Finding Home by Weger Jackie

Author:Weger, Jackie [Weger, Jackie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jackie Weger
Published: 2013-12-28T05:00:00+00:00

SIX

Anger flared one minute, love the next as Phoebe banged around in the kitchen. She was fixing supper and handling pots and pans like percussion instruments. Love flowed in only one direction, toward Gage. Her anger flowed in two, at him and herself.

To avoid a scene with Maydean in Shambeau’s she’d spent more than she’d planned. She’d bought the socks, a pair of shorts for herself, a knit shirt for Maydean because she refused to take it off, a toy car for Willie-Boy and a coloring book for Dorie.

There had been the same crowded conditions in the truck on the way home. More so because of the purchases and a bag of groceries Gage set on the floorboard. There was a six-pack of beer in the bag. Phoebe frowned on that, but Gage was staying home to drink it. He had also bought ice cream and chewing gum. He was sitting in the living room drinking his beer while the kids sat on the floor clacking their jaws. It was enough to drive a body mad. She banged another pot to emphasize her displeasure.

The noise brought Gage to the kitchen. “What’s all the clatter in here?”

Phoebe sniffed. “What clatter? I don’t hear any clatter.”

He cocked a brow. “You probably have the ships out in the channel thinking they’re picking up distress signals.”

“I wish one of ‘em would come along and pick me up and take me I-don’t-care-where.”

“What’re you mad about?”

“Nothin’. Do I sound mad to you? What makes you think I’m mad?”

He went to the refrigerator, retrieved another beer and popped the top.

That’s two, Phoebe counted. “You sure like your booze, don’t you?”

“I like a beer now and then, yes. I told you before, don’t make too much out of it.”

“I’m not. I don’t even care.”

“You want one?”

“I hate the stuff. I just hope you won’t be too drunk to come to the supper table.”

“On two beers? Seems to me the beer is just an excuse. What’s really bothering you?”

“Nothin’.” Here she was heart throbbing, knees watery and he not only didn’t notice, he wasn’t reciprocating. “Everything is so fine and dandy I can hardly stand it.”

“I’ll just close the door to the kitchen, keep the noise down. Every time you slam a pot Willie-Boy jumps.”

A surge of guilt scuttled Phoebe’s anger. The doctor back home said Willie-Boy’s asthma attacks were sometimes brought on by overexcitement or fear. That was one reason she had him in tow. Vinnie picked on him something terrible, kept him gasping for breath. “Leave the door open. I’ve about got supper done anyhow.”

After the meal was served, Maydean and Dorie, cautious eyes upon Phoebe, washed dishes without protest. Willie-Boy’s new toy broke. Gage got out a soldering iron and showed him how to fix it. Phoebe stopped clearing the table to give Willie-Boy a hug.

“What’d you do that for?”

“Because I’m proud. Look at you, learnin’ how to weld.”

“This is soldering,” he explained. “Welding is when you wear a mask.”

Later, after the children were bathed and in bed, Phoebe went into the living room where Gage sat, to watch television with him.

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