Waltz of Her Life

When everything had been set onto the dining room table, Linda turned and started to walk onto the porch, where she could sit on the swinging wood loveseat they kept out there.

"What are you doing?" her mother said.

"Going out there to wait for him."

"Are you out of your mind? He's going to think you were out there pining after him all afternoon like a pathetic little puppy. Stay in here."

Linda shifted her weight from one foot to the other and place a hand on her hip when she said "What's wrong with staying out there?"

"Nothing, if you want him to walk all over you. Trust me. You'll thank me later."

When Molly came home all waterlogged from a day at the pool, they all passed the time by watching a grim faced television news man deliver dire sounding stories about tensions in the Middle East. "Can't we watch something else?" Molly whined. "This is too much like school."

Linda got up and turned the channel until she found a black-and-white Munster's rerun.

Six o'clock came and went. Her father was usually home by then. "Where's dad?"

Her mother said "At the hardware store or somewhere. He said something about getting a few things after work."

An episode of "I Love Lucy" followed The Munsters and the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed six-thirty. Shortly after that she could hear her father's old truck rumble up to the driveway outside. The unmistakable sound of motorcycle engines also roared.

After that, things went crazy. Her mother said "Sit down and relax. Your father is probably going to show him inside."

Linda touched up one of the place settings on the table while waiting. All three of them sat down. Muffled male voices talking back and forth could be heard, drifting in from the driveway. She recognized her father's voice, speaking in short, clipped tones. That was not good. A few moments later the motorcycles started up again. She wondered what he had done or said. To find out, she rushed out the front door and out to the driveway, just in time to see a trio of motorcycles roar out of it. Her father stood defiantly, grim faced at the back bumper of his old pickup truck.

"What happened?" she asked.

Her father turned to her and said. "They're not setting foot in my house."

Myrtle had been parked on the shorter, gravel drive beside the paved driveway where the pickup truck and the station wagon were parked. Linda scrambled inside and found her purse.