through dessert.

  Joanie was awake and as Mom picked up her fork, she lifted her head from her grandmother’s shoulder on her wobbly neck.

  “Here, Mom,” Tori said, “let me hold Joanie while you eat.”

  Mom handed the baby over with a grin. “Oh, okay. I guess it’s your turn.” She sliced a baby carrot and speared a bite on her fork. “Allie, my choir friends have been asking when they’re going to get to see my granddaughter. Are you planning to bring her to church soon?”

  Allie looked down at her plate. This was not a subject she relished discussing, especially over dinner. She and Eric had talked about taking the baby to church, and she knew her family wouldn’t like their decision.

  “If you want to show her off, maybe you should just invite them over here one Sunday afternoon. I don’t think we’re going to start going to church anytime soon.”

  Everyone around the table became as silent as Betty. Allie avoided meeting anyone’s gaze by picking up her roll and tearing it in half. Fragrant steam rose from the soft bread, and she considered the butter dish for only a moment before her resolve reasserted itself.

  “Why not?” Gram asked. “You went to church with your parents when you were just a few weeks old. Church is an important family tradition.”

  Allie glanced up to find herself the focus of Gram’s disapproving gaze. “Not in Eric’s family. Isn’t that right, Betty?”

  She looked at Betty more for support than confirmation. Her mother-in-law inclined her head and spoke in her reserved way. “My husband worked long hours during the week. Sunday was our only time together at home.”

  “That’s how Eric feels too,” Allie said. “He prefers to wait until Joanie is old enough to make her own decision about religion, and then we’ll support her.”

  Tori’s bright head nodded as she smiled down at the object of their discussion, nestled in the crook of her arm.

  Across the table, Joan set her fork down. “What do you say, Allie?”

  Allie refused to meet her sister’s direct gaze. She scooped a mound of mashed potatoes onto her fork. “I agree with Eric. I don’t see the point in dumping her in the church nursery every Sunday. When she’s old enough for Sunday school, she’ll get a lot more out of the experience.” When the time came, Allie would be
taking her alone. Eric had no use for church, as Joan knew very well. The whole family knew that.

  Obviously Joan didn’t like her answer. Her lips a tight line, she picked up her fork and stabbed at a piece of meat. Allie sipped from her iced tea glass. She was glad Joan had found fulfillment in the church, but surely her sister didn’t expect everyone to become a fanatic just because she was.

  Gram didn’t like the answer either. Her forehead creased, she said in a petulant voice, “I hoped having Joanie would get you back into church.”

  “Mother, this is Allie and Eric’s decision.” Mom spoke to Gram, but Allie saw her give a warning look at Joan.

  That effectively ended the subject, for which Allie was grateful. She couldn’t help notice Joan was quiet through the rest of the meal.

  13

  “Four fifty-seven reporting a ten-fifty-four at State Road 33 about a half mile south of Buster Pike.”

  A ten-fifty-four meant livestock on the road. Old man Dorsey must have another break in his cattle fence. Eric leaned forward and pressed the transmission switch. “Ten-four, four fifty-seven. We’ll get someone over there.” He glanced at the clock. Almost five o’clock, so traffic would be picking up. He pressed the switch again. “You gonna run interference?”

  Static crackled for a moment before Chad’s reply. “Ten-four.”

  Eric grinned at the resignation in the officer’s voice. Directing traffic around a bunch of cows on the road wasn’t exactly the most exciting aspect of police work, but occasionally it was necessary.

  “I’ll call him,” Molly volunteered, and Eric shot her a look of thanks. Mr. Dorsey responded better to females.

  He tapped a record of the call into the database. This made the third time in a month. The guy was going to have to break down and replace that sorry excuse for a fence soon. He half listened as Molly sweet-talked her way through the conversation.

  When she hung up, he grinned at her. “You handle him well. He cussed me out the last time I called.”

  A dimple creased her cheek. “There’s a certain amount of talent involved in talking to grumpy old farmers. You obviously don’t have it.”

  “I guess my talents lie in a different direction.” He smirked. “Like fixing toilets.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’re very talented in lots of areas.”

  She broke eye contact and became interested in the data scrolling across her monitor. Eric picked up the pen and drew a doodle on his pad. The day had been really slow for a Tuesday. Molly had been exceptionally quiet, which made the time drag. In fact, she had been quiet yesterday too.

  She broke the silence. “Are you doing anything after work?” Her voice held a note of resolve, which made Eric wonder if she’d been trying to get the nerve up to ask him something.

  “Not really. Why?”

  “Well, you did such a good job on my toilet the other day, I wondered if you could take a look at the railing on the back deck and tell me what I need to do with it. It’s starting to get kind of rickety, and I’m afraid the boys might get hurt if I don’t have it taken care of soon.”

  Eric had noticed the loose railing on Saturday. Josh and Mikey were typical active little boys. He could see them roughhousing on the deck and crashing right through the loose wooden slats.

  Allie had another party tonight, so she wouldn’t be home until later. And Mother wouldn’t mind having Joanie to herself for a while longer. “Sure, I’ll take a look at it after work.”

  “Thanks, Eric.”

  Her smile lightened her worried expression. Asking for help was probably hard for her, because she was so capable at handling most things on her own. But she shouldn’t feel bad. That’s what friends were for.

  “One more ought to do it,” Eric told Mikey.

