Holly & Theo: The Complete Painter Series

Chapter 1

I averted my eyes from my reflection, as I always did. But there I was. Translucent. Ghostlike. In the trophy-case glass, my reflection stared back at me between photos of the same two perfect people I looked at every morning—only here they were younger and even more perfect.

Holly. So you’re Heather and Randall’s daughter? Man, that brings back memories. See that trophy right there. That was the first time Chesnee High School won a state championship football game, thanks to your dad. Principal Howard tapped on the glass.

I blew a red tendril of hair from my face and rubbed my freckled arms. Yes, I’ve heard the story.

And your mom...Heather...W-O-W.

I couldn’t help but look at him this time. The growl when he said my mother’s name made my face contort in pure disgust.

Sorry. He grimaced. Just for a minute, I was a seventeen-year-old boy again and not old Mr. Howard.

He glanced at my beautiful, nearly raven-haired mom’s photo in the case and back at me, probably wondering if I were adopted. People asked that a lot.

I gazed back at my mom—smiling ear to ear. That homecoming crown probably never needed pins. It knew where it belonged, which was more than I knew. And if it didn’t, I’m sure she set it straight on the matter. She still looked the same, too—older, of course, but forever the beauty queen. Her blue eyes and bright smile were too much for me early in the mornings—not to mention her sleek dark brown hair. She’d never had a bad hair day whereas I had a bad hair life.

Last I heard, your folks were living the high life down near the coast in Charleston. What made them give all that up to move back to Chesnee?

I blinked hard and tried to remember the answer my mom told me to say. I could feel the pressure push down on my shoulders just as it had that morning when my mom grilled me. You are a reflection on your father and me. Remember who you are.

The exact words I’d been given poured from my mouth like lines from a poorly-rehearsed play. After years of chasing the American dream, they...decided it was time to get off the treadmill and...get back to basics.

I stared at my feet, and my cheeks burned as I recited my mom’s answer. A pageant answer—a slight untruth with a lofty spin to it. I continued with the rest. You know, focus on what really matters.

Because, heaven forbid, people think anything but sunshine and roses ever touched Heather Scruggs.

I finally made eye contact with him. The blank look on the principal’s face told me enough. He cleared his throat and ushered me toward my homeroom. Well, I’m sure this will be a great senior year for you once you settle in.

He rushed into a classroom and introduced me to the teacher. I tried not to make eye contact with any of the other students as I shuffled to my seat. The last time I’d changed schools, I was eight. Mom wanted me in the prep school where all her friend’s children attended. Making new friends was a lot easier then, especially when Mom was already friends with the other kids’ moms. Here, I knew no one.

When we stood for the pledge, I automatically checked out everybody’s shoes. Back in private school, everybody wore the same uniform. Mom had taught me that shoes were how you knew another’s worth.

That’s how you know if they’re worth talking to. No need wasting your time on a scholarship handout case, she would always say. Mom insisted I wear a new pair of BCBG’s on the first day, to make sure I was worth talking to. Of course, that was before my dad lost his job—no wait—got off the treadmill and back to basics. My stomach lurched, and the gray aura of an approaching migraine surrounded me. I squinted as the florescent lights grew brighter. I’d have to pop a couple headache pills when I got a chance.

There were three guys in the back wearing cowboy boots. I gave them the once over, No one in Charleston dressed like that. Their long, leather jackets, oversized belt buckles, and cowboy hats looked like something off CMT or maybe they formed posses here in Chesnee.

The girl next to me with the black Converse tennis shoes and black eyeliner was rocking the full Emo look. But most people wore low-end name brands or knockoffs. Mom would not approve of any of these as potential friends, but her way of choosing friends hadn’t worked out for me...or her either, in the end.

I pulled my Kindle from my backpack and read until the bell, a trick I’d picked up to avoid people when my friends had turned on me back in Charleston. Hiding behind my book, I set the pattern for how I spent the rest of the day—find my class, read until it started, take notes, then read until the next bell. Reading made you look smart and gave you a reason to be quiet. If I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t say the wrong thing. According to my mom, I had a habit of doing just that. Shaming my mom and headaches were the two constants in my life.

