June in Florida

Her loose hair was long (like mine), its russet spirals lifted by the tropical wind exposing pale shoulders.  We approached her without hesitation, following our father, a man we had known for less than a day.  After hugging her, he introduced us, "kids, this is your stepmother."  Her nervous smile was uneven, as she looked us over:  me in pink organdy  and shiny black shoes, my brother, Dan, in seersucker and loafers.  Was she with a collie?

 One week before, I had been an average orphan. Discovering that I had another family had given me some celebrity.  I rehearsed what I would say to my father.  In my best Elizabeth Taylor, I warbled, "Why Father, how lovely to meet at last."  I tried-on Shirley Temple, "You must be my daddy!"  I attempted a Gidget-like greeting, "How do you do, Pops."  But when the nuns led me into the waiting room, I forgot my lines.  My father's sage eyes (so like mine, so like my brother's) were moist as he kneeled before us like a minstrel.  "Daddy, you're crying," I improvised.

 A cab took us to a Howard Johnson's where we would stay until our morning flight to Florida.  Our first meal together was uncomplicated--restaurant spaghetti and ice cream, non-stop knock-knock jokes.  I felt luxurious,  like a movie star.  Dad called Florida, and spoke quietly into the receiver.  "They're fine," he crooned "they're beautiful."  He passed me the phone.  I became dumb, only able to answer yes and no questions.  Her melodic voice, like a TV mom, was soothing.  I hoped she would like us.

It was late June, and Tampa airport's tarmac rippled with heat.   The collie drooled her approval while Dan and I competed for her affection.  We had our first Florida fight while waiting for Dad to claim his luggage.  Helpless, our stepmother watched in horror as we traded curses and punches.  The collie was just as confused until Dad returned to intervene, "There will be no fighting in this family!"  My brother and I would violate this rule at least once a day for months to come.

After arriving at an unremarkable house, Dan and I shucked our shoes and began romping with the collie.  Fifteen strides later, we found out about sandspurs--our tough Iowa feet were no match for Florida.  Dad carried us, screaming, into the house and our stepmother grabbed the tweezers.  She removed the stickers, applied Bactine, and tried to comfort us, "you'll feel better if you drink some water" 

         "I hate water!" I whined, "got any Kool-Aid?"

         "What should we call you?" Dan asked. 

          "You can call me June."

Petite and soft-spoken, she was unlike the stepmothers I knew from fairy tales. June showed us our bedrooms.  Dan got his own room, but I would  share mine with a sister.  A SISTER?  Oh yeah, a kid I vaguely remembered hearing about.  Kelly.          

          "Where is she?" I asked.

          "Next door with my mother."

          "Your mother lives next door?"  (Who were these people?)

          "With my Grandmother."

          "What will I call them?"

Dad returned with a chubby toddler who had our eyes (so like Dad's) and a tawny complexion.  She instantly cast a spell over us.  Later that night, after supper and baths, Dan kissed everyone but me good night before disappearing into his new bedroom with the collie.  I crawled into my white sheets as my sister and her mother knelt by the other bed.   They invited me to pray with them.  I declined.  Kelly climbed under her covers, and June perched nearby.  She began singing.  SINGING!  Her high honey voice softly hummed "Jesus Loves the Little Children", while Kelly joined-in with the lyrics. 

I was nearly asleep when June came to my bed and kissed my forehead.  She turned off the light and whispered, "Sleep tight, Sheri', she made my name sound like a prayer.  In two brief days, my life had turned its first corner.  I was clean.  I wasn't hungry, or scared.  I was safe.  I didn't miss my other mother anymore.