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Description
Settling in with the Petersons was easier than I'd like to admit, but what can I say? After the turmoil that uprooted us from Fourth Street, the trauma that sent us to our Nana's house, and even the cares that Holly and I took to accomodate ourselves to Marie and her husband's lives, the freedom that Susan and Jerry afforded us made it all too easy to settle -- or, at least, appear to be settled. The truth was that, by now, we were so accustomed to uprooting that it nearly defined how we lived, and I'd be lying if I said that, even though our bags were unpacked, we weren't ready to run at the drop of a hat.

But the Petersons were gracious hosts, glad to have the spirit of youth bounding through their home, and did their best to let us know that they were ready to be a family for us, as much or as little as Holly and I wanted them to be. Susan, especially, deserves more credit than I usually give her. She really tried, for all she had -- but I think that she wanted to be a mother so much that she never stopped to think that maybe she wasn't really equipped for it. She put all her effort into trying to make us feel welcome and comfortable, and she did that well enough; but she lacked that quality that could reach out and make a child feel loved, the way Marie could with just a smile and a greeting.

Or maybe we just refused to let another "mother" into our lives. We already had Mom and Marie, and there was really no room for the person that Susan wanted to be for us.

Jerry, on the other hand, was another story altogether. Dad, of course, was Dad -- that barely warrants another explanation -- and Mr. Dunsworth was never anything more to me or Holly than just Mr. Dunsworth. Father Donnivan filled a space for me that Holly was still missing, but that space was small, and neither of us had ever known a man who could be what we were always told a father should be. But Jerry was smarter and funnier than his professional stereotype should have allowed, and he was insightful, knowing exactly who Holly and I needed him to be at any given moment -- a doting "dad" in the public eye, a quiet philosopher when I needed someone to talk to, Holly's satisfying playmate when I wasn't feeling up to it and Gerard wasn't available.

He was easy to be around, even on that first day with his goofy grin and cute introduction. After his mock-formalities were out of the way, he helped us carry in the rest of our luggage -- packed in Nana's designer suitcases, for lack of any other way to transport our things -- and decided with a chuckle that we would make fast friends with his wife if our tastes ran as high as our luggage suggested.

Marie left once she was satisfied that Holly and I would be fine, and Jerry followed her shortly after on his own way to work. Alone in a new house, we took the Petersons up on their offer and stretched out our souls until the house was full to bursting. We took the time to hide our father's letters under our bed, but decided the rest of our unpacking could wait until after we had a little fun.

Our faces lit up when we finally found our way to the living-room -- Jerry had mentioned the television, but he didn't say anything about the stereo. It was gorgeous, and I still don't know -- or even want to know -- how much it must have cost him. We found some old swing collections on CD, and couldn't resist. Used to living in apartments and townhouses and still conscious of neighbors that no longer existed, we kept the volume low, but that didn't stop us from dancing until our giggle fits got the better of us, and we collapsed into each other and down to the floor.

"Brava, brava." Holly and I both screamed in terror at the sound of applause, jumping back from each other and turning to the intruder. "First you were dancing, now it's a comedy routine! You two could charge ten dollars a ticket." Jerry stood in the open archway from the living-room to the foyer, his token grin broadening as our fright turned to anger. "I really didn't mean to startle you, girls, I'm sorry. Anyway, I'm just on my lunch--" my eyes darted to the nearest clock, and I realized we'd been dancing for more than two hours-- "and I thought it wouldn't really be nice for you to have to make your own lunch on your first day with us. What do you say we got out for ... burgers? Fish and chips?"

Holly and I shared a long look: did we want to go out? Yes and no. We were kind of hungry after all that dancing; where'd the time go, anyway? And we still needed to unpack, but that could wait, right? Could we get Jerry to cook for us instead? He scared the Hell out of us after all, he owes us. But he seems nice, maybe we should give him a fair chance.

Jerry watched us, and it seemed for a moment like he could see the thoughts passing between Holly's and my eyes. "Is that a yes, then?"