At fourth period, my head throbbed from behind my eyes to the base of my skull. I dug the Excedrin and bottled water from my bag before looking at my schedule.

Drama Club? What the —

The double wooden doors of the auditorium seemed abnormally huge and daunting. As I stood in front of them, my heart sank deep into my stomach and nausea rolled through me. How had I ended up in drama? I thought back over the classes I’d signed up for at Charleston Academy. I’d picked theater history as an elective, but it was a history class, not a drama class.

Are you lost? A deep voice interrupted my reverie.

A skinny African American guy stood next to me in a letterman jacket. His eyes were kind, and he wore a bemused crooked smile.

No. I cleared my throat. My voice had grown gruff from lack of use. Not lost, but definitely in the wrong place.

He tilted his head, wrinkles forming between his eyebrows in a silent question.

I just moved here, and the office must have screwed up my schedule. Apparently, I’m in Drama Club. I shook my head. Acting on a stage in front of everybody...so not my thing.

His lips parted to expose his perfectly straight teeth in a smile as he pushed the door open. I’m not actually into acting either. I’m here for the easy ‘A’ and no homework. I’m Anthony, by the way.

Holly.

I followed him into the cavernous auditorium. A damp, musty earthiness reminded me of Grandma’s basement. My eyes adjusted as we approached the front where students already sat a few rows from the dimly-lit stage.

Anthony sat next to a big guy, also in a letterman jacket, while I chose a seat farther away from everyone and pulled out my Kindle. A few minutes later, a sing-song voice floated down the aisle from behind me.

Welcome, welcome, welcome everyone. I’m your drama coach, Ms. Jones. She sashayed to the front of the room and looked exactly the way she sounded—clownish makeup, wild eyes, long blond hair, and dressed way too young for her age.

It was then I noticed the sandy-haired boy sitting on the stage behind her, hanging his feet over the orchestra pit.

Oh, goody! Ms. Jones clapped her hands. Newbies!

I slithered deeper into my seat. They didn’t make an Excedrin strong enough for this. What a nightmare.

We’re all going to introduce ourselves. Tell your name, grade, and any acting experience you have. Let’s begin with the new girl holding the big calculator.

I didn’t realize she was talking about me until I noticed her gawking in my direction. Everyone else in the class soon followed suit, obviously sizing me up. My cheeks burned under the weight of their stares. Clearing my throat, I gave my basic information. Not all the crap Mom would want me to say about myself—things that would prop up my qualities like a good push-up bra and smooth down my flaws like Spanx—smoke and mirrors. I sucked at being fake, and it always made my migraines worse.

The teacher gave me a quick smile and moved on to the other students, who happily shared their information. Well, all except for the boy on the stage. The unfairness of it chafed me. Why did he get to be invisible while sitting right up front, and I had to go first when I’d strategically positioned myself in the back? I almost voiced my complaint but decided against it. Why risk getting on someone’s bad side the first day?

Today, we will start with some movement exercise so everybody up, up, up on the stage.

Groans and mumbles buzzed above the crowd as everyone shuffled their way forward. We all stood in a group across from Ms. Jones, except for the sandy-haired boy. He still sat on the floor, but had spun around to watch us. What made him so special?

Ms. Jones clapped her hands. Now, pair up.

I started for a blonde girl, but another girl ran over and scooped her into a bear hug. A lump formed in my throat when I searched for anyone else to pair with. I was mortified to see that only the boy and I were left. At least now he’d have to participate. I headed toward him when Ms. Jones stopped me.

Oh dear, oh dear. This will not do. Ms. Jones’s buggy eyes glared at me. I’ll pair with you.

Okay, it was bad enough being the new kid, but I was not about to be paired with the teacher.

What about him? I pointed to the boy still seated on the stage.

His eyes grew to the size of saucers.

Who? Ms. Jones asked.

