Thistle Down

Fifteen

“I’M NOT ON DUTY,” DUSTY CALLED to the two retired schoolteachers who worked the museum on Sunday afternoon. She tripped lightly through the maze of rooms, smiling at the few guests. Intense sunlight took on a softer quality as it filtered through the windows. She paused a moment to admire the bright colors in the braided rag rug on the floor of the parlor and the crazy quilt hanging on the wall.

She kept thinking about the easy camaraderie she had shared with Hay last night, how his funny stories made the Greek food more tasty, how the touch of his hand on hers sent shivers of delight from her fingers to her toes to her heart.

Eventually she yanked herself back to reality and headed for the basement; not to hide, but to finish the neglected piecing together of broken pottery fragments.

Dusty didn’t bother turning on the lights over the stairs. She skipped down them lightly with easy familiarity. As her feet touched the cement foundation floor, she reached overhead for the light chain. An incandescent yellow glow flooded the area. She noticed the shadowed grime for the first time.

How could she have spent so much of her adult life down here hiding from sunlight? And from life?

Instead of heading directly to the potsherds spread out over the left-hand plank counter covered in white cloth that wasn’t really white, she made her way through a maze of packing barrels, sifters, magnification light boards, and other analysis equipment for the set-tub and cleaning supplies beneath one of the few high windows. She grabbed a spray bottle of cleaner and some rags, then turned to survey the full basement. Where to start?

Everywhere. She started at the sink, thinking to move outward from there.

Before she could scrub more than one side of the deep square set-tub, her cell phone vibrated in the pocket of her denim skirt. Absently, she grabbed it and flipped it open without checking the caller ID.

“Dusty? Is that you? You sound so far away,” Mom said.

“Hi, Mom. I’m in the basement. Not much signal.” Dusty set aside her cleaning supplies and moved to the next counter beneath a slightly larger window, hoping for better reception.

“Where else would you be on your day off?” Mom said soothingly. “I hope you’re having a lovely time making up stories about the people who used the artifacts you work with.”

Dusty smiled in memory of the Indian princess and the Russian pirate who gave her that decorated ceramic pot. Daydreams and what ifs. She now had a lovely date with Hay to occupy her thoughts.

“Sorry I missed your call last night. I had a date,” Dusty said, half afraid that if she spoke the words aloud her wonderful evening would evaporate just like her dream of flying with freedom and self-confidence.

“That’s nice, dear. Dick told me that you and he went out with Chase and another girl. Did you have a nice time?”

What? Mom had confused the days. Not hard for her to do when at home with the calendar on her phone, her computer, and the kitchen wall, let alone 6,000 miles away.

She hadn’t even asked about the Garden Club’s entry in the parade.

Dusty decided right then and there to keep her amazing happiness a secret a little while longer; to hold it close and cherish it before someone could dash it into more slivers than the blasted Russian pot on the other counter.

“Yeah, Mom, we had a wonderful time. Did you know Chase does a really graceful two-step?”

“That doesn’t surprise me, dear. Who is this new girl Dick dated?”

“Um… er… she’s not really new. Someone we met in grade school who just came back into town. You wouldn’t know her. She moved away a long time ago.”

“You’d be surprised whom I know, Dusty. I was very active with the other parents back then. And I taught high school English until we started your homeschooling. Then I took over the Masque Ball and met literally everyone in town. Which reminds me, did that boy I recommended call you? How are you doing with the organizing? Do you need me to call anyone or email them? You know, I think maybe your father and I should just come home early. I wouldn’t want you to become overburdened by the Ball. Your health is so fragile. You should enjoy your date and not worry about the Ball.”

“Everything is fine, Mom. No glitches, everything on schedule. I just have to organize my own costume, something a little more elaborate than my usual work clothes. Though my pioneer dresses are historically accurate.”

“Oh.” Mom sounded more than a little disappointed. “Are you eating properly? Did you wash your hands? What about your date with…” Static filled the line.

Through the window, Dusty noticed Thistle playing ring around the rosy with a group of small children, including Sharon and Suzie.

“You and Dad have fun. Dick and I are managing on our own quite well.”

“Oh.”

“Mom, are you okay?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. I’m just not used to having all this free time.”

“Then enjoy it, Mom. You’ve earned this chance to explore Shakespeare as deeply as you can.”

“Yes, of course. The play’s the thing, and all that. Gotta run, dear. We’re seeing a different version of The Merchant of Venice tonight. It’s set in the mid-Victorian era with steam engines.” A bit of enthusiasm returned to Mom’s voice.

“Sounds like fun, Mom. Talk to you in a few days. Good-bye.”

With a snap, Dusty closed her phone and set back to work humming the tune that had haunted her for two days now, not at all minding that she couldn’t put a title or lyrics to it. Dum dee dee do dum dum.

