I broke the silence in Diana’s truck cab once we’d cleared town.
“What was that look for when I was talking with Tamantha about her suitcase?”
“Mmm. Thinking about Tamantha, how she’s growing up. The bag’s a good sign, but…” She cut me a look. “Being extraordinary’s not necessarily easy. Especially at her age.”
“You mean being accepted by other kids? She doesn’t seem to have trouble there. If anything, she’s a leader.”
“Yes, she is. On the other hand, I’ve seen with my two a period when what kids accept as ‘normal’ shrinks. Happens at the same time their self-confidence plummets. It opens up later, thank heavens. Now, there Tamantha won’t have any trouble. In the meantime, small shifts in her — let’s call it style — could make that narrower period easier for her.”
“Her style? You think Tom getting her to wear something other than old jeans and older sweaters would ease her way?”
“I don’t think Tom would have a clue.”
Her emphasis made me edgy, though she had a point. Beyond a couple decent suits, he was strictly utilitarian.
“He dresses okay for what he does,” I said. “So does she. I mean, jeans and sweaters are practical for her.”
“You said old jeans and older sweaters a second ago. In fact, she’s a not-yet fourth-grader wearing mom jeans and grandma sweaters.”
“If anyone can pull off the look, it’s Tamantha.”
“The point is, should she have to? Do you want her to have to?”
My answers to her spoken questions were easy.
No, she shouldn’t have to if she didn’t want to.
No, I didn’t want her to have to if she didn’t want to.
Then came my question in response to her unspoken statement that I should do something about it.
Why me? How am I supposed to take care of this?
Maybe Diana didn’t catch that internal bleat, because she continued. “Do you want her to be dressing like this in middle school? Tom’s gun-shy, what with Mona…”
Tamantha’s mother and Tom’s ex-wife, now deceased, had fancied herself a fashionista. In that and other ways, she had not provided a model any who cared about Tamantha wanted the girl to follow.
Belatedly, my bleat burst out as, “Well, I’m not the one to get him to change. Or her. What will probably happen if I try to guide her is I’ll start wearing mom jeans and grandma sweaters.”
“She is strong-minded. As we just saw.” She looked over at me with the last sentence.
“Yeah, I know. Tamantha manipulated me.” Then a much more cheerful thought than being outmaneuvered by a not-yet fourth-grader struck me. “Maybe I let her because deep down, I want to see what’s going on.”
“Of course you want to see what’s going on. Though it had nothing to do with what happened. Do you want to know where you went wrong?”
“Turning around when she said my name?”
She chuckled. “Not quite. You did well when she proposed all of us going to the grazing association. But then she distracted you from your first, blanket No by dividing the blanket into pieces. No, she couldn’t go to the grazing association. No, she couldn’t stay alone. Even as you said no to those, you implicitly said yes to your going to the grazing association, to leaving her with somebody. Step by step, she got you to where she wanted you to be — right here, on your way to the grazing association.”
I swore. “She should be negotiating in the Middle East.”
“Oh, this was pretty basic kid tactics.”
“I’m a patsy? Is that what you’re saying? Why didn’t you stop it? Why didn’t you save me?”
“Because I wanted to go with you to the grazing association. Notice I didn’t volunteer to look after her.”
I gave her a look of admiration. “I never realized you were that sneaky.”
My phone rang.
“Thank you,” Diana said modestly. “Aren’t you going to answer? I thought you were past dodging your parents.”
What was this? Hit Elizabeth Margaret Danniher With the Truth Day?
In fact, I hadn’t dodged my parents. Not lately. They had stayed with me for three and a half days before heading farther west for Yellowstone Park.
We’d had a good visit. A very good visit.
We’re not a family that feuds or fusses, but I often experience internal tension in the company of my parents and older siblings. Love isn’t the issue. Neither is liking. It all stems from their seeing me as a nine-to-thirteen-year-old (depending on their mood) not overly blessed with common sense and me seeing myself as a passably functioning adult.
There’d been far less of that tension in my parents’ recent visit than I’d experienced before.
One evening, Diana hosted a cookout at her ranch house, where Mom and Dad met a lot of my Wyoming friends. We went to the Sherman rodeo and had chocolate pie at the Haber House Hotel dining room another evening. They connected with my next-door neighbors, Iris and Zeb.
Oh, and they petted, treated, and fussed over my adopted stray dog, Shadow. In further proof he was putting his antisocial ways behind him, he lapped it up.
Mom and Dad would stay with me another few days — duration not yet specified — after Yellowstone and before their drive back to Illinois.
I looked forward to their return, tamping down any uneasiness over whether the outbound visit had been a fluke.
“It’s not my parents.” Score a point for honesty that I didn’t try to deny I had, at some points since my arrival in Sherman, dodged them. “It looks like a station number. Not one I recognize.”
“Maybe it’s Thurston, calling to apologize. Or Les, calling to assign you to cover the murder.”
The second possibility was as unlikely as the first. Les Haeburn, officially the station’s news director, spent more of his time placating Thurston than directing the newsroom. He largely left me alone, since my new contract from last fall gave me considerable latitude.
With a smirk about Diana’s Thurston and Les speculations, I answered the phone.
“Elizabeth, it’s Jerry. You need to come to the station.”
“I’m sorry for walking out mid-interview and leaving you to deal with—”
“No problem. I want you to see something. Maybe I’m totally wrong, but… I think you need to see this, you and Mike. I couldn’t catch him in time or—”
“Jerry, I can’t get away. And I don’t know where Mike is.”
I’m not sure he heard that because he seemed to be involved in a conversation taking place in the background on his end.
He came back to say, “Okay, we have a solution. Might take a while.”
“Whatever works, Jerry. Thanks. I’ve got to go now. Thanks again.”