6. The Knight Alone

Dancing at The Orange Peel - Episode 6

Welcome to Episode 6 of DANCING AT THE ORANGE PEEL, a 1960-70s serialized historical novel. Just getting started? Episode 1 | Full Episode Guide | Extra related goodies in THE MAILBAG

Previously: Episode 5, “From Kent Creek to the Eiffel Tower.” Saturday, April 6, 1968. With all their guests gone, Libby is curious about her mama’s new friend. Noticing how different Nate is from all the people she knows, she watches him and Mama closely, her mind filled with questions. Only a few does she dare to ask.

In this episode: When Grant arrives for supper without his date, Libby is delighted to get all his attention. Gwen, on the other hand, wonders what this loss of yet another girlfriend in a long line of women will mean for the relationship she and Libby have with Grant.

Episode 6: THE KNIGHT ALONE

Gwen reached into the cabinet for the flour. “Libby, grab that pack of pork chops out of the fridge for me, quick. Grant and Brenda’ll be here any minute.”

She pushed the empty tea glasses closer to the sink. The ghost print of Nate’s lips edged one of them. Nate . . . with those incredible green eyes. He’d told her he got those from his French grandmother. The first time he’d come to the Chamber with Jeff Misener and looked at her with those eyes, she could not look away. He had noticed and nodded. When he caught her watching the second time, the edges of his lips curled ever so slightly. The third time, he returned a wide smile, exposing deep dimples, and she caught herself giggling then blushing like a high schooler.

She felt heat in her face again now as she ran her fingers along the glass rim. “Frying pan,” she mumbled, trying to snatch herself back to the moment. “Spatula.”

“Here, Mama.” Libby plopped the kraft-paper-wrapped meat onto the counter. A knock came at the door. “They’re here!”

Gwen followed her daughter into the living room. “Ask before opening.”

“Who’s there?” Libby called.

“Your knight! Allow me into the castle, oh princess!” Grant had played Camelot with Libby ever since the three of them, plus Brenda, had seen the movie.

“My knight!” Libby’s reply was nothing short of theatrical.

Gwen rolled her eyes at the play-acting but grinned as Libby flung open the door with one hand, then swept a wide arc with the other, inviting Grant inside.

When he stepped across the threshold, Libby’s tone switched from princess to nine-year-old. “Me and Brenda are gonna beat you and Mama at gin rummy after supper!” Gwen had noticed Libby’s competitive spirit rising occasionally, something she clearly got from Carter’s family, not from her.

“Heeeey. . . Where’s Brenda?” Libby whined as she realized Grant was by himself.

Grant alone. Gwen’s jaw tightened. That hadn’t happened for quite some time.

He stepped toward the couch. “What am I? Chopped liv-a?” His attempts at a Brooklyn accent always failed.

Libby stuck out her bottom lip and swatted at the air. “No. But she’s my favorite card partner.” She fell backward into the chair nearest the door and crossed her arms. “And I wanted her to see Barbie’s new outfit.”

Gwen raised her eyebrows at him. “Hello.” Then she waited for his explanation for Brenda’s absence. When they had shared dinner just three nights ago, Brenda had been distant, distracted.

“Hi.” His curt response sounded tired. She noted the bags under his eyes as he sat on the chair arm beside Libby. “I’m afraid you won’t see Brenda anymore, princess.”

Gone again. What was this, the second time or third? Gwen shook her head. Like all his other girlfriends, Brenda had been enchanted by Grant’s story of the promise he’d made to Carter to watch over his girls. It was a tale of heroes that had been in the paper, been told and retold by every police officer and sheriff’s deputy in Gibbs County. So the ladies were charmed and fell in love with the hero who’d survived.

Each one, in an attempt to endear herself to Grant, had taken a quick liking to her and Libby—especially Libby. Each tried to help him make sure the widow and the daughter were okay, as if they had been part of the promise, too. Their intentions had been genuine. After all, they cared for the handsome hero. But each time, after a while, they had grown tired of his attention and devotion to her and Libby.

