The Orange Blossom Special by Betsy Carter Page B

y’all think it’s time I get to try some of those potatoes you’re always carryin’ on about?”
    â€œYou sure are
unpredickable,
” said Dinah, laying on the accent, thinking about her mother and that box, and how much worse off her mother was than she even imagined.
    They lay there for a while until Dinah rolled on her back. She thought that maybe she would write a poem for Eddie, the way her dad used to do for her. That way it could be a little funny, not all so serious.
    Tessie’s thoughts had also wandered to what she would wear today. The two of them came apart guided by their distractions. Tessie went back to her room and picked out a shirtwaist dress with orange lines that crisscrossed against a gray background. The dress was tight in the bust and accentuated her narrow waist and thin legs. She studied herself in the mirror, pleased with what she saw, then turned the collar up and wrapped her fingers around the back of her neck the way she’d seen the fashion models do it in magazines. “What am I doing?” she worried, as she dabbed Jean Naté on her wrists. In her head, she had not yet decided whether or not she would meet BaroneAntonucci for lunch today. As far as what she would wear was concerned, the matter was already settled.
    Meanwhile, Dinah had pulled out her notebook and was sitting on the metal folding chair in front of her small wooden desk. She opened her notebook and began writing:
    Dear Eddie Howell,
    The first day I saw you, you held up four fingers.
    I knew what you meant, and the memory lingers.
    Every day there you are, in Civics and Home Room.
    Now your chair is empty, I hope you’ll come back soon.
    Mr. Reilly said you were sick, then asked us why?
    For once, he didn’t have an answer. What a strange guy.
    She wanted to end with something like:
    You are the best friend that I’ve ever had.
    In so many ways you’re just like my dad.
    No, she could never say that. She crossed out the last two lines and tried:
    Get better soon, I hope your sickness is mi-nah
    Best wishes to you, from your friend Dinah.
    That sounded dumb.
    Just then her mother came back into her room. “So, what are you going to wear to school today?” Dinah looked up from her notebook. She saw that her mother’s face was flushed. Or was it dots of rouge? She’d put a barrette in her hair and there were slashes of blue eye shadow on each lid.
    â€œYou look really nice,” said Dinah.
    â€œThank you. And you, my little Boing Boing Girl? When are you going to get dressed?”
    â€œMom, I’m too old to be anyone’s boing boing girl. Could we please move past 1956?”
    Tessie fought back tears. She’d been so pleased by Dinah’s compliment that she’d momentarily forgotten her daughter was fourteen. If I cry every time her tone is harsh or she pulls away, where will that leave me? she wondered. “Well young lady,” she said in a stiff voice, “you have a half hour to shower, eat breakfast, and get dressed. So I’d suggest you get moving.” She used her hurt feelings to push out the guilt she felt at rushing Dinah to school. After all, it wouldn’t be proper for a mother with a sick child at home to go off and have lunch with a married man. Besides, she didn’t want Dinah moping around the house all day. Even if her motivations weren’t pure, Tessie was sure she was acting in her daughter’s best interest.
    God, she really was
unpredickable.
Dinah stared after her mother as she headed toward the kitchen. She remembered how her father used to tease her mother. “Jo,” he’d say. “You have the temperament of a tropical weather pattern. It’s sunny. It’s stormy. You never know.” The other night, the Ritchie Valens ballad “Donna” was playing on the radio. From her bedroom, Dinah could see her mother dance by herself, one arm wrapped around her stomach, the