Sweet Memories by Lavyrle Spencer

irritation at this new side Amy was displaying, Theresa was undeniably piqued. Perhaps because the fourteen-year-old had the remarkably freckle-free skin, hair the color of most Kentucky Derby winners and a trim, tiny shape that must be the envy of half the girls in her freshman class at school. Theresa suddenly felt like a gaudy neon sign beside an engraved invitation, in spite of the fact that it was Amy who wore the makeup. Theresa held her sweater over her elbow as she reached to turn off a burner.
    From the table, Brian observed it all—the quick flash of irritation the older sister hadn’t quite been able to hide, the guarded movements behind the camouflaging sweater and even the guilt that flashed across her face for the twinge of envy she could not quite control in moments such as these.
    He rose, moved to her side and smiled down into her startled eyes. “Here, let me pour the coffee, at least. I feel like a parasite sitting there and doing nothing while you slave over a hot stove.” He reached for the pot while she shifted her eyes to the eggs she was removing from the pan.
    “The cups are ...” She half turned to find Amy watching them from just behind their shoulders. “Amy will show you where the cups are.”
    They had just begun eating when Jeff came slogging out of his room in bare feet and faded Levi’s, scratching his chest and head simultaneously.
    “I thought I smelled bacon.”
    “And I thought I smelled a rat,” returned Theresa. “Jeff Brubaker, you should be ashamed of yourself. Bringing Brian here as your houseguest, then abandoning him that way.”
    Jeff shambled to a chair and strung himself upon it, more lying than sitting. “Aw hell, Brian didn’t mind, did you, Bry?”
    “Nope. Theresa and I had a nice long talk, and I got to bed early.”
    “What did you think of old Glue Eyes?” put in Amy.
    “She’s just as cute as I expected from Jeff’s descriptions and the pictures I’ve seen,” replied Brian.
    “Humph!”
    Jeff leaned his elbows on the table and closely scrutinized his younger sister. “Well, lookee here now,” he sing-songed. “If the twerp hasn’t taken a few lessons from old Glue Eyes herself.”
    Amy’s mouth puckered up as if it was full of alum. She glared at her brother and snapped, “I’m fourteen years old, Jeffrey, in case you hadn’t noticed! And I’ve been wearing makeup for over a year now.’’
    “Oh.” Jeff lounged back in his chair once again. “I beg your pardon, Irma la douce.”
    She lurched to her feet and would have stormed out of the room, but Jeff caught her by the elbow and swung her around till she landed on his lap, where she sat stiffly with her arms crossed obstinately over her ribs, an expression of strained tolerance on her face.
    “Wanna come along with Brian and me to shop for mom and dad today? I’m gonna need some help deciding what to get for them.”
    Her irritation dissolved like a mist before a wind. “ Reeeally?  You mean it, Jeff?”
    “Sure I mean it.” He pushed her off his lap, swatted her on the backside and sent her on her way again. “Get your room cleaned up, and we’ll go right after we eat.” When she was gone he looked at the spot from which she’d disappeared around the hallway wall. “Her jeans are too tight. Mother ought to talk to her about that.”
    __________
     
    LEFT BEHIND,  Theresa recalled the breakfast conversation with something less than good humor. Why was it so irritating that Jeff had noticed Amy’s burgeoning maturity? Why did she herself feel lonely and left out and— oh, admit it, Brubaker! —jealous, because her sister of fourteen was accompanying Brian Scanlon, age twenty-three, on an innocent Christmas-shopping spree?
    With the house to herself, Theresa put on her classical favorites, and spent the remainder of the morning boiling potatoes and eggs for the enormous pot of potato salad they’d take to the family gathering scheduled for the following night, Christmas