"Go on. Don't be late for stupid detention." she ordered, and hurried off to the locker room.
I watched her for a moment and then took my seat in the detention room. The detention teacher gave me a sheet of paper almost immediately.
"You're supposed to write something," he reminded me.
With tears burning under my eyelids. I began my apology. I wrote the same things I had told Dean Mannville and then signed it with "I'm very sorry."
The late bus didn't take students directly to their homes. I was let off at a busy intersection in Hickory that was a good mile walk to my home. It wasn't the first time for me. I really had remained after school for research or for club meetings. Just as I started out. I saw what looked like Daddy's car coming down the boulevard. I stepped back and watched it pass. It was Daddy's car, and he was in it, but he wasn't driving.
He was sitting in the passenger's seat with a young man I knew to be Michael Kirkwood, one of his junior partners, driving. I caught a good view of both of them as they passed. Daddy had his head against the passenger's window, his eyes closed, and Mr. Kirkwood looked very somber. I had never seen anyone drive Daddy's car with him in it.
Oh no, I thought. Something bad happened at court. Daddy will be especially upset and in a bad mood tonight.
I walked with heavy steps, feeling as if I had a stone in my chest. Actually, I was feeling sorrier for Mama than I was for myself. At home, she was probably singing to herself while she made preparations for Uncle Palaver's arrival, Now, I wished he would postpone. Maybe the weather would
-him bad and we'd have an ice storm or something.
It was certainly raining in my heart.
3 Pins and Needles
. Of course. I was afraid that Dean Mannville had told his secretor), to call my parents to tell them about the disciplinary action taken against me and she had already done so, but, fortunately for me. Brenda was right. There truly were more serious behavior problems to absorb the school's resources and attention.
Mama was so involved with her plans for tomorrow night's dinner, she didn't even notice that I was home later than usual.
"Your uncle Warner is just crazy about my chicken Kiev," she said when I looked through the kitchen doorway and saw her sitting on a stool and flipping through some cookbooks. "You know it's hard to get the chicken boned just the way I like it to be, the way they do it at Kaminskis Russian Tea Room in Memphis. You know what I mean, with the wing bone and all. I'll have to see about that tomorrow morning. I thought I'd let some of that couscous he loves, too. Then I thought I'd make his favorite dessert, chocolate cream pie. It's one of your father's favorites. too."
Mama made her pie crusts from scratch just the way her mother used to make it. Uncle Palaver claimed he had to travel clear across country just for her pie.
"Are you absolutely sure he's coming this time, Mama?" I asked. I would have hated to see her disappointed after such a buildup, and there were other times when he thought he would visit but was detoured by a last-minute opportunity to travel elsewhere for a show,
"Oh, yes. He called again today. Brenda will be so pleased. He is getting here early enough to go to her game," she said. "We'll all go. Maybe we'll get your father to go this time. Sometimes, he can get out of work early enough. Hopefully, we'll have a victory celebration right afterward. That's why I want to get as much as I can done now," she added.
Her eyes were bright from the glow of so much hope. She believed that in one day, in one dinner, she would restore happiness to our home. It was on the tip of my tongue to warn her about what I had just seen when Daddy and his junior partner passed by on the boulevard. I should tell her how unhappy he looked and what a bad mood he might be in when he did come home, but it would be like telling a four-yearold that Santa Claus was not real. I nodded and left her.
I went up to study. My redemption would be my getting a very good grade on tomorrow's social studies quiz. It would help me convince Mr. Leshman it had all been a terrible misunderstanding and I had no wicked intent in my behavior. Perhaps he would stop the school from sending home the referral. Was I a dreamer, too? Was it like a disease in this house now to hope for things that would never come true?
Brenda was home before Daddy. Usually, when he was going to be very late, he would call Mama to let her know. With all her attention and concentration focused on Uncle Palaver's arrival, the big dinner, and what she hoped would be a wonderful family weekend, she had decided to order in Chinese food. Brenda came right to my room to find out if the school had called.
"I knew they wouldn't," she said when I told her that as far as I knew, they hadn't. I then told her how I had seen Daddy being driven in his own car.
"I don't know why someone else would be driving his car. He looked very upset," I said,
"So, what's new? I was going to take that picture of him and me when I received the basketball trophy last year and pin it on the front of our door so he would remember how to smile.'
"You wouldn't, would you?" I asked, afraid of how he might react.
"I would if I could, but I couldn't find the picture. It used to be on his desk in his office. You haven't seen it anywhere, have you?"
"No.'"
"Forget about it. Just don't mention anything about seeing him before." she told me.
We joined Mama in the kitchen, where she repeated most of what she had already told me and then suddenly realized what time it was and the fact that Dad
dy hadn't called or come home. She went to the phone, but Daddy's office was already closed for the day, and the answering service took over. They patched her through to his private office line, but he didn't pick up.
"He's probably on his way home," she said. "I'll order the food. I know what he likes, anyway."