Post by jeannerené on Jul 27, 2009 16:00:32 GMT -8
Synopsis: ... a family story of tragic consequence
Parts 1 and 2 have gone through some revising since first posted
:yawn:
Part 3 continued....
Stepping up into the foyer, Evelyn called over to the old dog, sprawled by the kitchen door, and who looked earnestly toward the outside and freedom. “Pretty Babe, go on out now and sit some with Callie,” she held the screen open, waving her hand in the direction of the dog‘s desire.
Ears perked up immediately , and the aged lab rose to all fours with difficulty, his excitement revealed in the wag of his tail. He hobbled toward Callie’s mom, who wearing a mischievous smile, held out the Barbie doll her daughter had left on the small side-table next to the front door. Babe grabbed the blond bombshell and held it firmly between his muzzle. Evelyn chuckled and patted Babe on his head. The happy dog looked up at his old friend and she gave him a gentle tap on his hind end to send him out the door.
Evelyn Jane felt guilty every time she looked at Babe. She figured his hip joints were worn close to flat, and she knew he was in constant pain. Not a thing she could do, because first, there was no extra money, and second, even if there was, her husband never let her use it on a “stupid dog.” Babe walked with an obvious limp and sat down with a thud. His limbs so stiff, he could no longer make it up the stairs to Callie’s room, and up until last summer, every night at bedtime the little girl stood looking down at the bottom of the stairs, where the old pup sat looking up at the tearful girl. There wasn’t anyone couldn’t help but break down and cry looking at the two of them, thought Evelyn. So, finally no longer able to handle the sadness in either of their eyes, she had let Callie sleep on the living room couch all last summer, and even now during the school year, she let her daughter sleep downstairs Friday and Saturday nights. The grateful dog would hunch up against the couch as close as he could get to Callie, who dangled her arm off the side so she could pet her devoted friend.
Babe walked across the porch and down two treacherous steps to get to Callie, playfully dangling the plastic blond from his jaw. He looked as if he wore the same naughty smile as the mother, and his tail wagged with frantic acceleration in anticipation of being scolded. Right on cue Callie squealed with familiar high-pitched exasperation, “Babe, you give me that doll now! Bad boy! You bad, bad boy. You made her hair all goobbery. Yuck!”
Babe was in heaven.
She tugged her doll loose from the old dog’s jaws, and shook her finger at his wet nose, admonishing him for his misbehavior. The dog licked the wagging finger and Callie squealed again. Satisfied, Babe, limped back up the two steps, and plumped himself down on the porch, panting from all his efforts, but so content any cat would have been jealous.
Callie laughed and turned back to her vigil. The wind had begun to sing in a low steady whine, but above the whistle, Callie still heard Kenny’s cries upstairs. She recognized Mama’s voice get angry for some thing or other … some thing or other that Kenny had done. Kenny cried a little louder and Mama’s voice got a little meaner.
The girl turned round, looking up at her little brother’s second story window. She didn’t see her mother through the glass. Callie didn’t like it when her mother used that tone of voice. It frightened her. Sometimes, after hearing her mother get mad at Kenny, she’d turn around, look up . . . and see her standing, staring out the window, a peculiar faraway look on her face. It seemed like Mama didn’t know where she was, like she was searching for something in the field across from the house. Mama hadn’t always worn that strange expression on her face. It was a new face, one that made Callie worry, but she couldn’t put a name to the worry.
Kenny kept on crying and Callie thought maybe she’d better go help. She'd watch her brother so Mama could start dinner. Still she sat on the step, looking down the road, squeezing her Barbie. She squeezed it a little tighter with yet another muffled, but frantic outburst of angry talk coming from upstairs. Barbie now bounced off her knees with a tap, tap, tap, each tap a little harder, as she tired to remember that Mama loved Kenny, it was just that he was so hard to manage and Mama was awfully tired lately. Daddy always said that Kenny was just full of spit and vinegar, like he was when he was a boy.
Another holler upstairs from Mama . . . Barbie stopped moving in Callie’s lap. She’d best go on in and help her mother, besides the wind was kicking up pretty steady and stinging her eyes, making them water. Least that's what Callie told herself as she got up from the step and brushed off her bottom.
“Babe, come on,” she bent down and gave her quiet companion a kiss on top of his head and a quick scratch under the chin. Callie took one last lingering look down the road. There was a thick cloud of dust kicking up in the distance, another truck making its way home. She’d stay until she was sure it was her daddy’s or not.
