“Why would you want to leave?” asked Rourke.
“Because it’s all I’ve ever known. I’ve always wanted a chance to go someplace else. Live a different life. Find out who I am besides Jenny the bakery girl.”
Though Joey seemed to understand, Rourke stared at her oddly. “What’s wrong with being Jenny the bakery girl? People like her.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t like her.” She sighed and stared down at the clear water rushing over rocks. “Nina and I had big plans. We were going to move to the city after high school. Get jobs. Go to college. Now she’s going to have a baby, so it looks like I’ll be on my own.”
She regarded Joey and Rourke, both so handsome, so comfortable with who they were. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt compelled to tell them things. All kinds of things. “If I tell you something, do you promise never to say a word?”
Rourke and Joey exchanged a glance. “Promise.”
“When Nina came out of the clinic today and said she was keeping the baby, I had a moment when I felt—this is crazy—I felt jealous. I mean, I know having a baby is a scary thing, especially when you’re a kid, but all the same, I couldn’t help what I felt, and it was ugly.”
Rourke shrugged. “People think ugly thoughts all the time. It’s only a problem when they act on them.” He spoke with a casual air, yet she suspected there was some sort of powerful knowledge behind his words.
“So what did you think?” she asked him.
“About her having a kid?” He pressed his lips together, shook his head. “Like she said, it’s her choice. Man, I’ll never have kids.”
“All guys say that,” she pointed out. “I bet in ten or fifteen years, you’ll be pushing a stroller, or maybe you’ll be walking around with one of those baby carriers—”
“Not Rourke,” Joey said.
“Right,” he agreed. “Some people shouldn’t ever be parents.”
She stared at him. “You mean your father.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Jenny found it quite startling, the contrast between Senator Drayton McKnight’s public persona and his private. Sometimes even she didn’t believe it, although Joey assured her the guy was a bastard of the first order. When the senator made a public appearance with his family, they looked wonderful together—the sincere public servant, his lovely wife, his handsome, well-groomed son. But over the years, Rourke had given her glimpses of the turmoil behind the polished facade.
“I’ve made a decision, too,” he said.
Both she and Joey leaned forward, listening.
“I’m going to break with my father.”
“What do you mean, ‘break with him’?” Joey asked.
“I’m going to be on my own.”
His father had big plans for him. He was supposed to go to Columbia or Cornell. Graduate with honors. Carry on the family tradition. It all sounded great to Jenny, but clearly Rourke had other ideas.
“This is all about what you don’t want,” she pointed out. “You don’t want kids, don’t want to go to Columbia, don’t want to follow in your dad’s footsteps. So what do you want?”
“I’ve got some ideas, none of which will thrill the old man. And that’s all I’m going to say about it for now.”
“What about you, Joey?” she asked, noticing that he had gotten very quiet.
“I got a plan,” he said. “I’m going to enlist in the army.”
She frowned. “The army? Like boot camp and all that?”
“Sure,” he said. “Starting next fall.”
She knew nothing about the military except through the “be all you can be” TV commercials that promised you’d get an education and see the world. She was pretty sure there was a catch somewhere. Like you had to go to dangerous places where hostile people were trying to kill you. She turned to Rourke. “What do you think of his plan?”
“I think Joe should do whatever he wants.”
“So do you want it?” Jenny asked him.
Joey looked at her for a long time. They weren’t touching or even standing that close, but she felt that look coasting over her like a warm breeze. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I want it. I want a lot of things.”
His infatuation—or whatever it was—felt palpable, as though he’d caressed her. Jenny couldn’t help smiling. He always made her smile. “Like what?” she said, and hoped he knew she wasn’t teasing or flirting. “I really want to know.”
“I want to go to college, so serving in the army’ll earn me that.”
“Why college? I thought you hated school.”
“I do, but it’s the best way to make something of myself. I want to be able to get married, support a family. You know, the whole happily-ever-after thing.” He elbowed Rourke and mimicked his friend. “And that’s all I’m going to say about it for now.”
Food for Thought
BY JENNY MAJESKY
Starting from Scratch
Lots of people use this phrase and understand perfectly what it means, although few know its origin. To start from scratch is to begin from the beginning, from square one. It’s to start with nothing, no odds in your favor, no head start or advantage. It is ground zero, which is another phrase that needs explaining, but maybe not here.
In the middle of the eighteenth century, “starting from scratch” was a sporting term. It referred to a starting line, usually scratched into the dirt with a sharp stick. In cricket, “scratch” is the line in front of each stump where the batsman stands. And finally, in bare-knuckle boxing, a line was drawn across the ring, and the boxers would come “up to scratch” to begin their bout.
Nowadays, starting from scratch is synonymous with starting from nothing, and in baking, something made from scratch is generally presumed to be excellent. You can add flavor with a pinch of herbs, and don’t forget—lavender is an herb. Make a batch of lavender sugar and keep it on hand.
SCRATCH BISCUITS WITH LAVENDER SUGAR
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
¼ teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon salt
½ cup unsalted butter, cold and sliced into about a dozen
