Oh, Monday. Two weeks of pretty much doing what we wanted on our own schedule was nice, but now it was back to reality. Cindy chose the restaurant for breakfast, so we did run into a couple of my co-workers, as reluctant as I to dive back in. Cindy, however, was another story. School for her was not like it was for most teens, what with her gifted status, and she kissed me demurely at the trailer so I could go off to work while she waited on the bus.

The staff meeting this morning was epic. A couple of key players weren't in yet, one snowed in up in New England, the other fighting flight delays, and reports from the field supervisors told us that on the level of the actual hands on workforce, the condition was even worse, but the project started back up. At least most of my big pieces were in place, and my crews were some of the more responsible of the bunch.

Also slowing us down were the clouds moving in, foretelling another weather system. That, too, though, was to be expected. I met with the two foremen of my electrical bunch and we talked about inside work and outside work and how we could continue progress in the face of freezing rain. Of course, we all knew that really bad conditions would shut the job down. Yes, my schedule would slip, but so would every other schedule on the project. It wouldn't make me happy, but it wouldn't put other workgroups in a bind because they had to wait for us.

That was the sort of stress I hated. Yeah, I was the 'geek engineer' type. I loved the technology, the design, the problem-solving, the putting the pieces together. I put up with the admin bullshit and the scheduling headaches because it provided me the path to do what I liked. I was good enough at both aspects that I got jobs just like this, and I regarded the day's problems as the part where I had a real job, not just a hobby with a paycheck attached.

I was not the least bit reluctant to motor out the gate at the end of the day. I returned to the park and pulled up at the front office under a light drizzle. Weather was turning to crap. Cindy was inside the office, sipping hot chocolate and chatting with Steve and two of the older couples who were staying at the park.

Steve saw me walk in the door. "Hi, Dan," he said.

"Hi, baby," Cindy chirped.

"Hi, sweetie. Hi folks. I thought ya'll came down her to get away from this stuff," I said. I knew the two couples were from up north.

One of the old guys said, "Son, right now home has two feet of snow and they're expecting another foot tonight. This is positively balmy!"

I laughed. "Yessir! I guess all things are relative."

His wife said, "Miss Cindy tells us you're quite a Cajun cook. Would you be interested in doing ... what was it, Miss Cindy?"

"Gumbo!" Cindy grinned. "I told 'em about you and Jerry's gumbo."

"Ah, yes!" the trim little grey-haired lady said. "Gumbo. You know you can't trust what they serve in restaurants to be the real thing."

I said, well, ma'am, there's a lot of interpretation. I do the one I learned from my mom and grandma and great-grandma, and as far as I can tell, it's authentic."

The old guy said, "Well, son, if ... would you, like maybe Saturday, if it's okay ... you can tell us what to buy..."

Here we go, I though. "No, sir. You don't buy anything. I'll buy, and we'll use the kitchen at the pavilion," I looked at Steve, "If it's not scheduled."

"Not at this time of the year it ain't," he said.

"Okay, we'll do it there. so how many? Me an' Cindy. You four. Steve?" I arched an eyebrow at Steve.

"An' da missus," he said.

The little lady said, "Hubby and I will poll the other occupants and give you a count tomorrow."

Steve said, "Mizz Helen and Mister Charlie'll be back tomorrow. She's gonna love this."

The other old guy dropped the second obvious shoe. "And I think it would be wonderful if you and this little lady and your friends could do another concert."

Cindy superstar fielded that one. "We'd love to, but we need to ask the rest of the band." She took my hand. "Come on, baby, I have some homework, then we can go get a salad."

The little gray-headed lady said "Salad? You know a good salad place?"

Cindy said, "Meet us here at five-thirty and you can follow us."

"We'll see you people in about an hour then," I said.

Cindy hopped into the truck for the short roll to our trailer. The cold drizzle was heavier, nasty weather. I closed the door and kicked the truck's heater on high.

"What'd you just get us into, little red-headed girl?"

Her smile was disarming. "I liked your gumbo better than Jerry's. I was tellin' 'em about how ya'll do it, and..."