The previous Wednesday, Brenda had told Gwen, “He really loves you two.”

Gwen had immediately felt a knot grow in her stomach and she was quick to assure her, “He’s gotten us through tough times. We’re thankful for that.”

“He loves you,” Brenda had said again.

Gwen had heard this from the other girlfriends before. And from her family. They insisted that, despite other women, Grant loved her best. All of them, especially June, made quite clear that they believed someday, when both were ready, they would marry and give Libby a father again. That’s what her family wanted. They didn’t yet know what she’d told Brenda that night. “I’m . . . involved with someone.”

She and Brenda had watched Grant and Libby play a board game on the floor. The way Brenda looked at him made Gwen wonder if the girl was considering what it might be like to have his daughter. So Gwen had assured her again, “I do have someone,” even though, at the time, she wasn’t certain whether Nate’s short visits to the Chamber under the guise of business and two quick visits here really qualified as a relationship.

Brenda had nodded toward Grant and asked, “Does he know that?”

“No.”

“Perhaps he needs to.”

Before they left, Brenda had hugged Libby an extra-long time, but didn’t make eye contact with Gwen as they walked to the door and said their goodbyes. That was the last time she and Libby had seen her.

Now, tonight, she needed to reassure Grant. “She’ll be back.” Oh, how she wanted to hope.

“Not this time.” He patted Libby on the arm, then shrugged.

Gwen turned toward the kitchen. When he followed, she tossed over her shoulder, “She will,” knowing it wasn’t true. Then jokingly, “At least as many times as Sheila.” Maybe she could convince them both. He smirked.

Libby bounded past them. “Is she mad at you, Uncle Grant?”

At the table, he pulled a chair out for himself. “Oh, she’s hacked all right.” Libby slid in the one next to him and wrapped her ankles around the chair legs. He stuck up his thumb. “Mad.” Then his pointer finger. “Fed up.” Then another finger. “Frustrated.”

Gwen took an onion from the refrigerator’s crisper, then stood to hear the rest. The full and true reason would come later when Libby had gone to bed, but she wanted to know what he came up with for her daughter now.

Libby reached for his hand. Patting it between hers, she leaned close to him. “What about?” Gwen winced at the purity of her concern.

“Let’s just say . . .” he glanced at Gwen, “she’s tired of the competition.”

Sheesh, here we go again.

“Huh?” Libby cocked her head. She couldn’t possibly understand.

Gwen turned to the cutting board on the counter and said to Libby, “Honey, grab a can of peas of out of the pantry, please.” The knife hit the board hard as she sliced through the onion. Checking over her shoulder to see Libby with her back to them as she searched for the peas, Gwen lowered her voice. “Have you been—?” When Libby spun on her heel to face them, holding the can high, Gwen checked her words. “Did you . . . step out on her again?” That was probably too pointed, but she’d always been put off by Grant’s playing around. Exactly the reason she’d gone out with Carter in high school instead, despite Grant asking her first.

“Nooo. Not on your life.” He stood. “Not this time. At least not like you’re thinking.”

She turned back to her chopping, the onion burning her eyes. When he reached from behind to slide an arm around her waist, her shoulders tensed. His wide, solid chest pressed against her back. Always her protector. She tried to relax into his hold but couldn’t.

“Here, Mama.”

The thud of the can on the counter startled her, and Grant felt it. He pulled her closer. Reaching for Libby, he pulled her into the hug, too. “She’s just jealous of us.” Even though he was attempting to joke, Gwen knew the trueness of it. It had come down to this every time.

“Oh, pulease!” She elbowed him away and kept chopping. “Wasn’t that Sheila’s excuse? And Lynn’s, and Terri’s, and . . . ”

Libby wiggled from his hug. “I thought Brenda liked us!” She plopped in her chair, her bottom lip stuck out.