The boy sitting right here! I practically stood over him, pointing down at him.

Ms. Jones shook her head in confusion as she followed my gesture. Suddenly, she jumped back. Oh! How long have you been sitting there? I...I didn’t see you.

The boy smiled, revealing perfectly placed dimples on each cheek. Me?

I’m so sorry. I didn’t notice you there. Ms. Jones seemed confused and out of breath. What’s your name?

Theo, he answered as he stood.

Well, go stand with...with... She pointed at me and snapped her fingers.

Holly, I reminded her.

Yes, go stand with Holly. She turned her attention back to the class. Now, what I want you to do is face each other. One of you will move your arms, head, et cetera but do not leave your spot. The other person will mirror the movement.

Theo tucked his chin and grinned at me. His brows furrowed over his gray-blue eyes as if he were trying to figure something out.

Begin! Ms. Jones announced.

You go first, I whispered.

Theo put his hand up, and I copied him.

Blood ran up my neck when I realized how intently he scrutinized my face. What’s with the staring? You never saw freckles before?

I have. That’s not it. I’m trying to figure out why you noticed me. People never notice me. He glanced around and leaned in to whisper, You are human...right?

Change! Ms. Jones called.

My mouth fell opened. Was he nuts? How was I supposed to answer a question like that?

I balled my hands into fists and put them on my hips. What’s the matter with you?

When he put his hands on his hips, I got upset for a moment before I realized he was still doing the mirroring exercise.

Ms. Jones suddenly yelled and clapped. I love this. Love it! Everybody look at Holly and her partner. They aren’t just moving, they are conveying emotion with it. Brilliant!

I went back to doing normal movements. And Theo continued to stare at me. You look so familiar. I heard you say you just moved here, but did you move back? I mean, did you live here before...a long time ago maybe?

No. I half-smiled and then bit my lip.

He was exceptionally good looking. I’d been too irritated to notice at first, but the more I looked at him the warmer my cheeks grew. The way he stared at me didn’t help. It was intense and inquisitive, and he was too close. We weren’t touchy-feely at my house so this invasion into my personal space was especially uncomfortable.

So you’ve never been here before? His gray-blue eyes studied me even more.

Well...um...I’ve been to Chesnee before—to visit my grandmother before she died. Maybe you saw me around town then.

He shook his head. No, that’s not it. I’ve seen you up close, like this. I remember your eyes. They’re the color of the sea—just inside a coral reef, and your freckles are the stones of a volcanic island scattered along the sand. Your hair is like the sun setting over the water, shooting out orange rays in all directions. He stared into my eyes even deeper. You’re very pretty.

The impact of his words slammed into me. I’d braced myself for an insult. That’s what I was used to. This was either the way he came onto girls for a hook-up, or more likely, some mean joke to get a good laugh going with the other kids. Anger bubbled up. I knew those kinds of tricks. Those were the kinds of things the kids I used to hang with did all the time. They played them on me too, when I no longer belonged in their circle.

My hands trembled, and my lips drew up to hold in the anger, but I refused to cry in front of this boy. I wanted to call him on his prank. I knew better than to think it was a real compliment, but I couldn’t think of anything clever to say.

The tears burned in my eyes despite my efforts.

Forget this! I shouted as I ran off the stage. Everyone’s stares bore into my back as I grabbed my backpack and made for the door. My head throbbed from ear to ear. I was dropping the class, and that was final.

Chapter 2

Mom, you’ve got to call the school and fix this. I wet a washcloth in the bathroom sink for my head and stepped out of the bathroom. I cannot be in Drama Club. You know how I stress out when I have to talk to people.

Mom stood on a stepladder hanging curtains in the living room. The room was no longer the same out of date color it had been that morning. I shook my head. Fast, even for Mom.

Drama isn’t so bad. You might like being onstage, having every eye on you—being absolutely adored. She finished setting the curtain, pulled her arm in, and let out a sigh. If they’d offered it back in my day, I’m sure I would have loved it.

Of course she would.

