Promise Me A Rainbow (27 page)

“Della,” he said, but she still wouldn’t look at him. “Della, what’s wrong with you? Where’s Charlie and Fritz?”

She crossed the room to Margaret, all but flinging herself into Margaret’s arms.

“I don’t think she wants to talk to you,” Margaret said.

“Well, that’s tough. I want to talk to her. I want to know what the hell is going on here!”

Della began to cry, flashing him a guilty look before she hid her face in Margaret’s shoulder again. There was more noise than emotion in Della’s weeping, and it suddenly occurred to him that she wasn’t upset because she hadn’t known where he was. She was upset because she did know. Charlie must have told her about Catherine’s message.

He walked to the kitchen door. “Charlie!” he yelled. “Get down here!” He could hear running feet across the upstairs, clear evidence that Charlie had remembered he’d forgotten to tell him about Catherine’s call, and he wasn’t about to push his luck now. He came down the stairs three at a time, arriving at the kitchen door in a skid. He was wearing a pair of too big red-polka-dot pajamas he’d dug up from somewhere.

“You look like Clarabell,” Joe said.

“Nah. Clarabell wore stripes. You should know that, Pop.” He gave a big grin that was all bravado, his eyes shifting to the others in the room.

“You want to tell me what the crisis is?” Joe said. “I can’t get anything out of anybody else.”

“Well . . .” He glanced at Della and Margaret. “Maybe it’s . . . the weather?”

Joe stared at him and tried to control his temper. Charlie was proud of his beautiful older sister—even if she wouldn’t give him the time of day. He wasn’t about to get on her bad side, too, if he could help it.

“The weather,” Joe repeated. “It’s raining outside. It’s not a damn hurricane! It’s nothing worse than you were used to in Dorchester!”

“Yeah, well, Pop, you’re right about that—”

He jabbed the air in Charlie’s direction. “Don’t jerk me around, son. I don’t like it. Was there a problem here tonight or wasn’t there? Before you answer that, remember how many days it is until you get that driver’s license.”

“Ah, Pop, that’s not fair—”

“Fair is for people who don’t have children. Now answer me!”

He could feel Charlie making up his mind. Sibling loyalty was one thing; driving a car was something else again.

“Well, Pop . . . Della didn’t know where you were.
I
thought we just ought to call Catherine—I mean, you were supposed to go out with her and everything? Did I tell you she called?”

“No,” Joe said pointedly.

“No,” Charlie repeated, confirming his fear that he hadn’t told him. “Sorry, Pop. I must have forgot or something.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Why didn’t I what, Pop?” Charlie asked abruptly. Joe could feel him stalling for the time to anticipate the question and then think up an acceptable, if not particularly truthful, answer. He had to admire the boy. Charlie was between a rock and a hard place here and he was working every minute.

“Why didn’t you call Catherine if you were looking for me?”

“Oh, is that where you were?” Charlie said, his voice rising to a higher pitch.

“Where else would I be since you didn’t give me the message! Damn it, Charlie!”

“Well, I thought we did call her, Pop. I mean I thought Della did. I guess she thought calling Uncle Michael would be a better idea or . . . something . . .” he finished lamely.

“So Della wanted to know where I was.” It wasn’t quite a question. It was a technique Joe had learned from his own father to keep a recalcitrant child off-balance. The effect it had on Charlie was much the same as it had been on him when he was Charlie’s age. Charlie looked at him now with probably the same expression Joe’s father had seen. Was this a question because the old man didn’t know? Or was it a statement of fact because he did?

Charlie glanced in Della’s direction. “I guess.”

“You guess.”

“Yeah.”

“And
you
wanted to know where I was.”

“Nah, I figured you’d turn up sooner or later. You always do, Pop.”

Joe gave him a warning look. He was
not
in the mood for cute.

“You weren’t exactly late or anything,” Charlie said before the significance of his father’s look registered.

“Where was Fritz all this time?” Joe asked. “I suppose you had her thinking I’d disappeared, too.”

“Oh, heck, no, Pop. She’s asleep.”

Joe stared at him, his look encompassing Della as well. “It’s a good thing for the two of you that she is. Michael,” he said turning to his brother. “I think what we have here is a foul-up in communications all the way around.” He didn’t owe his brother an explanation, and he wasn’t going to give him one. “So you want to get out of here so I can talk to my kids?”

“Sure, Joey. Let’s go, Margaret.”

“I don’t want to talk!” Della said, pushing herself out of Margaret’s arms. “I’m going upstairs!” She ran out of the room, and Margaret started after her.

“Margaret!” Joe said sharply. “I’ll handle this, you understand?”

“Joey, the kid’s upset,” Michael said, trying to intervene on Margaret’s behalf.

“She’s not the only one. I said
I’ll
handle it. If I want Margaret’s help, I’ll ask for it.”

