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to invite us to their welcome-back “at-home” for Katherine on Sunday afternoon. Do not think for a moment that I was fooled. Something told me the idea had been conceived by Katherine herself, not her parents. And that, although many would be invited, the only guest that mattered was Bobby Delham.
    That did it. I sensed a Rubicon in our path. And I knew that somehow, some way, I had to put a stop to this thing on Sunday, or our family would face real trouble.

chapter 4
    S ometimes even now I look back on that spring and summer and wonder how I made it through. On one hand you could say if I’d survived the death of my mama, I could handle anything. There’s a lot of truth in that. The difference is that Mama’s death brought one all-encompassing emotion—grief. Granted, the palette of grief is multihued, depression in grays, purpled anger. But these all swirl into the undefinable color that coats the world of loss. In my sixteenth year, however, I would endure emotions as varied and distinct as black from white. Exhilaration and despair. Self-absorption and guilt. Love. Indifference.
    And for the next few days of that week, obsession.
    I simply had to find a way to keep Katherine May King apart from Daddy during the at-home. Alison and I discussed the issue in low tones at school. Then Thursday afternoon Alison’s life scudded into glory, and I was left on my own. She called me that night, breathless with the news.
    â€œJacob asked me out! My first date!”
    I sucked in air. “Wow, really? Tell me everything.” I trotted into my bedroom and shut the door.
    Jacob Keeley had talked about this and that before cranking up the courage to ask Alison to go bowling in Albertsville the following night. After the standard lecture, her mama had agreed to let her go.
    â€œAlison,” I said, “that is so cool.” And I meant it. Alison had liked Jacob for a long time.
    But she noticed the snag in my tone. Only a best friend could have done that. “Oh, Jackie, don’t worry. Next thing you know, Billy will be askin’ you out.”
    Billy Sullivan was the hottest guy in the junior class. I’d liked him for as long as Alison had liked Jacob. But I didn’t stand a chance. He was already going out with Mary Breckenridge, who had blonde hair and a knockout figure.
    â€œOh, forget him,” I retorted. “Just call me Saturday. I want to hear everything.”
    She said she would.
    In such moments I would feel as if the world whirled merrily before me, a carousel of colors and motion, while I dragged my feet over sandy ground. When I punched off the phone, I lingered on my bed, disappointment and vague longing settling like kicked-up dust in my chest.
    â€œI couldn’t believe it when your daddy started comin’ to call,” Mama once told me. “We were so different that I never thought he’d want me. He was quiet and serious. And tall. I was short and giggled all the time. But one day there he was, at my door. Handsome Bobby Del-ham, with his doe-brown eyes.”
    I could picture Mama’s face so clearly as she’d said those words, recapturing the magic of that time. Now here I was, her age. If it could happen to my mama and my best friend, I thought—couldn’t it happen to me?
    Friday night as Alison went on her dream date, I hurried about the kitchen doing dishes, cradling the telephone between my shoulder and ear. Through the sliding glass door I could see Clarissa and her much larger and athletically built friend, Alma Sue, tearing about the backyard, Winnie barking at their heels.
    â€œOkay,” I said to Mrs. Crary, the wife of my brother’s softball coach. “I’ll be sure Robert gets to the game on time.”
    I hung up the phone, mentally checking my list of my remaining to-dos. Help Clarissa with her math. Work on my social studies report. Better to do that now than have it hanging over me on the weekend.