Stepping by Nancy Thayer

after Caroline, Cathybell.” He had gone around and around the house, mowing down the grass with his big red brush-hog, with Caroline sitting rigidly but happily on his lap, occasionally steering.
    I had done the dishes quickly, then said, “Come on, Cathy. Let’s go weed the garden.”
    “I don’t want to,” Cathy said, curling up in a chair, looking down at her feet.
    Aha, I thought, she’s feeling jealous because Charlie took Caroline on the tractor first.
    “Well, weeding’s not much fun, I know, but I need to do it before it gets too hot. Why don’t you come on out and watch me—and I’ll tell you a story!” Oh, wonderful, Zelda, I thought, what an angel you are.
    No answer.
    “Well, what would you like to do? Is there anything special you’d like to do now?We could ride the horses. Or go wading in the stream. Would you like me to read you a book?”
    No answer.
    “Oh, come on, Cathy,” I said, still lightly, pleasantly. “It’s too nice a morning to just sit in a chair. Why don’t you get a nice cold Popsicle from the freezer”—I briefly wondered if Adelaide would be incensed at my offering a Popsicle at nine in the morning—“and come sit outside while I weed. I know a lot of neat stories I could tell you.”
    No answer.
    “Well, if you want to hear a story, or if you want to go for a walk, or wading, or anything, I’ll be out in the garden behind the house. Okay?” Brightly. Softly.
    No answer.
    I didn’t know what else to do. I went outside, leaving Cathy in her chair, in her sulk.
    The sun was sweet but getting fierce, and I hurried behind the house to weed. I loved my garden, the tiny new peas, the sturdy carrots, the silly radishes, and I was soon totally absorbed in my work. But I had done only two rows, hadn’t even started to really sweat, when I was jarred out of my idiotic bliss by the sudden sound of the tractor engine shutting off. I looked up.
    There was Cathy, sitting in the grass, arms folded on her knees and head resting on her arms, sobbing. Charlie lifted Caroline to the ground and jumped down himself.
    “Cathy? Honey, what’s wrong?” He raced up to her, nearly tripping.
    She didn’t answer. Simply sobbed. I could see how eloquent her tiny narrow back was.
    “Cathy? Talk to me, baby,” Charlie said. He bent and picked her up in his arms.
    “I don’t like being lonely I don’t like being left alone.” Sob, sob, sob.
    “But you were with Zelda. Where’s Zelda?”
    “I don’t know. She wanted me to weed the garden, but I can’t. Weeds make me sneeze. She went off and left me.” Sob, sob, sob.
    “Well, you come on and ride the tractor with Caroline and me. I can hold you both.”
    But of course he couldn’t hold both girls and steer, and after a few moments Caroline got off and ran over to join me in the garden. I told her the best stories I could, but I knew they didn’t make up for having only ten minutes with her father on the tractor while her sister rode around in his arms for the rest of the morning.
    And that was only the beginning. The summer days went by, riddled with small tragedies in which I played the villainess. Cathy’s best thing was being sick or getting hurt. If Charlie and I lingered in bed too long together in the mornings—that is, one or two minutes after Cathy woke up—and especially if the door was closed, Cathy would invariably fall and bruise herself or cut herself or have a tummyache. The one time the whole summer that Charlie and I went riding together, for perhaps fifteen glorious minutes, Cathy came down with stomach cramps and spent the day crying in bed. When we went to the drive-in movies to see some Walt Disney special, Charlie and Cathy and Caroline sat in front and I sat alone in the back. If I washed Cathy’s hair, I got soap in her eyes, and only Charlie could get it rinsed out.
    And through it all I didn’t really mind. She loves her father, I thought, she doesn’t get to see him most of the time, let her have