Holly and I were stunned for a moment, but decided to shrug it off. "Fish and chips sounds good," I said, smiling at Jerry.

It turned out that the Mustang was Susan's; Jerry drove a big beast of a Jeep, the kind with a canvas roof, which Jerry had taken off for the summer so that there was nothing between us and the sky as we drove down to a diner in the East End.

"Jerry, there you are!" A waitress, smiling and bouncy, with a blonde ponytail that was so cute it was almost scary, galloped up to our table. "I was beginning to worry you were abandoning me!"

Jerry stood with a smile, kissed the woman's cheek as they hugged. Holly and I exchanged a glance. "You know I'd never do that. But the duchess has been taking up all of my time lately." The two laughed, and the waitress's eyes settled on me and Holly.

"And has her grace been sending my duke out to kidnap children for her oven again?" she asked. "Or am I mixing up my fairy-tales?"

"Oh, God," Jerry said, chuckling nervously as he turned back to us, "I'm sorry. Hannah, Holly, this is my sister, Steph. And no, Steph, they're not kidnapped -- as of today, Susan and I are foster parents." Steph's face changed at that, and she cast a quick glance at us before returning her gaze to her brother. They held that way for a long time, the same way Holly and I often did, and I realized how Jerry could read our faces before. After a moment, Jerry shook his head, and Steph pasted on her best waitress smile.

"So, what are you all having for lunch?"

"Fish and chips?" Jerry said. I nodded. "And coffee for me, thanks."

"Milkshakes," I said, "one strawberry and one vanilla." Steph smiled, left to fill our orders. There was an intimidating silence in her wake, and it took me a moment to meet Jerry's eyes. "Thank you," I said, smiling.

He tried to play coy. "For what?"

"For telling her that we're not as much of a charity-case as she wanted to think." I reached under the table to squeeze Holly's hand.

Jerry smiled. "Well, that's not exactly what she -- you're welcome." He waved a hand to brush it off. "We're supposed to at least pretend to be something like a family, right? I'm just trying to do my part."

Description
Settling in with the Petersons was easier than I'd like to admit, but what can I say? After the turmoil that uprooted us from Fourth Street, the trauma that sent us to our Nana's house, and even the cares that Holly and I took to accomodate ourselves to Marie and her husband's lives, the freedom that Susan and Jerry afforded us made it all too easy to settle -- or, at least, appear to be settled. The truth was that, by now, we were so accustomed to uprooting that it nearly defined how we lived, and I'd be lying if I said that, even though our bags were unpacked, we weren't ready to run at the drop of a hat.

But the Petersons were gracious hosts, glad to have the spirit of youth bounding through their home, and did their best to let us know that they were ready to be a family for us, as much or as little as Holly and I wanted them to be. Susan, especially, deserves more credit than I usually give her. She really tried, for all she had -- but I think that she wanted to be a mother so much that she never stopped to think that maybe she wasn't really equipped for it. She put all her effort into trying to make us feel welcome and comfortable, and she did that well enough; but she lacked that quality that could reach out and make a child feel loved, the way Marie could with just a smile and a greeting.

Or maybe we just refused to let another "mother" into our lives. We already had Mom and Marie, and there was really no room for the person that Susan wanted to be for us.

Jerry, on the other hand, was another story altogether. Dad, of course, was Dad -- that barely warrants another explanation -- and Mr. Dunsworth was never anything more to me or Holly than just Mr. Dunsworth. Father Donnivan filled a space for me that Holly was still missing, but that space was small, and neither of us had ever known a man who could be what we were always told a father should be. But Jerry was smarter and funnier than his professional stereotype should have allowed, and he was insightful, knowing exactly who Holly and I needed him to be at any given moment -- a doting "dad" in the public eye, a quiet philosopher when I needed someone to talk to, Holly's satisfying playmate when I wasn't feeling up to it and Gerard wasn't available.