~~~~
It was Jamie Macfarlane come home.
Her daddy’s truck wasn’t new, but it wasn’t near as old as most of the trucks that came down the road. Callie could tell you exactly what kind of truck her daddy had … a two-tone, red and black, 1990 F150, 4X4 with an 8 cylinder engine, and she let you know that he kept it clean. There wasn’t one patch of dull gray paint anywhere on her father‘s truck. The nine year-old was proud of her daddy‘s Ford. Callie wished that their house had a garage, she knew that would have made her father real happy, but there wasn’t one so washing the truck was a regular chore. But, it was a chore her daddy let her share with him. She’d hose the 4X4 down, expect for the top, next they’d soap it up together and then her dad would hose it down again and dry it, while she sat inside and did the windows. Callie thought it was just about the best time to be with her dad and the fact hadn’t slipped by her that he’d have a huge smile on his face as soon as he fetched the bucket and sponges out of the shed.
Those were the good times. But right now, Callie peered deep into the cab, as the truck approached the house, never taking her eyes off the man behind the wheel. She’d know soon as he turned off the engine, when he’d look up and over at the house, how her father was feeling. How he held his head, whether the corner of his mouth turned up … or down, and whether he closed his eyes before getting out the truck or not, these were the expressions Callie knew in her father’s face. Just like his big smile when they were washing the truck, figuring out how her father felt was important to Callie. She always felt better if she half way knew what to expect once he had gone in the house . . . once he’d start talking to Mama.
Jamie slowed gradually as he passed the oak that stood just outside the picket fence, it smaller branches now whipping back and forth, it leaves being sent helter-skelter. He passed the gate and turned carefully on to the pea gravel at the side. He braked and turned off the ignition. Running his hand across his mouth, Jamie closed his eyes, and hesitated before opening the door. Callie had not seen her daddy since Sunday night last. Monday morning he had left very early, and had not come home that night.
Tuesday. It had not been a good day. It would, most likely, not be a good night. But maybe, just maybe … Callie was not without hope, as she waited for her father to open his eyes. Eyes reopened, Jamie looked at his daughter, he smiled and waved to her. The girl waved back.
****** to be continued
Parts 1 and 2 have gone through some revising since first posted
:yawn:Part 3 continued....
~~~~
Stepping up into the foyer, Evelyn called over to the old dog, sprawled by the kitchen door, and who looked earnestly toward the outside and freedom. “Pretty Babe, go on out now and sit some with Callie,” she held the screen open, waving her hand in the direction of the dog‘s desire.
Ears perked up immediately , and the aged lab rose to all fours with difficulty, his excitement revealed in the wag of his tail. He hobbled toward Callie’s mom, who wearing a mischievous smile, held out the Barbie doll her daughter had left on the small side-table next to the front door. Babe grabbed the blond bombshell and held it firmly between his muzzle. Evelyn chuckled and patted Babe on his head. The happy dog looked up at his old friend and she gave him a gentle tap on his hind end to send him out the door.
Evelyn Jane felt guilty every time she looked at Babe. She figured his hip joints were worn close to flat, and she knew he was in constant pain. Not a thing she could do, because first, there was no extra money, and second, even if there was, her husband never let her use it on a “stupid dog.” Babe walked with an obvious limp and sat down with a thud. His limbs so stiff, he could no longer make it up the stairs to Callie’s room, and up until last summer, every night at bedtime the little girl stood looking down at the bottom of the stairs, where the old pup sat looking up at the tearful girl. There wasn’t anyone couldn’t help but break down and cry looking at the two of them, thought Evelyn. So, finally no longer able to handle the sadness in either of their eyes, she had let Callie sleep on the living room couch all last summer, and even now during the school year, she let her daughter sleep downstairs Friday and Saturday nights. The grateful dog would hunch up against the couch as close as he could get to Callie, who dangled her arm off the side so she could pet her devoted friend.
Babe walked across the porch and down two treacherous steps to get to Callie, playfully dangling the plastic blond from his jaw. He looked as if he wore the same naughty smile as the mother, and his tail wagged with frantic acceleration in anticipation of being scolded. Right on cue Callie squealed with familiar high-pitched exasperation, “Babe, you give me that doll now! Bad boy! You bad, bad boy. You made her hair all goobbery. Yuck!”
