warm to bake the last few days.”
The summer had indeed been warm, though not unbearable. As a native Pacific Northwesterner, Judith’s
tolerance for heat dropped lower every year. Fortunately, there was only a week left of August.
“I should call in person to cancel the displaced
guests’ reservations,” Judith said, scrolling down the
screen on her computer monitor. “Let’s see—the Kidds
from Wisconsin and the Izards from Iowa.”
“Those are guests? They sound like innards to me.”
Gertrude was struggling to get out of her chair. “You
got two lonesome old cookies in that jar,” she declared.
“I suppose that hog of a Serena was here and gobbled
them up.”
Judith reached out to give her mother a hand. “It
wasn’t Serena,” she said, referring to her cousin who
was more familiarly known as Renie. “It was little
Mac. Remember, he was here with Mike and Kristin
and Baby Joe the day before yesterday.”
Gertrude paused in her laborious passage from the
kitchen table to the rear hallway. “Baby Joe!” she exclaimed, waving a hand in derision. “Why did Mike
and his wife have to name the new kid after
Lunkhead?”
“Lunkhead” was what Gertrude called Judith’s second husband, Joe Flynn. “Lunkhead” was also what
she called her daughter’s first husband, Dan McMonigle.
Mac was the nickname of the older grandson, whose
given name was Dan, after the man who had actually
raised Mike. Though Judith had first been engaged to
Joe, she had married Dan. It was only in the last year
that her son had come to realize that Joe, not Dan, was
his biological father. Thus, Mike had honored both
men by giving their names to his own sons.
“Mike thinks the world of Joe,” Judith replied, escorting her mother to the back door. She didn’t elaborate. Gertrude had never admitted that her daughter
had gotten pregnant out of wedlock. To Judith’s
mother, sex before marriage was as unthinkable as
chocolate without sugar.
They had reached the porch steps when Joe Flynn
pulled into the driveway in his cherished antique MG,
top down, red paint gleaming in the late afternoon sun.
“Ladies,” he called, getting out of the car with his cotton jacket slung over one shoulder. “You’re a vision.”
“You mean a sight for sore eyes,” Gertrude shot
back.
“Do I?” Gold flecks danced in Joe’s green eyes as
he kissed his wife’s cheek, then attempted to brush his
mother-in-law’s forehead with his lips.
Gertrude jerked away, almost throwing Judith off
balance. “Baloney!” the old girl cried. “You just want
to get my goat. As usual.” She plunked her walker on
the ground and shook off Judith’s hand. “I’m heading
