Promise Me A Rainbow by Cheryl Reavi

them. It was nice. She looked at Catherine’s hands. Catherine still had fingernails like a mother’s when she wanted to look special—short with clear nail polish.
    Joe’s hands were always hurt and banged up. He always had scraped knuckles, just like Fritz always had skinned knees. Occupational hazards, he’d told her once. His from being a builder and hers from being a kid.
    “Where’s Della?” Joe asked, and Fritz frowned. That was a question she hated being asked, particularly now, because Joe wouldn’t like the answer.
    “Fritz,” Joe prompted when she didn’t say anything.
    “You know Della,” she said with a little shrug, hoping that would take care of it. She glanced at Catherine.
    “Yes, I know Della,” Joe said. “That’s why I’m asking. Where is she?”
    Fritz sighed. There was just no way out of it.
    “Getting interviewed.”
    “Getting interviewed where ?”
    “At the pub.”
    “She’s not old enough to work at the pub!”
    “You know Della,” Fritz repeated philosophically.
    Joe stood up. “Excuse me,” he said to Catherine. “Fritz, you stay here with Ms. Holben.”
    That suited Fritz. Anything was better than having to go along to get Della out of a bar.
    “Would you like a gummy bear?” she asked Catherine. She was used to having Della do exactly what would make Joe mad, and she decided not to worry about it.
    “Can you spare one?”
    “I can spare one.”
    “Then I’d like one. You pick it out.”
    Fritz picked a yellow one, her personal favorite. She liked Ms. Holben—Catherine—more and more. She couldn’t help but like somebody who wouldn’t take her last gummy bear. A mother would do that—not take the last one. Catherine really was just like a mother.
    “Thank you,” Catherine said as she popped it into her mouth.
    “You’re welcome. Here comes Joe.”
    “That didn’t take long,” Catherine said.
    “Joe doesn’t mess around,” Fritz said, and Catherine laughed.
    “No, I don’t believe he does.”
    “Della could get a job in the baby-clothes store, but they don’t give tips,” Fritz said as her father approached with Della in tow.
    Catherine saw immediately that this daughter was quite beautiful, strikingly so in spite of the petulance she took no pains to hide. She was blond and blue-eyed, her hair pulled into a huge clasp on the side of her head and cascading over one ear to her shoulder. She had long, spiky bangs and meticulously made-up eyes in shades of gray and pink and purple that made her look older than she probably was. Catherine could tell immediately that Della D’Amaro was one of the lucky ones among her peers. She obviously had the knack of picking the right clothes, the right hairstyle, the right “look” to belong, an accomplishment that escaped some girls her age no matter how hard they tried.
    “Daddy, you embarrassed me!” she said as they approached.
    “I embarrassed you? I didn’t say a word!”
    “Yes, but you would have!”
    “You’re damn right I would have. Della you know good and well I’m not going to let you go to work in a bar. And you can’t go around not telling people how old you are. That man could have lost his liquor license. We’ll talk about this later. Now I’d like you to settle down and meet Ms. Holben.”
    “Daddy, I just wanted to find out about it!”
    “Excuse us, Ms. Holben. We don’t always air our disagreements in public like this.”
    “Who is she?” Della said rudely.
    “I’m a friend of Fritz’s,” Catherine said, cutting in ahead of Joe D’Amaro’s sharp reply. “Catherine Holben. And I have to be going. Fritz, thank you for the gummy bear. Call me when you want to come and visit.”
    “I will,” Fritz said, holding on to Catherine’s hand for a moment. Then she let go so Catherine could pick up her things.
    “Ms. Holben,” Joe said abruptly. “We’re having the annual D’Amaro Brothers’ Labor Day cookout next Saturday. I was wondering if you’d like to