A Smidgen of Sky

by Dianna Dorisi Winget

  I hovered a few steps back, feeling like a racehorse trapped behind its gate. But then Ben raised his head and said, “You get over here, Piper Lee,” and I bolted over to wiggle my way in between Mama and Ginger.

  The four of us stayed all locked up like that until Mama finally stepped back and noticed the gash on Ben’s forehead. “Oh,” she said, “your poor, poor head.”

  Ben smiled and gently put his hand around Mama’s to keep her from touching the cut. “I told ’em I was just fine,” he said. “But the nurse says I can’t leave until they stitch it up.”

  “And your hand,” Ginger said. “You hurt it, too.”

  Ben glanced at the dried blood on his skinned knuckles and winked at her. “Yeah, just a little, but you should see the other guy.”

  Ginger and I giggled, but Mama glared up at him and even stamped her foot. “Don’t you dare make jokes, Ben Hutchings. Not a bit of this is funny. Not a bit. The girls and I just spent the past twelve hours terrified to death, not knowing if you . . . if we’d ever . . .” Mama’s voice cracked and her words trailed off in a sob.

  Ben pulled her close. “Hush now, Heather. I didn’t mean it like that. And I’m real sorry about Thursday, too. You were right and I was wrong.”

  Mama shook her head. “No, no. I’m the sorry one. I had no right to blame you for something outta your control.”

  “Does that mean the wedding’s back on?” Ben asked.

  “I’d sure like it to be,” Mama said.

  Ginger bumped me with her elbow and pointed to the clock. “Looky there. It’s one in the morning. I’ve never gotten to stay up this late before.” Then she yawned, and that got me doing the same thing. I went and curled up in one of the padded chairs over by the window.

  Mama sat on the bed with Ben, clinging to his hand as though she never planned to let go. Ginger sat on his other side and asked a bunch of questions about the riot. Ben wouldn’t say much about what had happened inside the prison, but when Ginger mentioned Mr. Stevens and the honey-roasted peanuts, he chuckled and said, “Yeah, that Carl’s a good guy.”

  Then all of a sudden he looked over at me and said, “We never got to have that talk of ours, did we?”

  I tensed up and bowed my head. “No, sir. I guess not.”

  “Well, we still can,” Mama said. “How ’bout tomorrow?”

  “I got a better idea,” Ben said, looking at Mama. “Let’s forget the talk and get married tomorrow instead.”

  I snapped my head up, sure I’d heard him wrong. But the way Ginger’s mouth dropped open told me I’d heard right.

  Mama grinned. She shook her head. “Tomorrow? Have you lost your marbles? We can’t get married tomorrow.”

  Ben’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Why not? You just told me the wedding was back on. If not tomorrow, how ’bout next Saturday?”

  “But . . . but the date’s all set.”

  “Heather DeLuna, are you gonna marry me or not? ’Cause if you are, I don’t wanna wait another month.”

  Mama searched his face. “But that don’t give me enough time.”

  “Time for what? You and the girls have your dresses. We got the rings. The guests can take pictures for us.”

  “But the cake,” Mama said. “And the flowers.”

  “I can make the cake,” Ginger piped up. “Any kind you like, Heather. I can make a real good chocolate cake.”

  “And I know where there’s a bunch of flowers,” I said, unable to resist the sudden excitement swooping around the room. “Miss Claudia won’t mind a bit if we pick ’em.”

  Mama shook her head. She put her fingertips to her temples. “I believe you’ve all lost your marbles,” she said. Then she looked from one to the other of us and started to laugh. “Y’all are serious, aren’t you ?. . . It won’t be much of a wedding.”

  “All the wedding I need,” Ben said. And he took Mama’s face in his hands and started kissing her. And it was the most disgusting thing, because they were still kissing when the nurse came in to stitch up Ben’s cut.

  “Well, now,” she said when she came into the room and caught them. “I was gonna apologize for makin’ you wait, but it seems you didn’t mind so much.”

  “No, ma’am,” Ben said. “Not at all.”

  The nurse smiled around the room at each of us. I knew she thought that Mama and Ben were husband and wife and that me and Ginger were their kids. But I smiled back at her anyhow, and it made me feel good, because I felt sure Daddy wouldn’t mind. After all, I’d always be his daughter; I’d always love him. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t be part of something new.

  20

  SATURDAY DAWNED CLEAR and bright and sticky hot. Mama and Ben decided to get married in Charlesburg Park, seeing as how the church wasn’t available on such short notice. My yellow dress pinched at the waist and prickled at the neck, and the stiff netting made my legs itch. But Miss Claudia made me laugh when she gave me a secret wink and said, “Why, Piper Lee. I believe you’ve got the prettiest dress I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  Ginger didn’t seem bothered by her dress in the least. Her bra caused a slight ripple in the material, and I hoped my new bra caused a ripple, too, but Ginger never gave me the chance to ask. She pranced around the guests like some hired hostess, handing out construction-paper fans and thanking everyone for coming.