Grant leaned against the counter, his arms crossed on his chest. His shoulder brushed hers. Trying to keep things light, she bumped his hip, then shifted away. “I hope you told her the high school jock never fools around with the little sister of a best friend.” Carter, Grant, and her brother Tony had been inseparable in high school.

“Didn’t do any good.” He picked up a piece of onion and popped it in his mouth.

“Ewwww,” Libby said. “That’s disgusting!”

“Besides.” He nudged Gwen’s shoulder again. “You know that if Tony and Carter hadn’t threatened me within an inch of my life every time I came near, you woulda been my girl instead of Carter’s.” He winked at Libby and sat.

Libby straightened in her chair. “Then you woulda been my daddy!”

Gwen dropped her knife in the sink. A bit too hard. Of course, that alternate possibility was one she’d thought about, too. Back then. Not now. How long would it take him to find another girl this time? Soon, she hoped. Soon.

“No.” Grant’s reply to Libby was nearly a whisper. “Carter was meant to be your daddy.” He paused. “He always will be, even though he’s not here.”

Gwen managed a smile at him as she scooped the onions into the frying pan. “You, a daddy.” She chuckled, so he did, too. “The thought of it. What a fiasco that would have been!”

“Maybe not.” He sounded lighter now.

She retrieved a large metal spoon from the drawer by the stove. “Yeah, it would have.” Playfully, she shook it at him. “I would not have tolerated your philandering!”

“What’s flandering?” Libby asked, making both of them smile.

Grant reached for Gwen, swooped her into his lap, and hugged tight. His chin at her shoulder, he whispered, “A woman like you doesn’t give a man cause for philandering.”

She tried to ignore the tingle in her lower back as he squeezed her close.

“What’s flandering?” Libby repeated.

“You've got this one,” he told Gwen as he released her, arms held high.

She scowled at him, then turned to her daughter. “It’s when your boyfriend pays more attention to other girls than to you.”

Libby stood and propped her arms on her hips. “I wouldn't have a boyfriend like that!”

Gwen waved her spoon and smirked. “Pree-cisely!”

“Aw, come on now, Princess.” He reached for Libby this time, pulling her right in front of him. “You’re supposed to be on my side. How am I ever gonna get your Mama to be my queen if you’re not with me on this?”

Libby affirmed his words with a sharp nod, planted a hand over her mouth, and dropped into her chair.

Again, with this? Joking around was one thing, but pulling her daughter into his antics was another.

He stood, faced Gwen, and put on his poorest puppy-dog face. He always knew exactly how to get the reaction he wanted, and Gwen couldn’t help but smile. That look was exactly why every one of those girls had fallen for him.

“Marry me,” he said. “For the thousandth time. And don’t make me ask one thousand and one. Marry me!”

Gwen tried to hide her irritation in front of Libby. Keep it light. But they had heard all this before.

Libby clapped. “Say yes this time, Mama!”

Gwen shook her head and sighed. “Tomorrow,” she told him and then winked at Libby. “Ask me tomorrow.”

That was always her answer. Always had been, always would be. Still, she wondered how things might be now if she had said yes, just once.

“So, now that Brenda’s outta the picture”—Grant shoveled a forkful of peas into his mouth—“we can go back to Wednesday and Saturday suppers.”

Gwen hated the way he talked around his food, and she had to look away when butter dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

“At least ’til they change my schedule again,” he added.

“Yippee!” Libby bobbed her head. “I’m glad you don’t have a girlfriend anymore.”

I am not. Gwen wanted to allow those words to fly. Instead, she scolded Libby for her glee. “Don’t be rude.” Thankfully, when she turned to Grant, he swiped his mouth with a napkin. “You seem almost as relieved that she’s gone as Libby is,” she said.

“Hmmph. I guess I am.” He flashed a grin at Libby. “I missed it being just us.”

Immediately, Libby pounded her fists on either side of her plate. “Me, too!”