Babe was in heaven.
She tugged her doll loose from the old dog’s jaws, and shook her finger at his wet nose, admonishing him for his misbehavior. The dog licked the wagging finger and Callie squealed again. Satisfied, Babe, limped back up the two steps, and plumped himself down on the porch, panting from all his efforts, but so content any cat would have been jealous.
Callie laughed and turned back to her vigil. The wind had begun to sing in a low steady whine, but above the whistle, Callie still heard Kenny’s cries upstairs. She recognized Mama’s voice get angry for some thing or other … some thing or other that Kenny had done. Kenny cried a little louder and Mama’s voice got a little meaner.
The girl turned round, looking up at her little brother’s second story window. She didn’t see her mother through the glass. Callie didn’t like it when her mother used that tone of voice. It frightened her. Sometimes, after hearing her mother get mad at Kenny, she’d turn around, look up . . . and see her standing, staring out the window, a peculiar faraway look on her face. It seemed like Mama didn’t know where she was, like she was searching for something in the field across from the house. Mama hadn’t always worn that strange expression on her face. It was a new face, one that made Callie worry, but she couldn’t put a name to the worry.
Kenny kept on crying and Callie thought maybe she’d better go help. She'd watch her brother so Mama could start dinner. Still she sat on the step, looking down the road, squeezing her Barbie. She squeezed it a little tighter with yet another muffled, but frantic outburst of angry talk coming from upstairs. Barbie now bounced off her knees with a tap, tap, tap, each tap a little harder, as she tired to remember that Mama loved Kenny, it was just that he was so hard to manage and Mama was awfully tired lately. Daddy always said that Kenny was just full of spit and vinegar, like he was when he was a boy.
Another holler upstairs from Mama . . . Barbie stopped moving in Callie’s lap. She’d best go on in and help her mother, besides the wind was kicking up pretty steady and stinging her eyes, making them water. Least that's what Callie told herself as she got up from the step and brushed off her bottom.
“Babe, come on,” she bent down and gave her quiet companion a kiss on top of his head and a quick scratch under the chin. Callie took one last lingering look down the road. There was a thick cloud of dust kicking up in the distance, another truck making its way home. She’d stay until she was sure it was her daddy’s or not.
~~~~
It was Jamie Macfarlane come home.
Her daddy’s truck wasn’t new, but it wasn’t near as old as most of the trucks that came down the road. Callie could tell you exactly what kind of truck her daddy had … a two-tone, red and black, 1990 F150, 4X4 with an 8 cylinder engine, and she let you know that he kept it clean. There wasn’t one patch of dull gray paint anywhere on her father‘s truck. The nine year-old was proud of her daddy‘s Ford. Callie wished that their house had a garage, she knew that would have made her father real happy, but there wasn’t one so washing the truck was a regular chore. But, it was a chore her daddy let her share with him. She’d hose the 4X4 down, expect for the top, next they’d soap it up together and then her dad would hose it down again and dry it, while she sat inside and did the windows. Callie thought it was just about the best time to be with her dad and the fact hadn’t slipped by her that he’d have a huge smile on his face as soon as he fetched the bucket and sponges out of the shed.
Those were the good times. But right now, Callie peered deep into the cab, as the truck approached the house, never taking her eyes off the man behind the wheel. She’d know soon as he turned off the engine, when he’d look up and over at the house, how her father was feeling. How he held his head, whether the corner of his mouth turned up … or down, and whether he closed his eyes before getting out the truck or not, these were the expressions Callie knew in her father’s face. Just like his big smile when they were washing the truck, figuring out how her father felt was important to Callie. She always felt better if she half way knew what to expect once he had gone in the house . . . once he’d start talking to Mama.
Jamie slowed gradually as he passed the oak that stood just outside the picket fence, it smaller branches now whipping back and forth, it leaves being sent helter-skelter. He passed the gate and turned carefully on to the pea gravel at the side. He braked and turned off the ignition. Running his hand across his mouth, Jamie closed his eyes, and hesitated before opening the door. Callie had not seen her daddy since Sunday night last. Monday morning he had left very early, and had not come home that night.
Tuesday. It had not been a good day. It would, most likely, not be a good night. But maybe, just maybe … Callie was not without hope, as she waited for her father to open his eyes. Eyes reopened, Jamie looked at his daughter, he smiled and waved to her. The girl waved back.
****** to be continued
