everyone the bizarre idea that I--' He froze, looking over my shoulder, and I turned around to see Samantha and one of the bridesmaids.
'Hello, Meg,' Samantha said. 'You look comfortable.' I felt as guilty as a night watchman caught sleeping on the job.
'No reason not to be comfortable while I work,' I said. 'We've been discussing the gowns. Michael has some ideas for making the hoops more manageable.'
I felt guilty picking on Michael that way, but he rose to the occasion. After enduring a seemingly endless conversation on how the hoops could be better constructed to allow us to fit through normal doorways, sit in the limos, and go to the bathroom without too much outside assistance, I excused myself and fled outside on the pretext of seeing if Dad needed help. Michael jumped up and followed me out.
'Nice of you to come all the way out here from town,' I said.
'It's just down the street, really,' Michael said. 'I'm staying at Mom's house.'
'Which one is that?'
'Your mother calls it the Kaplan bungalow.'
'Oh, yes,' I said. 'Not that any Kaplans have lived there for fifteen years.'
As we went out the back door, we ran into Eric, sporting an extremely large and already dirty bandage and followed, naturally, by Duck.
'Hi, Aunt Meg,' Eric said. 'Who's he?' I suppose he had been too concerned with his finger earlier to notice Michael on the porch.
'This is Michael Waterston,' I said, in my best formal manner. 'His mother runs the dress shop. Michael, this is Eric McReady, my nephew.' Michael leaned down to shake the rather sticky hand Eric was offering. 'And this is Duck.' Michael won Eric's heart instantly by solemnly turning to Duck and offering his hand, which Duck pecked.
'I've seen you two around,' Michael said. 'Yes,' I said, 'Duck follows Eric around just like a dog.'
'Duck's better than any old dog,' Eric said, loyally. 'Come see what he did.' Eric led us to a spot in the bushes where a single duck egg was resting.
'Duck laid an egg,' Eric said.
'That's very smart of her,' I said. 'Him,' Eric corrected. I decided it wasn't my job to explain that one to him.
'What should we do with it?' Eric asked. I looked at Duck, who showed no apparent interest in sitting on the damned thing.
'Well,' Michael said, 'I suppose you could always eat it.'
'No!' Eric wailed. 'I'm not going to let you eat Duck's babies! No, NO, NO!' He flung himself down to protect the egg with such violence that I was sure he would crack it. Duck began quacking hysterically.
'Hush, Eric,' I said, glaring at Michael. 'Nobody's going to eat Duck's babies.'
'I didn't mean eat it,' Michael said, desperately, 'I meant heat it! Heat it! So it will hatch.'
Eric looked around, still suspicious, but with noticeably less distress.
'That's what you have to do to hatch eggs,' Michael went on. 'You heat them. Most ducks sit on the eggs to heat them, but Duck seems to prefer following you around, so we have to figure out some other way to keep her ... his egg warm.'
'Like what?' Eric asked, sitting up and cradling the egg in his hand.
'Well, when I was a kid I had a little machine that you plugged in and it kept the eggs the right temperature for them to hatch. An incubator, it's called. I hatched some chicks from hen's eggs that way.'
'Where do you get a ink-ink-was--'
'In-cu-ba-tor,' Michael said. Eric mouthed it after him. I could see the dollar signs in his little eyes; he was going to dash right off and collect twenty cents from his grandfather for learning a new, four-syllable word. 'Where do you get one?' he asked. Michael and I looked at each other.
'I suppose a pet store would have one,' Michael suggested.
'Aunt Meg, you could find a pet store with an incubator,' Eric said, in the sort of tone that implied that only his incomparable Aunt Meg could perform such a miracle.
'I suppose I could try,' I said.
'Try real hard!' Eric pleaded.
'I will, I promise.'
'And soon!' he wailed. 'What if Duck's egg gets cold while you're looking?'
'I'll try real soon. Meanwhile, why don't you keep Duck's egg in your shirt pocket? Of course you'll have to be really careful not to shake it, but that should keep it warm enough.'
'Okay,' Eric said. He carefully placed the egg in his pocket, and he and Duck trotted off--slowly--to find Dad.
'And what happens if he falls and breaks it?' Michael asked, shaking his head.
'Well, at least he can't blame either of us,' I said. 'And since there isn't any Mr. Duck around to fertilize the egg, it's not going to hatch no matter how long we incubate it. Eric accidentally breaking it might be the best solution; the kids could have a funeral. Pet funerals are very popular around here, especially since Dad came back from a trip to Scotland with a set of bagpipes for each of the grandkids.'
'They really play the bagpipes?' Michael asked.
'No, but they can march around making such an ungodly amount of noise that they completely forget to be upset about the dear departed.'
'Let's hope the egg survives. You've got quite enough to do as it is; I'll see if I can find an incubator. Since it was all my fault in the first place.'
'You're on.'
'By the way, Meg, I was wondering if you would like to go--' Michael began, only to be interrupted by Mother calling and beckoning to us from the porch.
'Michael, you will come to dinner tomorrow, won't you?' Mother asked as we arrived at the porch. 'Jake's sister-in-law arrived this morning to spend the summer and help with the wedding, and we want to have a few people over to welcome her. Nothing formal,' she insisted, 'just a little light refreshment by the pool. Meg, dear, I have something to show you,' she said, taking Michael's acceptance for granted and moving to the next item on her agenda. 'It's about the dining room ...'
I waved at Michael and went off with Mother to spend the rest of the afternoon fruitlessly trying to talk her out of totally redecorating the dining room in addition to the living room. I hoped Mrs. Brewster wouldn't up the ante in the decorating competition by decorating three rooms so that Mother would feel obliged to do the family room as well. I hoped Jake was more than reasonably well heeled. I hoped Michael would have the sense to realize that Mother's idea of 'nothing formal' meant that guests weren't actually required to wear black tie and tails. I hoped the summer would be over soon.
Sunday, May 29
I'd gone to bed Saturday night expecting a relaxing Sunday. At least the morning, when Mother and all her cronies would gather at Grace Episcopal, dressed to kill and waiting with decorative impatience for the service to be over so they could get down to the serious business of catching up with the week's gossip. I planned to sleep late, read the paper, and rest. But I woke early and got up when I couldn't stop worrying about my to-do list.
I padded downstairs, fixed coffee, and sat at the kitchen table waiting for it to take effect. I was enjoying the peace and quiet of the empty house. I suppose I was halfway asleep again when a noise at the kitchen door startled me. I jumped and whirled, only to see Jake, halfway through the door. He started and looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him. He was clutching a brown paper bag in both hands with a convulsive grip.
'I thought everybody was in church,' we said, almost in unison. I laughed when I realized we'd both said the same thing. Jake didn't. No sense of humor, either, I thought. What on earth does Mother see in him?
'I just came by to drop off some things for the party,' he said, opening the kitchen door a fraction more and then slipping in sideways and over to the refrigerator. He opened the refrigerator door and surveyed the inside, already crowded with containers of food.
