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“He’s limping around somewhere,” Polly replied. “He’ll be along soon. Spaghetti is his favorite meal.”
“Mabel’s is awfully good, isn’t it? Excuse me, I want to make certain she has plenty of help to serve.”
Catherine sidestepped the line to enter the kitchen where she’d hoped to find Luke, but again met with disappointment. Only the best magicians could vanish with the speed he’d displayed, and she feared he must have left the hall at a run.
Whatever appetite she might have had for lunch had fled with him. Alice and Betty were there again so Mabel had volunteers to serve and Catherine took cleanup. Scrubbing pots and pans proved to be positively therapeutic and by the time the lunch hour was over, she’d paved over Luke’s haughty rejection with the determination to create the best mural the citizens of Los Angeles had ever seen.
In the hall, Dave had laid the roll of butcher paper at the end of a long table, and he was tearing off generous sections. Several kids were already seated at the tables, either arguing about where to begin, or like Polly, who had found Nick, doodling with the new colored pencils.
Catherine walked ar
ound to offer words of encouragement, but she was shocked to find Sheila, the black girl with the dreadlocks, blocking out a design with Frankie, whom she’d accused of plotting to steal her boyfriend Jamal.
“Have you two become friends?” she asked.
“Sure, why not?” Frankie replied, and the buzz-cut blonde went right on sketching an angel with enormous purple wings.
If they’d forgotten all about Jamal, Catherine chose not to provide a reminder and promptly moved on. When she returned to the table holding the supplies, Rafael was leaning against it and arguing with Dave.
“What’s the problem?” she asked.
“He claims he needs twice as much paper as everyone else,” Dave replied. “Naturally, I don’t agree.”
Rafael leaned close to Catherine and whispered, “I’m twice as good as everyone else, so I deserve more paper.” He straightened up, and his spiked hair made him Dave’s equal in height. “Give me two sheets if you have to.”
Catherine doubted Rafael was as good as his boast, but she hated to discourage anyone on the first day of the project. “Let’s give him whatever he needs, Dave. We’ll just buy another roll of butcher paper if we run out, which I doubt.”
Dave still appeared skeptical. “Are you really that good?” he asked.
Rafael responded with a wicked grin. “I’m a fucking Picasso. Give me the paper, and you’ll see.”
“Watch your language,” Dave scolded, but he tugged on the roll, drew out at least three times the length he’d given everyone else and handed it over. “I can’t wait until Friday.”
“Me neither.” Rafael grabbed up a box of colored pencils and walked out of the hall in a cocky strut.
“Do you suppose he’s any good?” Dave inquired softly.
“For all our sakes, I certainly hope so,” she responded, but she wondered if Rafael’s angels wouldn’t be holding knives. Luke had not placed anything off-limits, but when she found Tina Stassy drawing an angel and a winged cat scrounging through garbage cans, she thought he might be real sorry he hadn’t.
She remained in the hall all afternoon. Dave cruised through every half hour or so sometimes toting a mop, hedge clippers, or broom. When Luke failed to put in an appearance before the time his afternoon group was scheduled to begin in the sanctuary, she called it a day. She congratulated everyone on their progress, went straight to the parking lot without stopping by the office and drove home.
The telephone was ringing when she unlocked the door, but unwilling to listen to Joyce’s ecstatic praise for Shane, or Luke’s excuses, she let her machine answer. She fed Smoky his afternoon snack and took her time before she finally checked her messages.
The first call was from a firm offering to reduce her mortgage payments. The next message was from Joyce, who claimed her dinner date with Shane had gone amazingly well and that she would see him again over the weekend. The last was from Luke, who said only he was sorry to have missed her.
Catherine played that one twice, but she found it impossible to believe Luke actually cared. She took her mail outside to sort on the patio, and when the telephone rang again, she ignored it. She got up to make herself a cup of tea, then later went inside to watch the network news, but she still had no interest in food.
When the doorbell rang, she feared it would be Luke and took her time answering. “My, what a nice surprise,” she exclaimed without any hint of joy. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I was afraid there might be a problem.” He stepped over the threshold and jammed his hands in his pockets as he turned to face her.
“How perceptive of you. Frankly, I’d say you created it when you walked out on me at noon, and don’t you dare blame me for not dealing well with abandonment issues.”
While startled by that accusation, Luke quickly recovered. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Why don’t we make some tea and see if we can’t straighten this out?”
“Do you actually drink tea?”
“Sure, on occasion, and this seems like a good one.”