Gwen winced at the alliance the two of them had. She’d never forgive Grant if he was deliberately using it to get to her. His gaze traveled to the clock above the sink. Her eyes followed and she noted the time, too. Without Brenda, he would want to stay later. Her chest tightened.

“Yeah,” He leaned toward Libby. “Me, too!” Libby sat taller in her chair, so he added, “This calls for a celebration!” Their eyes locked and widened.

Mercy, they’re just getting further in cahoots. Gwen waited for the inevitable.

“ICE CREAM!” they screamed together. They jumped up and did tight circle-dances beside their chairs. Gwen had to smile. He knew Libby so well. Her daughter always seemed happier when he was around. Since Carter had died, Gwen had been grateful to him for that so many times. But gratitude—was that all she felt?

She laughed at their silliness as they twirled on either side of her. Honestly, she’d been happier with him around, too. Had been. Then finally, after two years of leaning on one another, each had started to put together parts of their lives that didn’t entirely require the other. She rolled her eyes at the thought of how many girlfriends he’d brought here, seeking their approval. Between high school and now, he must have gone through the entire chick population of Kent Creek.

She stood and carried her plate to the counter. “Dishes first.”

Grant retrieved his and Libby’s. “Hurry. And maybe we can still get our favorite bench before they get too busy!” He did another spin past Gwen on his way to the sink.

Eventually, each girlfriend had recovered from their initial infatuation with his role as the rescuing hero. They’d grown weary of helping him look after her and Libby. So, as a couple, he and whichever-girl would recede into the background of her and Libby’s lives, coming around for only the occasional supper. Those times, Gwen would feel she was finally getting beyond the past and making her own way. Then the girl would leave, and every time, he would return to them. And every time, despite what she’d said about it—and to her own surprise—she was relieved.

But maybe not this time. Carter was gone forever. They’d held onto a little piece of him by keeping Grant around these last few years, but that wasn’t fair to Grant, was it? Nor to Libby. And what about herself? She could never seem to answer those questions.

Again, she glanced at the clock. How had only fifteen minutes passed?

“Hurry, Mama!” Libby grabbed the gravy bowl and handed it to her. “Hurry!” Her daughter bounced on her toes. Her cheeks glowed with the energy of her ice cream dance.

Gwen placed the bowl by the sink, took her daughter by the shoulders, and then hugged her close. Grant hovered a few feet away. Gwen’s eyes caught his. He took in a breath, released it, and gave her a tight-lipped smiled. Libby squeezed Gwen’s hips, then released, her face beaming. She skipped to Grant and grabbed his hand to lead him toward the living room.

Gwen leaned against the counter and eased her head back to release the tension in her neck. She stood, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling. Everything associated with Kent Creek—even Grant—was about her past. She’d given up things to stay here with Carter. That was behind her. Wasn’t she ready now for . . . something more? Her mind drifted to Nate. Both terrified and thrilled by the unexpected thought, she rejected it and pushed away from the counter.

Grant’s deep laugh drifted in from the living room. “Queen Guinevere, we await you,” he called. His queen. He’d certainly treated her like one these last few years.

“Mama, come on!”

Gwen smiled at the joy in her daughter’s voice, and the tension melted from her body. When she entered the living room, they nearly knocked her down.

“I’m riding my horse to the ice cream shop, Mama.” Libby full-body-squeezed Grant with her arms around the neck, her ankles locked tight at his stomach. “Giddy up.” She bucked her “horse” toward the door.

Gwen couldn’t help but laugh. “You are too big for that, young lady.”

At the door, they turned back, urging her on. Hesitating, she took in the sight of the two of them, grinning ear-to-ear. Brenda’s timing was simply awful.

Thanks for reading! Each episode is a work-in-progress, which means you’re a vital part of my creation process, and the story may expand or contract as I write. I encourage and value your comments.

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DANCING AT THE ORANGE PEEL is one story in evolving collection called “The Kent Creek Chronicles.” To follow along and receive extra related tidbits from THE MAILBAG…