Jessup waits at the counter for their order while his mom and David John and Jewel go sit at one of the tables in back. Jewel is talking brightly about something, moves from her chair to sit on David John’s lap. He wraps her up, beaming, and Jewel keeps turning to look at her dad, like she’s afraid he’s going to disappear again.
The three of them look happy sitting at the table. Jessup’s mom smiling, reaching out to take her husband’s hand, Jewel leaning against her dad, the three of them a Norman Rockwell painting: “Saturday Afternoon at the Ice-Cream Parlor.”
Jewel is wearing a pair of stretchy jeans and one of Jessup’s hand-me-down sweatshirts, which makes her look even smaller. She eats well—she’s never been picky, and they try to cook fresh vegetables, eat lots of fruit—but she’s a skinny thing. She’s about the same height as most of her friends, but she has the ungainly awkwardness that comes in the space between being a child and being a teenager, and it hurts Jessup to think how fragile she is. But right now she looks happy. Having her father back is her birthday and Christmas morning and hope springing eternal all dipped in chocolate. As good as it gets. Jessup’s mom looks that way, too.
The boy behind the counter delivers the ice cream and David John’s coffee, and Jessup brings them to the table. “I don’t know how you take your coffee,” Jessup says.
“Just sugar,” David John says. “I’ve got it.” He shifts Jewel off his lap and takes his coffee back to the counter. Jewel is already working on her cone. She offers Jessup a bite, but he turns it down.
His mom reaches out and puts her hand on his forehead to see if he feels hot. “Are you okay?”
It is, Jessup thinks, the most maternal action that has ever occurred in the course of human history. He’s good-natured about it, but he brushes her hand off. “I’m fine,” he says. “Just tired.”
His mom looks off to the side and he follows her gaze. David John is holding his coffee and talking on the phone. He shakes his head and then nods, an active listener.
Jessup wishes it were something as simple as a fever, because the truth is, he does feel sick. He’s sure that the phone call is about him. Can’t get rid of the feeling that everything is about to shake itself to pieces.
But when David John comes back to the table, he’s smiling. “Got a job already,” he says. “Somebody in Cortaca Heights used a little too much force trying to turn off the water to the outside hose bib. Don’t even know how they got my number, but I’ll take it. Jessup, I’m going to need the van this afternoon. Do you think you can get a ride home after your shift?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m going out with friends. Somebody will drive me home.”
Jewel rotates her cone to take another lick. “You have to work, Dad? I thought we were going to—”
“I know, honey, but I’m not really in the position to turn down a job right now.”
“But you just got home.” She makes a pouty face, puffing out her lips.
He sits, pulls her back onto his lap. There’s a part of Jessup that wonders if she’s too old to be acting like this, but there’s a bigger part of him that’s glad she isn’t.
“Now, honey,” David John says, “I know. But it’s not going to be easy to build up the business again, and this is a good job.” Jokes, “How do you think we’re going to pay for this ice cream?” He turns to look at Jessup. “You’re going out with friends tonight?” It’s a question. It’s an accusation. “I don’t like that.”
Jessup doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look away, either. He could just tell the truth, which is that he is going to spend time with Deanne, but that’s another universe that he doesn’t want explored.
David John relents. “If you can’t get a ride, you call me. I’ll come get you. But not too late. Church in the morning.” He looks at his watch. “We better get moving. Why don’t you drive the van up to the mall and we’ll follow you?”