Three-Day Town

Buntrock raised his right hand in a Boy Scout salute. “Word of honor. He played the tenor sax.”

“The kings of Siam have come a long way since Yul Brynner,” Sigrid said dryly.

Shortly after nine, Sam Hentz stood up and said he had to go. He tried to pay Buntrock for his share of the dinner, but was waved off. “You can buy me a drink later.”

“It’s a deal.” He buttoned his overcoat and wound his scarf around his neck. “See you at the club, then.”

When he was gone, Sigrid forked another dumpling onto her plate and turned a jaundiced gaze on her putative cousin. “Okay, so who is Chloe Adams? The truth this time, if you don’t mind.”

Before Deborah could protest, Sigrid held up a slender hand to stop her. “When a wife kicks her husband under the table, it generally means that he’s about to say something she doesn’t want him to.”

Buntrock looked puzzled, but Dwight gave a rueful smile. “You got that right.”

“So far as I know, domestic help doesn’t come in on Sundays to clean, do they? Not in the South anyhow.”

“Look,” Deborah said quietly. “Let’s talk about this later, okay?”

Buntrock put his fork down. “Shall I leave?”

“Why?” Sigrid asked. “You already know most of my secrets, Elliott, and I’m sure Major Bryant knows what this is about. True, Major?”

“You might as well tell her, shug.”

Deborah was clearly conflicted. “All right,” she said at last. “She made Kate promise not to tell any of you, but Chloe Adams is an LPN.”

“As in licensed practical nurse?”

Deborah nodded.

Sigrid frowned. “What’s wrong with my grandmother?”

“She’s dying,” Deborah said bluntly. “Her cancer’s back.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.”

Sigrid’s frown deepened. “I don’t understand. She had surgery and chemo six years ago, but at Thanksgiving she told us she was still clean.”

“She lied. Kate says it came roaring back last summer and the doctors said more surgery would be useless.”

“But chemo… radiation—”

“Chemo and radiation are precisely why she hasn’t told y’all. She’s afraid you’ll try to badger her into it. Her exact words to Kate were that she didn’t want to spend the last year of her life bald and throwing up just so she could have an extra two months, and that’s about all the doctors could promise her if she took the treatments.”

“That sounds like Grandmother,” Sigrid said as the implications sank in. “She wanted all of us there for Thanksgiving and one of my aunts kept saying she looked a little tired, but we thought it was because of too much company and overdoing on the dinner. She was supposed to go to my Denver aunt’s for Christmas, but at the last minute she said she had a minor ear infection and didn’t want to fly. That wasn’t true either, was it?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Sigrid sighed and gave a wry smile. “Poor Grandmother. She does know her daughters, though. Mother will understand, but both my aunts will be on the next plane when they hear about it. I can’t blame her for not wanting a fight if her mind’s made up. How long does she have?”

“I’m sorry. I really don’t know. Maybe March or April?”

“So soon?” For a moment she looked bereft. “Then it really is too late for the aunts to do anything, isn’t it?” She pushed her plate away and looked at her watch. “What time is it in New Zealand? I’d better let my mother know. She’ll want to go down and spend some time with her. And she can help fend off the others.”

“It’s great that you’ll have a chance to say goodbye to her while she’s still in control of her life,” Deborah said. Her voice wobbled and Dwight reached for her hand.

Sigrid frowned. “Deborah?”

“Sorry.” Her blue eyes glistened with unshed tears. “My mother died the summer I turned eighteen. She had chemotherapy, radiation, the whole nine yards, and she was so miserably sick at the end. Weak and nauseated. And it only bought her a few extra weeks of life. I think Mrs. Lattimore’s made a better choice.”

Sigrid nodded. “Grandmother’s always been a realist.”

Buntrock poured the last of the wine into Sigrid’s glass and handed it to her. She took a small sip, then set the glass back on the table and reached for her coat. “I’m sorry if this has ruined your dinner party, Elliott, but I’m going to take a pass on jazz. Tell Hentz I’ll see him tomorrow.”

“You didn’t ruin a thing.” He stood and held her coat for her. “Want me to drive you home?”

“Thanks but no thanks. Besides, you’ve had more wine than I did.” She turned to the others. “Thanks for telling me, Deborah.”

They watched her walk away and Elliott said, “I don’t suppose you guys feel like hearing jazz tonight, either?”

“Sorry,” Deborah said. “I really don’t. Dwight? If you want to stay, I can get a cab back.”

“We’ll both get a cab back,” Dwight said.