"And I've got, what, maybe five pounds of sausage from home, and, oh, crap! Hang on!" I flipped my cellphone open. "Tootie" I commanded the voice recognition.

Cindy watched, silent, smiling.

"Hey, brother," Tootie answered.

"Sis, I've got an emergency!"

"Omigod! What?!?!?"

I shouldn't take advantage of people's good natures like that, I guess. "Cindy's got me cookin' a gumbo for a bunch of snowbirds this Saturday and I need some stuff."

"Nobody's hurt? Cindy's okay?"

"Cindy's perfect," I said. I gave Tootie the list. "Put it in a box and Fed-Ex it to me. I'll pay you..."

She laughed. "Thinkin' about you cookin' for a buncha Yankees is pay enough," she said.

"Thank you, sis. I owe you..."

"Put Cindy on the phone. I'm finished talkin' to you."

I handed the phone to Cindy as we pulled up next to our trailer. I got out, unlocked the door, then held the truck door open as Cindy dashed inside the trailer. I locked my pickup and went inside with her, listening to her laughing on the phone with Tootie.

Her eyes laughed with her voice, head bouncing in animated conversation. Finally she closed the phone. "Tootie says bye. She'll ship your stuff tomorrow." Her green eyes fixed on mine. "You're not mad about this are you, baby?"

"No, it's not the first time I've done this sort of thing. We'll have fun." I paused. "Let's call the Hardesty's and see if we can put the band back together."

Cindy giggled. "You make it sound like 'the Blues Brothers'."

"With more finesse. And our lead singer is sooooo much cuter..." That got me a kiss.

The phone came out again. I punched up the Hardesty house. Ann answered. "Hi, Dan!" she said.

"Hi, Ann! Is Dan home yet?"

"Oh, sure. You need to talk to 'im?"

I said, "You two are interchangeable." I heard her laugh. "Cindy has volunteered me to cook a gumbo for the park this Saturday and we've been asked if we could play Saturday night."

"Oh, I think so, but let me ask His Highness." I heard her holler, "Hey, Jarhead!"

"Wow, that's sensitive," I said.

She giggled. "He's the love of my life, and he knows it! Here he is."

"Whatcha got, bro," Jim asked.

I repeated the whole plan.

"Wellll, I have ONE question."

"What's that?"

"Are we like, 'hired help', or do we get to eat, too?"

"Bring your gang and your appetite."

"We'll be there. Ya'll need to come over, say, uh ... Wednesday for dinner."

"Barring any disasters, we'll be there. Want me to save Ann from cooking?"

"If you want." I heard him holler, "Baby, Cindy 'n' Dan are coming over Wednesday and they're ordering pizza!"

"Tell 'im thank you!" came the reply.

"Okay," I said. "We'll be there. Fivish!"

"You got it, buddy!" Jim laughed. "SO now you're a cook, too..."

"Yeah," I said. "Wisht I'd brought the cannon."

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Food and artillery. Wonderful combo."

"Alright, Jim. Holler if you need something."

"Hey, I'm gonna be sendin' Cindy home with an application to take the ACT in a week or so. So don't be surprised."

"Okay! Thanks for the heads' up! See ya'll soon!" I flipped the phone closed.

Cindy handed me a pair of street shoes. I changed.

""We're gonna have fun with this gumbo, right?" she asked.

"We are, cutie," I said. She curled her legs up underneath her on the sofa and snuggled in against me. I was laughing to myself.

"What's funny?" she asked.

"You. Me. Us. Happy kind of funny, though." I turned and kissed the top of her head. We sat for a few more minutes then got out into the nastiness and met two couples at the front office. We caravanned to our genteel friends' restaurant.

Walking in, Cindy introduced them to the two old ladies who owned the place and explained the situation. We pushed a couple of tables together to seat us all as a group and had a great, tasty meal and good conversation with the owners joining us.

Reluctantly we left, arriving home rather later than normal, but not a bit disappointed for the fun we'd had.