Mom, you know I hate crowds and get tongue-tied. I never know what to say to people.

True, she answered flatly.

She stepped down and tilted her head back and forth, surveying the wall. With a delicate hand, she pulled a portion of the fabric and compared the colors.

Lovely. The pride in her voice oozed like melted butter as she examined her beautiful workmanship. Everything associated with her had to be beautiful. She turned to look at me. The satisfaction faded from her face, and her shoulders sagged a little—but not much. She was far too conscientious of her posture for that.

Her face twisted as her eyes caught me holding the cloth to my forehead. Another headache?

I nodded and sat on the loveseat.

Sweetie, did you ask if they had anything else? She sounded a little more sympathetic than before.

Yes, but the only other class with an opening was home arts.

I wouldn’t mind taking it, but I knew how she felt about it.

No, that’s not the kind of class that looks good on a college resume.

The sympathy had passed.

Drama sounds better, even if all you ever do is work as a stagehand, which I’d guess is what you’ll end up doing. She pushed the couch back against the wall. I mean you’re no star. Best to realize that early. Work with what you’ve got and make the best of it.

Appearance trumped quality of life once again. I’m going to lie down.

I trudged off to my room and closed the door slowly so it wouldn’t resonate in my already throbbing head. I surveyed my bed and frowned. Mom had flipped my comforter while I was at school. It was pink floral on one side and tan on the other. I didn’t really care for pink, but my mom did, and that’s all that mattered in our house.

We played this constant game of flipping it to the side each preferred. I call it a game, but neither of us got any pleasure out of it. We never said anything about it either. At that moment, my head hurt too much to care what color my bed was. I climbed in and pulled the cover over my head to hide my sensitive eyes from the light.

Mom: 1, Holly: 0, I grumbled and succumbed to sleep.

***

I spent the next school day with my nose in a book again, making a point not to look at anyone or give anyone the idea that I might want to talk. Being invisible meant safety for me.

During third-period, my pen burst while taking notes, so on the way to the auditorium I made a detour to the lady’s room to wash my hands. I turned on the faucet, but jerked my hands back when the water started. It was orangey-red—kind of a rusty color.

Gross!

I pulled out my hand sanitizer and did the best I could to get the ink off with it and a paper towel. I exited the restroom across the hall from the auditorium and headed for the double doors just as Anthony came up the stairs.

You’re back. I thought you didn’t want to be in drama. He opened the door for me.

I didn’t, but the only other class available was home arts, so I guess I’m stuck.

Home arts is a good class. Last year, I took it for the food. And, now, not only can I make a mean lasagna, but I can sew my own curtains, too.

I had to laugh and shake my head as I followed him down the aisle. Anthony seemed the kind of guy who didn’t pretend to be more than he was. I liked him already. He sat with the jocks again while I sat alone and pulled out my e-reader. I didn’t bother to look when I felt someone sit in the seat beside me.

What’re you reading?

I recognized the voice. When I glanced up, Theo grinned at me. His eyes held that same scrutinizing stare. I didn’t want to encourage whatever game he wanted to play. A book.

But what’s it about?

A girl and her brothers and sister abandoned by their mom.

Theo’s nose scrunched. Sounds sad. Why would you want to read something like that?

I shrugged and turned my attention back to my book. That’s life. Not everyone gets a nurturing mother.

They should.

I shrugged again and tried to read, but he was still there and still too close.

Why are you talking to me?

I wanted to thank you.

I put my Kindle down and looked at him. Thank me? For what?

For noticing me.

I glared at Theo, trying to figure out his angle, when Ms. Jones came in.

Sorry I’m late, everyone. I had to go make sure the school office knew the water was dirty again. They’re pulling out the water coolers and putting them out by the fountains. They swear it’s safe to drink after the water clears, but I don’t like it. If any of you feel the need to tell your parents, and they feel the need to contact the school board, don’t tell them I said to do it. It’s time to take the school off that old well and switch to public water. But you didn’t hear it from me.