“How can she fly without wings?” Thistle asked eyeing the moving pictures on the TV skeptically. She’d watched programs with Dusty and other children over the years, (safely on the other side of the room so the electronics didn’t go haywire) mostly cartoons and car crashes. Mary Poppins was new to her.

“She’s magic,” three-year-old Suzie explained with a touch of awe.

“And she’s a ’specially good babysitter,” Sharon added with her superior six-year-old knowledge. “Like you, Miss Thistle.”

I am the best babysitter ever! Thistle thought as she smiled and hugged the girls, one on each side of her on the sofa. A big bowl of popcorn rested in her lap. “I’d like to meet this Mary Poppins. I wonder where she lives.”

“A long, long, long way away,” Sharon informed her. “The city is called London. See it doesn’t look at all like Skene Falls.”

“You’re right. It looks…” she was going to say fake, but that might disappoint the girls. “It looks like a very old city, far, far away.”

“I wish Auntie Dusty could watch the movie with us,” Suzie sighed. She grabbed a fistful of popcorn and jammed it into her mouth to compensate for the absence of her other friend.

“Auntie Dusty and your dad need some time alone together,” Thistle explained. She tried not to squirm and fidget at that glorious bit of matchmaking.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t go along.” Suzie pouted.

“Got your nose!” Thistle grabbed hers between thumb and forefinger, pretending to have stolen it, before Suzie could turn the pout into sniffles.

“No, you don’t!” Suzie put her palm up to her face, just to make sure.

They dissolved into a bit of a tickle match, all three of them rolling around the sofa, popcorn flying, Mary Poppins nearly forgotten.

“This was a good idea, Dusty,” Joe said quietly.

“I’m surprised you trusted Thistle so easily with the girls,” she said rather than committing to this being a good idea or not.

This Sunday evening, they had the local, family owned and operated theater nearly to themselves. For the rest of the week, during Festival, the stage in front of the cracked movie screen would serve as a platform for costumed players to reenact the founding of the town, and a place to crown the high school senior girl as Queen of whatever this year’s theme was. Meggie had narrowly missed out on being in the court this year to a cheerleader with a lower GPA and a bigger bustline.

“Thistle has an amazing rapport with the girls. I noticed it when she first showed up at the museum on Friday. And she must be trustworthy, or she wouldn’t be staying with you.” Joe flashed her a grin and offered her a sip of the giant lemonade with two straws.

Dusty shook her head. She didn’t want any of the giant bucket of greasy popcorn covered with fake butter and too much salt either. Joe knew how her stomach rebelled at junk food and too much sugar. He should have stuck with a small unbuttered popcorn and bottled water. They weren’t teenagers on a first date, trying to impress each other.

They’d been good friends for a long time.

Joe tried to engage her gaze. He looked more like a sick puppy than an ardent lover.

She pointed to the screen where the test pattern dissolved into an ad for huge boxes of chocolate treats available at the concession stand. The lights dimmed and Dusty leaned back in her chair, wondering what had possessed her to let Joe push their friendship to a date.

Joe was Joe: bland, conservative, and middle-aged. His hair was thinning and his belly hung over his belt a bit. He hadn’t changed much at all since she’d first met him eight years ago. But they had a lot in common and never lacked for topics of conversation. They could always discuss history if nothing else.

Not at all like Haywood. The dashingly handsome man excited her. He told wonderful, if improbable, stories. And he made her laugh. When he held her hand, the air seemed to sparkle. Her world narrowed to just the two of them.

The lilting phrases of a popular love song rose through the sound system as the opening aerial shot of Chicago signaled the commencement of the romantic comedy that had been popular last spring and had fallen in the ratings when the summer blockbuster-special effects but no plot or characterization-flicks had filled the first run theaters.

Joe slipped his hand around Dusty’s. Then he raised their joined hands and kissed the back of hers.

She fought her gut reaction to jerk her hand away. This was Joe. He was safe. Boring but safe.

“We’re friends. More than friends,” he said softly.

“Yeah, friends,” she replied and settled back into the stiff and uncomfortable seat. Why ruin a good friendship with attempts at passion that wasn’t there? At least not for her.

For two hours she did her best to enjoy the movie and ignore the touch of the man beside her. A safe and well-known companion.

Right?

“Thank you, Joe. That was fun,” Dusty said as Joe walked her toward his house from his parked car in the driveway. He still held her hand.

Her palm was clammy, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Yes, it was. We should do this more often.” He leaned forward.

Okay. This was the moment. Her first adult kiss. What was she supposed to do?

Joe tugged on her hand, bringing her closer as he bent his neck a little to reach her mouth with his.

Dusty closed her eyes and let it happen. A featherlight brush of his lips against her own. Soft. Undemanding. Safe. And gone almost before it started.

That’s it? Where’s the magic, the starlight, the enthusiasm?

“Come say good night to the girls, Dusty, and then you can take Thistle home. I appreciate you bringing her over here so that I didn’t have to pack Suzie and Sharon in and out of the car.”

“Yeah. No problem.” No nothing.