Words Unspoken by Elizabeth Musser Page A

stiffened and felt her jaw clench. She glanced at her father— dressed in the impeccable business suit. His six-foot-two frame fit into the suit without a wrinkle, just as ordered. Thick light brown hair, twinkling brown eyes, the round baby face that belied his fifty years. He looked in that moment like the father of yesteryear, jovial, optimistic.
    She forced a thin smile and said quickly, “I gotta get my purse, Dad. I’ll be right down.”
    She hurried back up the stairs, went into her bathroom, and splashed water on her face. Every word out of his mouth was an icy accusation. A slippery lane, a burst of hail from the sky. And he had no idea. Not the slightest idea!
    Never good enough! All your fault!
    ________
    The old house smelled of roasting chicken and corn casserole as Ev came in the back door, passing by the kitchen. The garden’s last ripe tomatoes sat on a plate, thick, pungent red slices covered with fresh ground pepper and oil and vinegar. Ev’s stomach protested loudly. It was time to eat.
    “Ev, will you get the plates out?” Annie asked, her back to him, bent over a pot on the stove. The steam was wilting her gray hair.
    He stood in the dining room and tried to think what Lissa would appreciate. “Which ones do you want to use?” he called back to Annie.
    He could hear her humming “The Way You Look Tonight.” Annie never answered him when she was humming.
    He started toward the china cabinet, then stopped beside the mantel above the fireplace and studied the clock, whose little twirling balls of gold seemed stuck. He lifted the glass orb and set them spinning again and checked the time by his watch. 6:54.
    Annie rushed into the living room, an old apron wrapped around her waist. “For heaven’s sake, Ev! Are you dreaming? She’ll be here in five minutes!” Then, shaking her head exasperatedly, she added, “Men! Get the nice plates. Sounds like this girl would appreciate a well-set table.”
    “Stubborn woman! What do I know about fancy tables?”
    It was their game, bantering back and forth as they prepared for guests. Despite appearances, they both knew a lot about fancy tables.
    Never mind that.
    They made a good team, and enjoyed having youth seated at the table. It reminded them of the years when their kids were teens.
    Happy years, delightful years. Well, mostly delightful.
    He wiped away the angst as he put the blue and white china plates on the table.
    No, not always delightful.
    He opened a drawer and took out Annie’s sterling silverware, then carefully retrieved the crystal goblets she’d inherited from her grandmother. He set the table, remembering the times when their family dinner discussions included more than schoolwork and grades and books, times when the kids discussed ideas, and even spirituality. Ah, he almost chuckled, remembering the fierce way his younger daughter judged her friends at school, her determination to reform them, and her ensuing frustration. He and Annie had nodded to each other and whispered, “Give her time.”
    Time! My goodness, what that daughter had become with time! A smile settled onto his face.
    The doorbell rang, and he called out to Annie, “I’ll get it, honey.”
    Well, that was good. The girl was prompt, despite the depression, the fear.
    Ev opened the door, still holding a silver knife in one hand, a smile already on his face. He felt happy to see Lissa again, felt pleased, glad she could meet Annie.
    “Hello, Mr. MacAllister,” she greeted him.
    She had on a casual black and white dress, loose and long. She wore her dark brown hair down—loose and long also—reaching past her shoulders. She had bangles on her tiny wrists, and she was wearing sandals, pretty black sandals. His eyes stopped there, focused on them for way too long. He didn’t even recall later if he had said hello or not.
    The blood rushed to his head; he felt the palpitations that his heart doctor warned against, his mouth dry. Sandals! The smallest detail could