Capture the Wind for Me by Brandilyn Collins Page A

less. And it doesn’t mean I loved your mama any less. Do you hear me, Jackie? No one will ever replace your mama. If I could have her back right now, believe me, I would.” His voice dropped. “But at the same time, after her death, I have to go on. Our family has to go on. Any future we may find does not take away from the past.”
    My eyes flicked around the room, over the posters of singing groups and my schoolbooks stacked on the desk. A framed certificate from my cheerleading days hung crookedly on the wall, and before I knew it, I’d moved across the floor to straighten it. My gymnastics trophies sat slightly askew on top of my bookcase, and I straightened them too. A hair clip lay on the floor. I picked it up and tossed it into the butterfly dish on my dresser.
    â€œJackie.”
    â€œThis room is so messy.” I threw my shoes into the closet. Shoved a sweater into a drawer. My hands shook, hovering before me as I searched madly for something else to do. I glanced in the mirror and saw Daddy watching me, tension pulling at his lips. Left to no other device then, I turned and dropped back into my chair.
    â€œOkay,” I said, defeated. “You want to go out with Katherine King? Fine. Why talk to me about it; what do you want me to do? Watch the kids at night while you’re gone, is that it? Like that’s a problem. I take care of everything around here anyway.”
    â€œJackie—”
    â€œAll my friends are startin’ to date now,” I rushed on, my voice turning tinny, off-key. “You wanted me to go out, too; remember how we talked about that? ’Course now I won’t have the chance. But maybe you could double-date with my friends, wouldn’t that be nice.”
    Sadness filled Daddy’s eyes. “Jackie,” he said quietly, “I hoped you could be happy for me, knowing that I have healed enough from grief over your mama’s death to become attracted to someone. I know that I’m speaking very plainly to you of adult things, when you’re just a child yourself. But because you’re far more mature than most girls your age, and because you’ve taken care of this family so well—I thought we might be able to talk about this.”
    Anger sucked up my veins. No fair, the way he trapped me. Using my very maturity to tell me I should understand. “We are talking about it.”
    He nodded. “Okay. That we are.”
    Part of me rose to another plane then, looking down at myself, miserable and rooted in my chair. I gripped its armrest until all energy and offense drained out my fingers. God, I hate this! You can’t let this happen!
    â€œOkay, Daddy,” I managed, “I’m sorry. I’m . . . I am happy that you’re happy.”
    â€œThank you. I know this is hard for you.”
    I focused on my knees, pinpricks in my eyes.
    â€œI thought it might be easiest if we first invite Katherine to supper Saturday. Just an informal meal so we can all get to know her a little better.”
    My face muscles froze. Come to supper. I knew what that meant. Everybody in Bradleyville my daddy’s age and older knew what that meant. It would signal to the town that their dating had officially begun, just as it had in the days when Daddy went out with Mama. Daddy seemed to read my thoughts.
    â€œIt’s not the big deal it used to be.” He spread his hands. “Times have changed. I’m only suggesting it so that all four of us can be with Katherine. It’s best for all of us.”
    True, the days of “coming to supper” were over. I only knew the term’s meaning through stories from Mama. But it remained part of Daddy’s history. Ancient meanings of the heart didn’t change.
    â€œI’ll cook,” Daddy offered, wheedling me with a little smile.
    My throat tightened. “Oh, Daddy, you couldn’t cook if your life depended on it.”
    He feigned hurt.