I sat up and placed my book under my seat, ignoring Theo. Ms. Jones called out name after name. Everyone answered except Theo. She never called his name. He might be annoying as all get out but, at the moment, I felt sorry for him being ignored again.

Even if he was a pain in the butt.

Ms. Jones, I raised my hand and spoke just above a whisper. You missed Theo again.

Who? She her head tilted to the side.

Theo. I pointed to the boy sitting beside me.

Ms. Jones shook her head and jumped back. I’m sorry young man. I...I didn’t see you there. What did you say your name was?

He smiled wide. Theo.

Are you new? You’re not on my roll, and you weren’t here yesterday. Ms. Jones grew flustered as she thumbed the pages of the roster.

Was she on something? I felt my forehead wrinkle as my eyes went buggy. He was here yesterday. You put us together for the mirroring exercise.

I did? she asked.

I nodded very slowly. According to Mom, back in high school Ms. Jones had dreams of being on Broadway. She’d gone off to New York after graduating, but she never got beyond understudy and chorus. Eventually, she came back to teach drama. Maybe she’d brought back a substance abuse problem, too.

Hmm, you’d think I’d remember that. Well, the mind’s the first thing to go. She shook her head. Ms. Jones pulled a stack of papers from her bag and began handing them out. As many of you know, we put on a production right before Christmas break. This year, instead of a play we will be doing a Renaissance festival, complete with dinner, swordplay, and entertainment. The whole town will be here, including the mayor.

She handed me a small stack of papers stapled in the corner. I flipped it open to see examples of costumes, information on food, dance, language and customs.

O...M...G, I said as I flipped the pages.

What is it? Theo leaned in close gazing at the papers in my hand.

I hid them to my chest. Where’s your copy?

She skipped me. He shook his head and smiled, unearthing the dimples.

Yep—on drugs. I’ll go get you one.

Nah, don’t worry about it. She’ll forget to give me a part anyway. He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

I sighed and shared my packet with him. It wasn’t worth the trouble.

He snickered. The clothes really didn’t look like that back then. Not for most people anyway.

Huh? I glanced up caught him staring at me, again. What?

Still trying to figure out where I’ve seen you before.

I frowned and returned to looking at the handouts.

So, why the OMG?

A giant production the whole town will come out to see. My stomach churned just thinking about it.

And?

And...I’m not good with crowds or talking to people. I get nervous.

Theo’s eyes grew softer. You’re doing fine talking to me right now.

Why was he being nice today? Guilt from the day before? Or was he still playing me? I rolled my eyes and leaned in closer to whisper, But you’re one person. Not a whole town gawking at me while I make a fool of myself...and my family.

He leaned in and whispered back, It’s a high school play, not network television. You’ll do fine, and I’m sure your parents will be proud of you no matter what.

I wasn’t so sure.

But if you hate speaking in front of people so much, what made you sign up for drama?

I’m in drama because they messed up my schedule. I would never choose to be here, I whispered.

I turned my attention back to Ms. Jones. She was calling everyone to join her on the stage.

We will be studying the parts of the theater until our Renaissance play arrives. She handed out a second stack of papers with a diagram of a stage and auditorium on it. Again, Ms. Jones skipped Theo.

Bring a pen. I will give you a tour of the theatre while you fill in the blanks.

Will we be tested on this? asked Anthony, standing with his letterman group.

No, Anthony, you will not be tested. It is for your benefit to know your way around the theatre.

Moving her arms in a sweeping motion, Ms. Jones continued. The entire part of the stage from ceiling to floor is called the stage-house. She pointed to the walls offstage. The ladders going up the wall lead to the catwalk. Look up and you will see the catwalk is a platform for walking above the stage from one side to the other. It is used to move equipment up in the flies or fly-system. The flies are used to hang sets.

I took notes as quickly as I could, but then it occurred to me there would be no test. I glanced up. Theo was no longer with us.

I bent back to look behind a large football player, and spied Theo sitting on risers offstage. How did he get by without participating? He caught me looking for him and smiled.