  But it was Mama who stole the show in her beautiful peach dress with white eyelet trim, her hair all loose and flowing around her shoulders like a cloud. I’d never seen her smile so big. And I even had to admit that Ben looked pretty sharp in his dark blue suit.

  Some of the workers from the prison showed up, including Mr. Stevens, who surprised Mama and Ben with a brand-new digital camera for wedding pictures. Ben stopped Ginger and me from fighting over it by saying she could take pictures during the ceremony but I got it for the reception. But when it came time for Mama and Ben to cut into the sloping, slightly melted chocolate cake, Ginger still hadn’t handed it over.

  “I made the cake,” she said, “so I should get to take the first picture of them eatin’ it.”

  “I don’t care who made it,” I snapped. “It’s the reception, and you’re s’posed to give me a turn.”

  “I’ll give it over in a few minutes.” She scooted behind the beverage table for a better shot.

  I scooted right after her. “You’ll give it now.” I made a grab for it.

  And right as Mama put the first bit of cake into Ben’s mouth and all the guests clapped and cheered, the camera slipped from my fingers and splashed right into the bowl of lemon-lime punch. I fished it out of there before you could say “Jack Sprat,” but Ginger still screamed.

  “Shut up,” I hissed. “I got it.”

  “You probably ruined that brand-new camera!” she cried.

  “Did not ruin it.” I gave the camera a good shake and then toweled it off real careful with the hem of my dress.

  “I’m telling, Piper Lee. I bet it don’t work anymore.”

  “I grabbed it out plenty fast,” I said. “Don’t be a tattletale.”

  She put her hands on her hips, and I could see her weighing her options. A smug little grin spread across her face. “Are you offerin’ me something if I keep quiet?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Ginger, sometimes you are such a pain in the petunia.” I glanced over at Mama and Ben. Ben was playing around, holding a bite of cake right near Mama’s mouth before pulling it back again, and everyone was laughing. Everything was so perfect, I couldn’t bear the thought of having either one of them mad at me. “I dunno,” I said. “What do you want?”

  Ginger pursed her lips and rocked back and forth on her shiny white shoes. “Top bunk for a month.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Ben had put up a brand-new set of bunk beds in Ginger’s bedroom. We’d played penny poker to decide who got the top bunk for the first month, and I’d won. “Go tattle if you want,” I said. “But there’s no way you’re getting it that long.”

  “Well, not for the who
le month, then. Two weeks— how’s that?”

  “Ten days,” I said. “Ten days only. And if you don’t give it up the second you’re s’posed to, I’ll throw you off.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Ten days. Now I’m gonna go get Mama to cut me a piece of cake.” And she whirled around and flounced off.

  I sighed. I was pretty sure this was what having Ginger for a sister would be like—plenty of battles, plenty of bickering, and plenty of standing my ground when I really had to.

  I watched Ginger hop up behind Mama and grab her around the waist. She’d started calling her “Mama” even before the wedding vows had been said, and I knew there wasn’t any point in correcting her now. I figured I’d keep calling Ben by his regular name. Calling him “Daddy” just wouldn’t feel right on my tongue, and I didn’t know if he’d want me to anyhow. Maybe “Dad” would be okay someday. But for now “Ben” would do just fine.

  I finished patting off the camera and gave it a careful look. It was dry now, and the open and close button worked just fine. Why hadn’t I checked it out before giving up the top bunk? I clicked a picture of Ben wiping a drip of frosting from Mama’s chin and another of the big bouquet of lavender we’d set up next to the guest book. Then Miss Claudia filled the viewing window in her billowing blue skirt, and I clicked a picture of her horrified look as she spied the big wet punch stains all over my dress.

  “Lordy, child,” she said. “I’m not even gonna ask.”

  “Good.” I grinned. “’Cause I really don’t wanna say.”

  Miss Claudia put her hands on her chest and laughed in her loud, joyous way, and I laughed, too. Then I glanced over at Mama and Ben and Ginger standing by the cake table. Mama held out a little paper plate and waved for me to come. And I ran over to get my own piece of sloping, slightly melted chocolate cake.

  Acknowledgments

  The publication of this book is the end result of eight years of effort. Not just on my part, but on the part of my agent, Mary Kole, who had not only the faith to sign me on but also the skill and determination to sell my book. Thanks, Mary!

  I’m also indebted to the hardworking Harcourt gang who made my first experience with publication such a wonderful one. Special thanks to my editor, Adah Nuchi, whose skillful direction elevated this book from good to great.

  Thanks also to the Sandpoint branch of the Idaho Writers League who patiently listened to and made suggestions on the early drafts.

  And finally, a hug of appreciation to my husband, Ted, and my daughter, Adriana, who don’t seem to object to me hogging the computer. I love you guys!

  About the Author

  DIANNA DORISI WINGET writes fiction and non-fiction for young readers. She is a lifelong resident of the Pacific Northwest and lives in the mountains of North Idaho with her husband, fourteen-year-old daughter, and two canine buddies, Lacey and Sassy. A Smidgen of Sky is her first novel. www.diannawinget.com