  The boy extracted a nail from the box and held it up. Eric took it and then balanced himself on the kitchen chair as he straightened. The chair legs rested on uneven ground and wobbled a bit as he pounded the nail into the railing. A stepladder would have been safer, but Molly didn’t have one.

  “There.” He grabbed the wood and tried to shake it, satisfied when it held firm. “That one’s not going anywhere.”

  “Are we done?” Mikey asked.

  Eric looked down the length of the deck and nodded. “We’ve tightened them all. You make a good assistant carpenter.”

  Mikey beamed with pride. Eric put a hand on the boy’s head as he hopped down from the chair and ruffled the dark hair before he let go.

  The back door opened and Molly stuck her head outside. “The pizza just got here. Eric, would you like to stay for supper?”

  The mouthwatering odor of pepperoni wafted toward him from inside the house. Tempting, but . . . Eric shook his head. “I need to be getting home.”

  “Aw, please?” Mikey tilted his head back to look up at Eric. “I want to show you my Halloween costume. I’m going to be a football player! I got shoulder pads and everything. Then maybe we can throw the football again.”

  Eric looked down into the boy’s eager face. Poor kid. With no father in the picture, how often did he have a man’s attention? Eric’s own dad had worked a lot when he was younger, but when he was home he made time for things like playing catch and teaching his son to ride a bicycle. Important stuff to a kid, and Mikey obviously missed it. Allie wouldn’t be home yet, and Joanie was fine with Mother for another half hour or so.

  Eric looked up at Molly, who stood watching him with an odd expression. Did she want him to stay, or was she just being polite?

  She must have seen the question in his face. “I wish you would. Let me repay you a little for your help.”

  He ruffled Mikey’s hair again. “We might have enough daylight left after supper to play for a few minutes.”

  “All right!” The boy pumped his fist in the air.

  Molly laughed. “You two better hurry and get washed up or Josh will start without you.”

  Eric put a hand on the boy’s shoulder as they walked side by side up the stairs. At the top, Mikey ran ahead and brushed by his mother. Molly turned a soft smile on Eric as he approached the door.

  “Thank you for letting him help. It means a lot.” She looked into his eyes. “To both of us.”

  Eric straightened. A few minutes of his time was nothing to him, but it obviously meant the world to a little boy and his mother. He returned Molly’s smile. “It really was my pleasure.”

  That evening Eric sat on the living room floor playing with Joanie. One day she would be old enough to play catch like Mikey and Josh. Dolls and girlie stuff were okay, but sports taught important life lessons, like teamwork and working toward a goal and achieving your best. He intended to help his daughter learn those lessons.

  ESPN was recapping a motorcycle race over in Germany, and he half watched while he kept Joanie interested in the toys dangling from the bar on her baby gym. Mother sat in the chair nearest the kitchen with a book, but he noticed she spent more time watching him and Joanie than reading.

  “Your father called today.”

  Eric glanced up. She looked neat, as she always did, with every hair in order and her gray skirt smoothed over her knees. Her expression held no hint of her feelings.

  “That’s good,” Eric said. “What did he have to say?”

  “He wanted to know if I’ve paid the gas bill. There was no hot water for his shower this morning.”

  “You pay the bills?”

  Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “I always have. He didn’t even know where I keep the checkbook.”

  Eric remembered Mother sitting at the kitchen table when he was a boy, a stack of bills in front of her, writing checks in her even script. He must have been young, not in school yet. He’d forgotten about that. “Did you forget to pay the gas bill?”

  The shadow of a smile touched her lips. “I didn’t forget.”

  He couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Mother, did you have the gas disconnected on purpose?”

  She closed the book and reste
d her hands on top of the cover. “Certainly not. I left the bills and the checkbook where I always keep them, in the third kitchen drawer beside the refrigerator. Don needs to learn to take care of those things himself now.”

  Joanie’s waving hands hit a dangling toy and it chimed. She cooed in response. Eric leaned over her and smiled into her eyes, mostly so he could look away from Mother’s.

  “Aren’t you planning to go home at all?” he asked.

  “I haven’t decided, but I don’t think so.”

  Eric chewed the inside of his lip. Though he’d begun to suspect this problem between his parents was more than a simple misunderstanding, he’d never considered the possibility that their separation might be permanent. Could Mother seriously be thinking of divorce?

  He tapped the toy on the baby gym so it swung tantalizingly above his daughter and spoke in a careful voice. “Thirty-five years of marriage is a long time to throw away.”

  Whatever reply she might have made was interrupted. The door opened and Allie came in, her arms full.

  “Sorry I’m late.” She sounded tired. “Those women were the chattiest bunch I’ve ever seen.”

  She pushed the door closed by collapsing against it. Eric jumped up from the floor and took the biggest bag, a canvas thing that weighed a ton, from her shoulder. Gratitude flickered in her eyes as she set the briefcase she carried in her other hand on the floor beside the door. He didn’t remember seeing it before.

  “Is that new?” he asked.

  She flashed him a look. “I needed something to carry my paperwork in.”

  Eric raised an eyebrow at the defensive response. “Okay. I was just asking.”

  A sigh escaped her lips and she laid a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I’m really tired tonight.” She looked down at Joanie and a smile softened her lips. She tossed her ugly, expensive purse beside the briefcase and dropped to the floor beside the baby mat. “There’s Mommy’s precious sweetheart.”