They sat at the kitchen table and took a long drink of the delicious cold lemonade before either spoke.
“What’s this about your not being happy, my child,” said Mom with a teasing glint in her eye.
Janie put her glass down, and rested her cheek on one hand. “Mom,” she replied, “I know you’re right about us staying home with Daddy this summer. I know he has a big case coming up in court, and that if you wouldn’t be here to take care of him he’d stay up half the night working. He wouldn’t eat the way he’s supposed to, and everything would go wrong. I know all these things, but on a warm day like this I just can’t help wishing we could go to the lake like we always used to.”
“And what would you say, daughter,” said Mom in the same teasing tone of voice. “What would you say if I told you that we could go to the lake this summer just as we always used to?”
Jane’s eyes grew wide, “Oh Mom, tell me when. Can Daddy come too? Tell me Mom. Oh, Mom, how wonderful!”
Mrs. Murray took a deep breath and laughingly pushed her delighted daughter away. “What muscles,” she said.
“Mom, if you’re not serious, I’ll just die! I would so love to go to the lake. I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon. Blue skies, clear water, little robins singing.” In her happiness Jane waltzed around the kitchen, and Butch clapped his hands together happily from the back porch.
Mrs. Murray laughed and rose to rinse out her lemonade glass. “I can’t tell you any more about it now,” she continued, “but when your father comes home and the boys are all gathered together, we’ll get the story.”
Janie knew her mother well enough to press her no further. Mom was funny. She had her moods. Sometimes, in the morning when they were all getting ready for school, she would whirl in and out among them dancing to the ballet music of Daddy’s early morning radio program. In her yellow sweater and faded blue denim skirt, with her hair done in short pig-tails, she was very gay, a real pal. But there was nothing gay about the look in her eye if she’d spy a C on your report card.
In the morning when Dad shaved he would sing at the top of his lungs while he chopped away at his whiskers, and any one who came near him was playfully anointed with his well-lathered brush. Daddy could be gay too but all this spring he had been distracted and busy. He often worked late at the office, and then he’d bring papers home and his light would burn far into the night.