I am happy to report that Cindy's efforts at conserving hot water let me have enough to shave with. Showered, shaved, her hair dried and brushed, I asked, "Homework?"

"You're kidding, right?" She looked at me. "I'm trying to rescue the basketball team in math. Some of those guys have real trouble catching on." She read my expression. "Don't worry, sweetie, I don't do anything one on one. Everybody knows I'm married, and I have some friends on the football team who act like my big brothers."

"Still," I said, "Even in middle school, there's that jock mentality."

"One guy said some stuff. One time. About me bein' married and, in his words, 'used to doin' it'. I told the math teacher that I would NOT be helping him any more. He apologized to me before Christmas vacation and asked if I'd PLEASE help him again."

"You didn't tell me that, little one." I said.

"I didn't want you upset, and you teach me to do things myself. And the teachers are watching out for me. And Mister Jim." She sighed. "And after the shotgun..."

"You catch any trouble from that?" I asked.

"Surprisingly not. I still got a question today, though. Just 'What happened.' Not like before, when it was 'Who taught you to shoot?' Dan, I still think about that guy ... I shot 'im."

I had held Cindy more than once since the incident, once or twice feeling her gently sobbing, a couple of times just 'Hold me, Dan', and I suppose that 'post-traumatic stress' wasn't just something from the combat zone. If that's what it was. I guess if it had been worse, I'd have sought professional help, but she did seem to be handling things in typical Cindy fashion, in other words, better than expected.

"Baby, people like that aren't in a position to be talked into a reasonable action. You did what you had to do, and you had to make a decision in a split second. The other decision and I could've found you in the hospital. Or worse."

"I know, Dan. But all these nice things, you know ... Our family for Christmas. That dance. New Years Eve. And everybody's so happy and nice to me. And sometimes I stop for a little second and think 'Cindy, you killed a guy.'"

"Every one of those people are thinking that if they were in a similar situation, they hope they can handle themselves as well as you did, Cindy. It wasn't the kind of thing a fourteen year old girl should have to decide, but sometimes the world doesn't separate things into age-appropriate categories." I sighed. "I'm glad you handled yourself so well, and I'd give anything if I could've protected you from it."

"But you did protect me, Dan. S'pose I was one of those little Barbie dolls that cain't do nuthin' (Cindy was rolling. Her attention to grammar and pronunciation went away) but squeal an' wave their hands?" She was pulling herself out of the pit. "I'd have been raped and beaten to death or somethin'." She sat up. "I'm dealing with it."

"You're my Cindy. I will do anything you need, baby. Do you want to talk to somebody about it? Professional?" I watched her eyes.

She shook her head. "It's not like it's all I think about, honey. Just every now and then, you know ... I can't help it."

"You never get rid of memories, little one. All you can do it try and put them in perspective."

"I know, Dan. Perspective. That's a good word. That night was the worst one I've had since we've been together. I was by myself. And I handled it."

I kissed her cheek. "Yes, dear one, you did."

She expelled a sharp breath. "Okay. School. D'you think I should do some exercises? You know, for those tests?"

"You said you took some of the practice tests, didn't you?"

"Uh-huh ... But just for practice ... Like exercise."

"You don't imagine that helping those people at school ... teaching a subject reinforces what you know about it. You get asked questions that you have to explain the answers to, and you do it. If you're a good teacher." I reminded myself of my own experiences. Some of the young engineers I'd mentored over the years were now showing themselves quite adept. Of course, some of them were as useless as nipples on a bull, too, but that wasn't my fault.

I shared that thought with Cindy. She giggled. "I know about that already," she said. "Some kids really try, but it's just not something they're going to ever be good at."

"I know, baby," I said. "That's just one of those uncomfortable facts of life. You know how we've talked about that Bell curve?"

"Gaussian distribution," she corrected.

What are you supposed to do with a fourteen year old redhead that knows about Gaussian distributions? "Yes, okay, Miss Smartypants."

"Well," she said, "It's shaped like a bell, but then that guy Bell wrote that book, so when you say 'Bell curve'..."

"I know," I said. "But you know what I mean."

