With exaggerated calm she picked up the slotted spoon and began removing the meatballs from their broth. When she finished, she poured a flour-and-water mixture into the bubbling liquid and stirred the thickening gravy.
She heard the slow, steady thump-thump-thump of Rass coming down the stairs, and she straightened.
"Evening, Mariah. "
She spooned the meatballs back into the gravy and dished up supper. Then, two plates in hand, she turned to face her father. "Hi, Rass. "
He went to the head of the table and sat down. "Something smells mighty good. "
"Knoigsberger Klops. "
He grinned. "Ah, no wonder. " He glanced around the table and frowned. "There isnt a place for young Mr. Stone. "
She wanted to say, Mr. Stones as young as I am, but she bit her tongue and forced a smile. "Hes not eating with us. I put a cold chicken supper in a basket for him. Its on the porch. "
"Why should he want to eat alone?"
Mariah scooted up to the table and poured two glasses of milk. "Probably wants to practice with a fork. "
Rass made a soft, clucking sound. "Now, Mariah, thats not very charitable of you. "
She stabbed a meatball with her fork. "You have enough charity for both of us. "
Rass put down his utensils. They hit with a tinny little clang that seemed loud in the quiet room.
Mariah tensed, feeling her fathers gaze on her face. No emotion, Mariah. None.
"Change is part of life, Mariah. "
"So are natural disasters. "
Rass snorted. "Mad Dog is hardly a natural disaster. "
"You havent seen him crack walnuts. "
"Give the man a chance, Mariah," he said softly.
She turned to him then. Anger narrowed her eyes. "You should know better than to even suggest such a thing. I did that once. "
Rasss wrinkled old face fell. Sorrow magnified his rheumy eyes. "Ah, Mariah . . . "
For a heartbeat, Mariah felt herself weaken. She looked away. "Dont look at me that way. "
"Youre not sixteen anymore. "
Panic uncoiled inside her, chewed at her self-control.
She lurched to her feet, clenching her hands to quell the shaking. "I dont want to talk about this now. " "Of course you dont. You never have. " She faced the six-hole Windsor stove that had been her mothers pride and joy. "And I never will. " She tried to make the words sound strong and defiant, but the best she could manage was a watery plea. "Okay, come on back to the table. " She composed herself, then turned around and went to her seat. "Just dont mention Mr. Stone again. Id like to keep my supper down. "
They lapsed into a familiar silence, punctuated by the gentle wheezing of Rasss breath and the tinny echo of their silverware on the crockery plates.
Finally she pushed her half-empty plate away and leaned back in her chair.
"Good supper," Rass said quietly. She glanced at her father, surprised by the depressed sound of his voice. And immediately wished she hadnt. He looked inestimably sad tonight; his once bright eyes were rheumy and dull. And he hadnt eaten much of his supper. He was thinking about Mama again.
She wished she could touch him right now, tell him she understood his sorrow. But it had been years since shed done something like that. She didnt even know what to say to him anymore. And somehow, every time she tried to reach out to him, she did the wrong thing, or said the wrong thing, or kept silent when she should have spoken. Shed never really noticed how bad it was until her mother died. After that, Mariah and Rass sort of drifted apart.
She didnt want it that way. She wanted . . . more.