I put my head down and resumed taking notes.

The light bulb hanging off the wall behind you is called the ghost light. It’s left on 24/7 for the ghost.

The big football player beside me raised his hand. Ms. Jones? Um...what...what ghost?

His worried expression made me bite my lip to suppress a giggle.

Ms. Jones laughed. It’s just tradition. Like saying, ‘break-a-leg.’ You don’t actually want people to break their legs, and there isn’t really a ghost. Now, moving on...

We took notes until the bell rang. Everyone grabbed their bags from the seats, but Ms. Jones stopped us before we rushed out of the auditorium. She waved another stack of papers in the air.

I have monologues. I want them memorized by Monday. Plan to deliver them onstage. I have something special for the best performance. She pushed through and stood at the door and split the stack into each hand. The ones in my left hand are for the ladies, and the ones in my right are for the guys.

I grabbed one without looking at the title and headed for lunch. It was just as I descended the stairs that I remembered I’d left my Kindle under the seat.

I spun around and ran back up the stairs, yanked the auditorium door open, and ran down the aisle. I found my e-reader and turned to leave when a movement out the corner of my eye caught my attention. Theo headed backstage, behind the curtain.

What was he still doing onstage? I tiptoed up the steps and snuck around the curtain, but he’d vanished. Whatever he was up to was none of my business. I shook my head and ran back down the steps. I needed to get to the cafeteria before the bell rang.

I sat alone with my lunch tray, reading, and crunching on an apple. The sound of trays hitting the table in front of me forced me to look up. Anthony sat in the seat across from me. Beside him was a lanky boy with messy, curly hair.

Anthony nodded toward the guy beside him. This is Wayne. We run track and cross country together, Anthony said before picking up a slice of pizza, dipping it in ranch dressing, and stuffing it into his mouth.

Oh, that’s...nice? I made it sound like a question rather than a statement.

Anthony chewed took a bite, and looked over at Wayne. Wayne sat looking at me with a goofy grin. Anthony elbowed him in the side.

Staring’s rude, man. Anthony nodded at me. Sorry, Holly. Wayne here lacks social skills.

We ate in silence until Wayne spoke. So Holly, what are your thoughts on the universe?

I hurried and chewed my bite of apple before I choked.

The universe? I glanced over at Anthony whose face now rested in his hand.

Yeah, so, do you think we have an infinite or finite universe? Wayne spread his lips into a full smile, exposing his braces and the many rubber bands.

Um...I...What? I broke my stare and threw a questioning glance at Anthony. I could feel the deer-in-the-headlights look on my face.

Anthony mouthed without speaking, I’m sorry.

Last night, I was reading a book on different theories of the shape and size of the universe. Wayne’s eyes grew wide with excitement as he picked up his apple from the lunch tray. One theory suggests that the universe is finite. So theoretically, a spaceship could leave one point, travel continuously in one direction, he said and traced a line around his apple with his finger and end up back at the same point from which it departed. If it is infinite, the ship would travel on the same course forever and never return to that spot.

I’ve never heard that before. I shook my head, uncertain what to say.

Wayne’s always going on about stuff like that, Anthony said between bites. I just nod and pretend I understand. But the truth is, he could be speaking Chinese, and I’d understand it just as much. The only person in the school he can have a real conversation with is Mr. Winters.

Who’s Mr. Winters? I asked, not sure how else to participate in the conversation.

The chemistry and physics teacher. He’s the best. Wayne’s eyes sparked with excitement. He’s fresh out of college, so he’s just a little older than us. He even lets me take chemicals home for my own lab.

My eyebrows rose of their own accord. You have your own lab?

A few years ago, I took over the hall bathroom with my chemistry set. Every lab has to have a shower in case of emergencies. I’ve never had to use it, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. He unhooked the rubber bands in his mouth and placed them in his plate.

The table fell into an awkward silence. I bit my lip and stared at the ceiling trying to think of something to say. So—what’s the deal with the rusty-looking water?