Giggle. "And I like messing with you every now and then." She stuck her tongue out at me. "Okay. Serious now." Her 'serious' face broke me up. More giggles. "Okay, really serious, now!"

I tried to recover my thoughts. "High school math is made for the biggest part of the distribution. Kids on the high side have little trouble. Kids on the low side might have to kick and claw to get enough to pass the class, but they'll never be comfortable. You're starting to see how many people only learn enough to go through the class, and when they stop using it, it's gone."

"Uh-huh," she said. "I guess you don't need to understand integrals and derivatives and quadratic equations to sell lingerie at Wal-Mart."

"And I'm gonna have to watch what I say to keep little redheads from repeating it."

Giggle. "Just so you know that I pay attention to my mentor." She jumped closer to me and kissed me. "And my mentor is my husband, and that's a good thing." Her face turned serious. "Dan, those kids that have trouble, you know I would NEVER put them down. Just because I'm uh, I guess, smarter, an' it's easy for me..."

"Good, babe," I said. "You're going to be in worse positions than me in the real world, baby. You're further out on the flat part of the curve. I know some guys who're terrifically intelligent, but they are horrors to work with, because they never miss an opportunity to flaunt their intelligence."

"I watched you, Dan. At work. When you were explaining something to one of your technicians, the others came over to listen to your explanation. That's the right way, huh?"

"When there's time to explain, explain. People will notice that. And then sometimes you don't have time to explain, and you just say 'Do it this way' and you hope people are mature enough to understand before it's all over."

"Sometimes people aren't that mature, baby," she said.

"Don't I know it, little one," I said. "And just because mine are older than yours doesn't mean that they're any more likely to be mature about it. Sometimes I think mine are worse, because they've had years to develop egos that get in the way, or they've got years of experience at doing things wrong and getting away with it."

The 'Cindy close enough to kiss my cheek' changed to 'Cindy with her arms around my neck, a more satisfactory configuration. Even better was 'Cindy pushing Dan down on the sofa and climbing on top of him and tickling him'. "Okay, that's enough serious talk about the world and human interaction." and kisses. "We talk about stuff. I like that."

"Uh-huh," I said. "You save me from idle conversation."

"You want the long list of the things YOU saved me from?"

From six inches, I could see the golden flecks in those green eyes. "I can't begin to tell you my own list, angel."

Giggle. "Good! The bed's at the other end of the trailer." She rolled sideways off me and walked away, glancing over her shoulder. I was right behind her. "Leave the little light on."

When I got back to the park on Tuesday, I saw Mizz Helen and Charlie's SUV at the office. I walked in. "Hi, folks! How was Nuremburg?"

Helen smiled. "Everything I could imagine. Wonderful."

Charlie said, "The city's beautiful. We had quite the time there. How did you two do for YOUR holiday? Cindy tells us it was very interesting."

"Cindy's a star in two states now," I said.

"Mighty fine," Charlie commented. "We used to have that sort of thing hereabouts."

I looked at Cindy. "You haven't told 'em yet?"

"Oh, I forgot ... Mizz Helen, Dan's gonna cook a big Cajun gumbo Saturday at the pavilion. And then we're going to play. The Hardesty's are going to be here..." she reached in her backpack and removed a USB drive. "I need to print this flyer and put it on the bulletin board."

Helen moved. "Come use this old computer, Cindy."

The little grey-haired lady and her husband walked in. Hello, Helen, Charlie, did Dan tell you..."

Helen smiled. "Just now. Sounds like we're having an event here."

"Oh, yes! We walked around this morning and talked to everybody. Dan, can you cook for thirty?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said. I was already counting chickens and computing rice and pot sizes.

The old guy with her (probably ten years junior to Judge Charlie) said "You didn't want to let us pay for it, but we're going to put a bucket there for contributions. That's what we told everybody."

"I appreciate it. Tell everybody to bring drinks. I'll provide the gumbo."

Cindy was at my side. "You won't be disappointed. It's really good!"

The little lady said, "We assume nothing less, Mizz Cindy!" She turned to me. "You have a reputation to live up to, Dan."