“I don’t think you understand the situation here, Joe,” Margaret said. “Della doesn’t like that Holben woman.”

“Why do you suppose that is, Margaret? Della doesn’t even know her.”

“Why? Haven’t you learned yet that you can’t just bring strange women into your home? You should have heard what she said to Della the other day at the barbecue.”

“What was that?”

“Oh, I’m sure she’s given you
her
version.”

“What did she say!”

“She told Della to mind her own business!”

For a moment he was torn between his loyalty to his daughter and his need to know what really happened. He knew what Della was like—headstrong, impertinent—and he knew what Catherine Holben was like. It wasn’t likely that Catherine would respond like that without provocation—a
lot
of provocation.

“What did Della say?”

“Nothing! She was stunned. When you’re sixteen years old, you don’t expect that kind of rudeness in your own house.”

“I mean
before
Catherine told her that. You were there, I take it. Della must have said something.”

“I really don’t remember, but nothing to cause
that
kind of remark. She was only asking the things
you
should have told her before you brought that woman here. It was upsetting for Della, having her appear out of nowhere—”

“She was here for Fritz!”

“Oh, please, Joe. She’s not very hard to figure out. She’s using Fritz to try to get to you.”

“Why do you think that is, Margaret? You think she’s after my money or my carefree lifestyle? Maybe she’s got this thing for pickup trucks.”

“I think, Joe, if you care about you daughter at all, you won’t see Catherine Holben again.”

“Oh, you do? Well I’m glad to know how Della feels, Margaret—and
you
, of course. But you see, I like Catherine Holben. And she’s not anyone’s wife, you know what I mean?”

“Fine, Joe,” she said sweetly. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Men really aren’t very good judges of character—especially when they’re thinking with the wrong head. You know what
I
mean? Come on, Michael.”

But Michael didn’t move. “What kind of remark was that, Joey? What did you mean, she’s nobody’s wife?”

“Nothing, Michael—”

“I want to know what you meant!”

“Nothing!”

They stared at each other. He knows, Joe suddenly thought. He knows how Margaret is.

He had said too much, too much even for Michael to ignore, but he didn’t look away. He had nothing to feel guilty about. He hadn’t given in to Margaret. He’d only wanted to.

“I didn’t mean anything,” Joe repeated, because he was determined not to let his annoyance at Margaret hurt his brother. “I’m mad, okay? When I’m mad, I got a big mouth.”

After a moment Michael shrugged. “Yeah,” he said. “That you got.”

Charlie kept clearing his throat in the background.

“Charlie, what?” Joe said in exasperation.

“I like her,” he offered.

“What?”

“Catherine.
I
like her. I just thought you might want to know that. Aunt Margaret says Della doesn’t like her. Well, I do—just in case anybody else’s opinion matters around here—”

“Charlie, go to bed,” Joe said.

“You mean it?” he asked, clearly relieved.

“Yes, I mean it! Go on. And tell Della I’ll be up to talk to her in a minute so she can just get herself together.”

“That’s it? I’m off the hook?”

“Don’t press your luck,” Joe advised him.

“Oh, no, Pop. Luck-pressing is not for me. Can I say one more thing?”

“What!”

“You got good taste—”

“Charlie—”

“Catherine,” he said, elaborating. “
Nice
-looking woman, Pop.
Nice
!” He gave Joe the okay sign with both hands.

“Get out of here,” Joe said.

“Right, Pop. Catherine got any younger sisters?”

“Go.”

“How about older ones?”

“Beat it!”

“You got it, Pop.”

Charlie trotted away, complete with sound effects—explosions and whining missiles all the way up the stairs. Joe turned his attention to his brother. “Michael, I appreciate your coming over—”

“I’m going to the car,” Margaret interrupted, but for once Michael wasn’t listening.

“Joey, when are you going to get your shit together?” he said. “I’m too old for this kind of stuff.”

“Michael, I didn’t do anything!”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re off with some woman—”

“
Some
woman? A couple of days ago you were telling me to be off with her!”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t tell you to forget you got kids.”

“Michael, weren’t you listening here? Charlie knew I was probably at Catherine’s. I didn’t get her message. I went by her place to see if she was at home. I didn’t expect her to be, but she was. I wasn’t gone that long. They didn’t call her. They didn’t call
me
—oh, what am I explaining this to you for!”

“Joey, you got to remember you got responsibilities—”

“Jesus Christ, Michael! If I didn’t remember that, I wouldn’t have come home!”

Michael suddenly broke into a broad grin. “Yeah?” he asked, punching him on the arm.

“Michael, quit. I’m not in the mood for this.”

“Yeah?” he asked, punching him again.

“Now quit! I’m telling you . . .”

But he didn’t quit. He kept after him until they were both laughing and behaving like schoolboys in a territorial scuffle.

“Okay, okay,” Michael said when he’d had enough. He grabbed Joe around the neck and kissed him on the cheek hard.