was an especially good match for Faith. But Trista?
Anne put the lid back on the pot. It was evident how much Faith liked Trista, but they were so different. From what the other mothers had told Anne, Trista’s father had a temper problem, one made worse by his fondness for anything alcoholic.
No one knew for sure that the man’s anger had turned on his daughter, but there had been an abundance of speculation. Speculation Anne considered well founded, considering how … well,
hard
Trista was becoming. Oh, not in an obvious way, which to Anne’s way of thinking would actually have been better. If she had something solid to hang her concerns on, she could lay down the law, tell Faith she couldn’t see Trista any longer.
No, Trista wasn’t that obvious. Her rebellion was subtle,her disdain for everything cloaked in seemingly courteous words and actions.
The ringing timer pulled Anne from her deliberations, and she pulled out the last sheet of golden cookies. She slid several of the still-hot cookies from the sheet onto the ready and waiting plate, then placed the plate on a tray. Three glasses of milk joined the cookies, and Anne hefted the tray, heading for Faith’s room.
Fortunately, the door to her daughter’s room was cracked open. She leaned close to push it all the way open when Trista’s disbelieving voice floated through the opening—and jabbed its way into Anne’s chest.
“You’re going to the movies. With your
parents
.”
There was nothing overtly offensive in the words. It was what lay beneath them—a hint of something derisive—that troubled Anne. Kept her poised outside the door. Listening.
Apparently Winnie heard the undertone as well. “Something wrong with that?”
Anne smiled.
Go, Winnie
.
“Nothing.” Trista’s breezy response spoke volumes. “Hey, go with your parents. I mean, if you really want to.”
Tell her, Faith. Tell her how much fun we have. How we laugh and teas—
“Well, I mean, it’s not like I’d rather be with them than with you guys.”
Anne pulled back.
Ouch
.
“But,” Faith went on, though her voice was less confident, “they’re okay. You know, for parents.”
Anne tried to let the words encourage her. So it wasn’t exactly a rousing endorsement. It was better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.
Kind of.
But Trista wasn’t done. “Hey, fine. Whatever. But don’t they …? I don’t know. Never mind.”
Hook baited and cast. Would Faith bite?
“What? Never mind what?”
Oh yeah. Solid hit
. And as Anne expected, Trista set the hook—big-time—and reeled Faith in.
“Well, no offense, but gosh! Don’t they have friends of their own? Why drag you to the movies with them?”
“They don’t
drag
me.”
Yeah
. Anne nodded.
So there
.
“It sounds like fun to me.”
Winnie again. Anne really liked that girl.
“Of course it would. To you. You’d be happy to have
anyone
want to spend time with you. Even if they were relics.” Trista’s tone was light, the words spoken as though in jest, but Anne knew better. Darts were flying. And striking home.
The room fell silent, and Anne held her breath. Should she back away? But they’d hear her, wouldn’t they?
Thankfully, Faith broke the stillness.
“Come on, Trista. You don’t have to be mean.”
“Mean? I was kidding. Gosh, Winnie, I didn’t hurt your feelings, did I? I mean, you
can
tell kidding from being serious, can’t you?”
Good heavens. Trista’s veiled insults would have done any actress proud. Sound like you’re apologizing when you’re really pushing the knife even further into the back. Anne had heard enough. Balancing the tray on one arm, she gave the door a sharp rap. “Girls?”
No response, as though the three inside suddenly lost their voices. Then Faith pulled the door open. “Uh … hi, Mom.” She glanced back over her shoulder, then turned to her mother again. “What’s up?”
Anne took in her daughter’s wide eyes. Clearly she was hoping
Anne put the lid back on the pot. It was evident how much Faith liked Trista, but they were so different. From what the other mothers had told Anne, Trista’s father had a temper problem, one made worse by his fondness for anything alcoholic.
No one knew for sure that the man’s anger had turned on his daughter, but there had been an abundance of speculation. Speculation Anne considered well founded, considering how … well,
hard
Trista was becoming. Oh, not in an obvious way, which to Anne’s way of thinking would actually have been better. If she had something solid to hang her concerns on, she could lay down the law, tell Faith she couldn’t see Trista any longer.
No, Trista wasn’t that obvious. Her rebellion was subtle,her disdain for everything cloaked in seemingly courteous words and actions.
The ringing timer pulled Anne from her deliberations, and she pulled out the last sheet of golden cookies. She slid several of the still-hot cookies from the sheet onto the ready and waiting plate, then placed the plate on a tray. Three glasses of milk joined the cookies, and Anne hefted the tray, heading for Faith’s room.
Fortunately, the door to her daughter’s room was cracked open. She leaned close to push it all the way open when Trista’s disbelieving voice floated through the opening—and jabbed its way into Anne’s chest.
“You’re going to the movies. With your
parents
.”
There was nothing overtly offensive in the words. It was what lay beneath them—a hint of something derisive—that troubled Anne. Kept her poised outside the door. Listening.
Apparently Winnie heard the undertone as well. “Something wrong with that?”
Anne smiled.
Go, Winnie
.
“Nothing.” Trista’s breezy response spoke volumes. “Hey, go with your parents. I mean, if you really want to.”
Tell her, Faith. Tell her how much fun we have. How we laugh and teas—
“Well, I mean, it’s not like I’d rather be with them than with you guys.”
Anne pulled back.
Ouch
.
“But,” Faith went on, though her voice was less confident, “they’re okay. You know, for parents.”
Anne tried to let the words encourage her. So it wasn’t exactly a rousing endorsement. It was better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.
Kind of.
But Trista wasn’t done. “Hey, fine. Whatever. But don’t they …? I don’t know. Never mind.”
Hook baited and cast. Would Faith bite?
“What? Never mind what?”
Oh yeah. Solid hit
. And as Anne expected, Trista set the hook—big-time—and reeled Faith in.
“Well, no offense, but gosh! Don’t they have friends of their own? Why drag you to the movies with them?”
“They don’t
drag
me.”
Yeah
. Anne nodded.
So there
.
“It sounds like fun to me.”
Winnie again. Anne really liked that girl.
“Of course it would. To you. You’d be happy to have
anyone
want to spend time with you. Even if they were relics.” Trista’s tone was light, the words spoken as though in jest, but Anne knew better. Darts were flying. And striking home.
The room fell silent, and Anne held her breath. Should she back away? But they’d hear her, wouldn’t they?
Thankfully, Faith broke the stillness.
“Come on, Trista. You don’t have to be mean.”
“Mean? I was kidding. Gosh, Winnie, I didn’t hurt your feelings, did I? I mean, you
can
tell kidding from being serious, can’t you?”
Good heavens. Trista’s veiled insults would have done any actress proud. Sound like you’re apologizing when you’re really pushing the knife even further into the back. Anne had heard enough. Balancing the tray on one arm, she gave the door a sharp rap. “Girls?”
No response, as though the three inside suddenly lost their voices. Then Faith pulled the door open. “Uh … hi, Mom.” She glanced back over her shoulder, then turned to her mother again. “What’s up?”
Anne took in her daughter’s wide eyes. Clearly she was hoping
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