"MY wife is writing checks I hope I can cash, Judge."

Charlie laughed. "Dan, you wouldn't be married to her if she wasn't special."

We spent another half an hour catching up on their trip and ours, then took our leave.

We got in the truck for the short trip to the trailer. Cindy said, "You have to teach me to cut up onions without cutting my fingers off, now."

"And how to stir a roux." 'Roux" was the browned flour in oil that was the base of much Cajun cooking. It required a lot of stirring.

"I wanna learn. For our next trip home. I wanna cook for Tootie an' Jerry. So they'll know I'm a proper wife."

"Oh, yes, certainly," I laughed. "Five foot three, hundred and five pounds, red hair, you're the picture of a very improper wife..."

Giggle. "Wait'll the door closes behind us. I'll show you 'improper', bud!"

"See," I laughed. "That's where you're wrong. Behind that closed door, NOTHING we do is improper!"

Soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Simple. And happy, when you're sharing it with somebody you love.

The remainder of the week was as much routine as life will allow. The project picked up with the return of full staffing, but winter weather caused delays and concerns. Still, progress was made, and allowance had been built into our schedule for these delays. That was work.

The best part of life was now, for me, away from the confines of the industrial facility we were building. Our Wednesday meal with the Hardesty's was a good piece of conviviality. I played on Jim's pride in his own outdoor cooking, roping him into working with me on Saturday, and a little flattery over Ann's kitchen prowess got her and Cindy and Teresa lined up for potato salad. Jim's son, Bill?

"Bill," Jim said, "Women rule the kitchen when it comes to food. Every place else, that's a man's world!"

"Says the guy who knows how to barbecue. And that's it!" Ann chided.

"Dad," Bill said, "I'll help..."

Friday I took off early to buy the ingredients, and Saturday we put the production together, and at five o'clock, the entire park population was lined up waiting. I stood behind the big pot with my official ladle, offering suggestions about condiments and enhancements and dispensing folklore and history and explanation.

There was a five-gallon plastic bucket on the stage, subtly labeled "TANSTAAFL" and then below, for the culturally illiterate, "There Ain't No such thing As a Free Lunch (Contribute to the gumbo fund)". Cindy elbowed me. As empty bowls ended up in the trash can and people filtered back to the serving line, asking about seconds, there was also a healthy stream of money going into the bucket.

We shut down the serving line and a few volunteers helped us clear pots and clean the tables and we started setting up the musical instruments for the evening.

Steve sidled up to me. "Uh, Mister Dan, me an' the missus'll clean this mess, the pots an' stuff."

"Sure, Steve," I said. "I appreciate it. Let me pay ya'll."

"No, you don't..." he said.

"Oh, yeah. I appreciate it. "Seventy-five bucks enough?"

"That's too much, Dan. You don't have to..."

"Then it's enough," I said. "We appreciate it." I gave him four twenties.

"I don't have a five..."

"Then don't worry about it at all. We'll call it even."

Setting up on the stage, I eyeballed that plastic bucket. Just estimating, I thought that we covered my costs and then some.

The tables were pushed out of the way and the folding chairs were now facing the stage, and Jim and I and Ann and Teresa and Cindy took our places. And after doing this for four months, we had a few things down pat, and our playing was a bit more polished and out management of sound equipment had improved. On top of it all, though, Cindy's poise was infectious. Teresa perked up when they did their duets and Cindy's solos were, well, cute counts for a lot, but cute and enthusiastic, and with some natural talent and showmanship...

Something new, too. A couple of our audience asked for the opportunity to join the band, and after our regular set, a bluegrass jam session started. Wouldn't have been so bad, but one old guy was better than Jim or me both. That was the cause of a few laughs and claps on the back.

Our previous performances we ended at ten PM. The jam session kept us until almost midnight. We had help loading up and Cindy and I followed the Hardesty's back to their house to unload. Cindy was a drowsy thing when we finally walked into the trailer, but we both needed a shower, and then it was to bed. Soft caresses and kisses were enough to take us to dreamland together.