Wayne waved, unconcerned as he opened his milk carton. The school’s on a well. Sometimes when it rains, the red clay gets washed into the water table making it muddy looking. It’s still safe to cook with. You know, when it’s boiled. They put out water coolers when it happens.

I thought about it for a moment, then said, But it hasn’t rained lately.

Anthony stopped eating. His head tilted at Wayne. She’s right. It hasn’t rained in a couple of weeks.

A puzzled look fell over Wayne’s face. I have Mr. Winters right after lunch. Maybe he’ll have an explanation, but if not, I’ll take some water samples and contact Clemson University. They take water and soil samples all the time and might help me figure this out.

I shrugged. At least the rusty water topic moved the conversation down to earth instead of theories on the universe. When the bell rang a few minutes later, I jumped up. Only two more classes left. I couldn’t wait for the day to be over.

Chapter 3

Heather! Heather sweetie, where are you? Dad called, walking through the door. He’d been about to burst with excitement since picking me up.

What is it? Mom came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands with a towel.

Guess who made a sale? I squeezed behind him through the door.

Oh! She jumped and squealed before bounding into Dad’s arms. Randall, I’m so proud of you. I knew we wouldn’t have to live like this for long. She squealed again like someone my age. So what kind of bonus did you get? I’ve had my eyes on a pretty dress down at Harley’s Dress Shoppe. Now that things aren’t so tight...I mean I’ve had to give up so much. I think I deserve something. Don’t you?

I rolled my eyes and passed her. Had she not caught on yet? After I plopped my books on my desk, I headed for the sofa, curious to see how Dad would handle Mom this time. That’s what we did with Mom. We handled her.

Sweetie. Dad pushed her away just a little so he could look her in the eye. Selling a used car doesn’t make the money selling surgical equipment did. This means I keep my job, and we have food on the table. Besides, you have a closet full of pretty dresses and nowhere to wear them.

Mom yanked herself away from him. So does this, at least, mean dinner at a nice seafood restaurant like it used to?

I was kind of hoping the answer to that was yes. Mom’s cooking skills were limited.

I don’t think so. Dad frowned and walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water.

Mom bit her lips shut and stared at him. Didn’t she see this was hard for him, too? For all of us? Apparently not, because, like Scarlett, she stormed off to her bed chamber.

Dad plopped down on the couch and laid his head back. He stared at the ceiling and sighed. All his excitement about his sale was now gone.

Dad?

Yes, Sweetheart. He sat up and met my eyes.

What was the name of that seafood place we used to go to with Grandma?

He perked up.

It didn’t seem expensive back when we used to visit with her.

Dad jumped up. Great idea.

He rushed to his bedroom door and knocked. He leaned his shoulder against the door and called, I think we can keep the tradition. How about the Fish Camp?

Is the place still open? Mom’s voice came from the other side.

I hoped so, because, if the situation didn’t get resolved soon, she could be like this for days.

Let me call and check.

Dad looked up the number and called. They were open. Mom came out dressed a little over-the-top for the place I remembered, but at least she came out.

Let’s go. We haven’t been out to eat in so long, Mom trilled.

Come on, Holly. Get back in the car, Dad said as he put his arm around me.

***

At the Fish Camp, the line was out the door and down the walkway. Mom and Dad were arm-in-arm like a couple of teenagers. It was nice to see them relaxed and smiling. When Mom was happy, all was right in our world. But when she wasn’t ...

It’s just a restaurant. So why do they call it a Fish Camp? I asked.

Mom turned to answer, Years ago, before refrigeration made seafood easily accessible for those away from the coast, people used to haul seafood upstate on ice—usually on Wednesdays or Thursdays. They’d set up camps, fry the fish along with hushpuppies, and sell them to the locals through Saturday night. Later the campsites became restaurants, but they still call them Fish Camps.

I didn’t even know that. You have a very smart mother, Dad said over his shoulder, and then caressed Mom’s cheek. Brains and beauty.

The line inched up, and we finally entered the long entryway. The walls and ceiling were painted to look