Page 8 of Class Act

“Strawberries and cream looks yummy,” Hillary stated, pointing to a pink and white creation that really did look yummy.

“Any arguments from the committee of robbers?” Marlene asked me and Henry. We both shook our heads, and she plucked the strawberries and cream cake off its stand. “Henry, dear, hide that cake stand somewhere so nobody notices we’re down a cake.”

Henry grabbed the stand and stashed it in the first cupboard he opened. He then stood and scrunched up his face in a move very similar to one I’d seen from his sister. “Where should we eat it this time? It has to be somewhere Dad won’t think to look.”

“Do you have a treehouse?” I asked.

Three sets of gray-blue eyes swung my way. I now understood where all those eyes had come from, because Marlene was squinting hers at me right now. “Terrific idea. Although, Hailey, I’m afraid you aren’t dressed for tree-housing today.”

I glanced down at my forgotten sequin dress and heels that were meant to slay hearts, not to climb rope ladders. “Sad, but true.”

“What about the garage?” Henry suggested. “No one would think we’d be in there.”

“A garage is a weird place to eat cake,” Hillary giggled.

Marlene nodded. “True. Hillary, grab some forks and let’s get moving.”

Hillary skidded her way back into the kitchen, a blur of hot pink and flying hair, and was back before I could worry too much about sitting on a garage floor in my best clothes. I followed the jolly troop down a few different sets of stairs and finally entered a six-car garage that made mine seem like the size of an outhouse.

“Wow,” I said, in awe over the reality of seeing what I’d only imagined existed.

I’d figured Ford would have a nice car, definitely nicer than my older, used model. In fact, it pained me to remember the zippy red convertible I’d imagined and how Fake Ford liked to go for rides up Logan Canyon to see the fall leaves. However, even I hadn’t thought up what was actually housed in that garage.

Marlene shot me a glance. “The boy was raised shopping sales and eating off the dollar menu at McDonald’s.”

Okay. It didn’t change much in my mind, but I understood parents well enough after years of teaching to know that they cared about how the world thought of their children. I offered her a smile in return and then continued happily trailing behind her and the pink cake. We eventually found a blanket on a shelf with some camping gear and spread it out on the floor near the trunk of a sports car. Hillary passed out forks and Marlene put the cake down in the center of our little circle.

Marlene held up her fork and called, “To Ford. Happy fortieth birthday, Son.”

“To Daddy,” Henry and Hillary joined.

“To Mr. Whittaker,” I added my fork to the cheer.

Marlene threw me a side glance. “Always call him Ford. He doesn’t need you puffing him up by being formal. He’s a regular man.”

“Grams says he has to brush his own teeth just like everyone else,” Hillary added helpfully.

I couldn’t imagine telling Marlene that in my head, Ford was not a regular man. He’d grown out of proportion, and I was working hard to put him back in his proper place. I’d call him Ford in front of her, but I’d be keeping that professional boundary wall when I was around him, which I did not see happening very often.

“Interesting name, Ford,” I said as I watched the two children dig in.

“It’s short for Fordham. My husband was Fordham the second, my son is Fordham the third. We call him Ford to not get confused. Such a fancy name for plain folks like us. My other two boys are Joe and Rick, which are easy, simple names.”

Marlene dug in, too, and I wanted to ask her what, exactly, she found plain about eating cake next to a Corvette in the garage of a mansion. She may have felt plain herself, but Fordham was the perfect name for her son.

Time flew by as I listened to Marlene and the kids chat while shoveling forkfuls of cake into their smiling mouths. I joined in a little but ate lightly and tried not to feel like I was intruding on a special tradition these three had. I laid my fork down on the blanket when I saw Hillary yawn for the second time and put my hand on her little shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Hillary, but I’m getting sleepy. I think it’s time for me to head home.”

Hillary stood when I did and grabbed me around the waist, smearing frosting from her cheek across my stomach. I glanced down and had the strangest sensation roll over me. As a school teacher, I was used to spills on my clothing, but there was something oddly special about this particular smear. It was a love smear, and I found that I didn’t care about my dress or keeping it clean.

“I really like that you came and played,” Hillary said, her cheek still pressed against me.

I patted her back. “Me, too. You have such a cool Grams and such a fun brother. You’re lucky.” She stepped back, and I smiled at Henry and Marlene. “I think stealing birthday cake is my new favorite activity.”

They all nodded as Marlene said, “Come see us again, anytime.”

It was offered in kindness, because we both knew she didn’t live in this city, and I was only here for the night. But it was still nice to hear.

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