He was easy to be around, even on that first day with his goofy grin and cute introduction. After his mock-formalities were out of the way, he helped us carry in the rest of our luggage -- packed in Nana's designer suitcases, for lack of any other way to transport our things -- and decided with a chuckle that we would make fast friends with his wife if our tastes ran as high as our luggage suggested.

Marie left once she was satisfied that Holly and I would be fine, and Jerry followed her shortly after on his own way to work. Alone in a new house, we took the Petersons up on their offer and stretched out our souls until the house was full to bursting. We took the time to hide our father's letters under our bed, but decided the rest of our unpacking could wait until after we had a little fun.

Our faces lit up when we finally found our way to the living-room -- Jerry had mentioned the television, but he didn't say anything about the stereo. It was gorgeous, and I still don't know -- or even want to know -- how much it must have cost him. We found some old swing collections on CD, and couldn't resist. Used to living in apartments and townhouses and still conscious of neighbors that no longer existed, we kept the volume low, but that didn't stop us from dancing until our giggle fits got the better of us, and we collapsed into each other and down to the floor.

"Brava, brava." Holly and I both screamed in terror at the sound of applause, jumping back from each other and turning to the intruder. "First you were dancing, now it's a comedy routine! You two could charge ten dollars a ticket." Jerry stood in the open archway from the living-room to the foyer, his token grin broadening as our fright turned to anger. "I really didn't mean to startle you, girls, I'm sorry. Anyway, I'm just on my lunch--" my eyes darted to the nearest clock, and I realized we'd been dancing for more than two hours-- "and I thought it wouldn't really be nice for you to have to make your own lunch on your first day with us. What do you say we got out for ... burgers? Fish and chips?"

Holly and I shared a long look: did we want to go out? Yes and no. We were kind of hungry after all that dancing; where'd the time go, anyway? And we still needed to unpack, but that could wait, right? Could we get Jerry to cook for us instead? He scared the Hell out of us after all, he owes us. But he seems nice, maybe we should give him a fair chance.

Jerry watched us, and it seemed for a moment like he could see the thoughts passing between Holly's and my eyes. "Is that a yes, then?"

Holly and I were stunned for a moment, but decided to shrug it off. "Fish and chips sounds good," I said, smiling at Jerry.

It turned out that the Mustang was Susan's; Jerry drove a big beast of a Jeep, the kind with a canvas roof, which Jerry had taken off for the summer so that there was nothing between us and the sky as we drove down to a diner in the East End.

"Jerry, there you are!" A waitress, smiling and bouncy, with a blonde ponytail that was so cute it was almost scary, galloped up to our table. "I was beginning to worry you were abandoning me!"

Jerry stood with a smile, kissed the woman's cheek as they hugged. Holly and I exchanged a glance. "You know I'd never do that. But the duchess has been taking up all of my time lately." The two laughed, and the waitress's eyes settled on me and Holly.

"And has her grace been sending my duke out to kidnap children for her oven again?" she asked. "Or am I mixing up my fairy-tales?"

"Oh, God," Jerry said, chuckling nervously as he turned back to us, "I'm sorry. Hannah, Holly, this is my sister, Steph. And no, Steph, they're not kidnapped -- as of today, Susan and I are foster parents." Steph's face changed at that, and she cast a quick glance at us before returning her gaze to her brother. They held that way for a long time, the same way Holly and I often did, and I realized how Jerry could read our faces before. After a moment, Jerry shook his head, and Steph pasted on her best waitress smile.

"So, what are you all having for lunch?"

"Fish and chips?" Jerry said. I nodded. "And coffee for me, thanks."

"Milkshakes," I said, "one strawberry and one vanilla." Steph smiled, left to fill our orders. There was an intimidating silence in her wake, and it took me a moment to meet Jerry's eyes. "Thank you," I said, smiling.

He tried to play coy. "For what?"

"For telling her that we're not as much of a charity-case as she wanted to think." I reached under the table to squeeze Holly's hand.

Jerry smiled. "Well, that's not exactly what she -- you're welcome." He waved a hand to brush it off. "We're supposed to at least pretend to be something like a family, right? I'm just trying to do my part."