Whatever part of her father’s hopes for the evening could be satisfied by fragrance and candlelight and by food consecrated to the rituals of Boughton celebration, that part at least had been seen to. The roast beef was tender, the glazed beets were pungent, the string beans were as they always were so early in the year, canned. But she had simmered them with bacon to make them taste less like themselves. She waited for someone to remark on the biscuits, but it was the gravy they admired, and she was proud of that, too.
Still, there was something strained about it all, as if time had another burden, like humid air, or as if it were a denser medium and impervious to the trivialization which was all they would expect or hope for on an evening like this one, now that grace was said. Her father gazed at Jack from time to time, pondered him, and Jack was aware of it. His hand trembled when he reached for his water glass, and ordinarily the old man, gentle as he was, would have looked away. But instead he touched Jack’s shoulder and his sleeve. Ames, his expression pensively comprehending, watched his friend take the measure of his erstwhile youth.
Jack said, “Dinner with Lazarus.”
His father drew his hand away. “Sorry, Jack. I didn’t quite hear that.”
“Nothing, it just came to my mind. ‘And Lazarus was one of those at table with him.’ I’ve always thought that must have been strange. For Lazarus. He must have felt a little—‘disreputable’ isn’t the word. Of course he’d have had time to clean himself up a little. Comb his hair. Still—” He laughed. “Sorry.”
Boughton said, “That’s very interesting, but I’m still not sure I see your point.”
Ames turned a long look on Jack, almost the incarnation of his father’s youth. It was a reproving look, as if he suspected that he did see the point and he felt the conversation ought to take another turn. Jack shook his head. “I just—” he said. “I don’t know what I was thinking about.” He glanced at Glory and smiled.
FOR A WHILE TALK DRIFTED GENTLY AND PREDICTABLY from the world situation to baseball to old times. Then there was a lull in the conversation, and Jack turned his gaze on Robby, who had sat beside him quietly, using his spoon to make a fort or embankment of his mashed potatoes.
“Robby for Robert,” Jack said.
He nodded.
“Robert B.”
He nodded and laughed.
“B. for Boughton.”
He nodded.
Jack said, “I believe that is the best name in the world.”
Ames said, “Your father was always naming his sons after other people. He didn’t have a Robert of his own.”
“No,” Boughton said. “Glory would have been Robert, but she wasn’t a boy.”
Jack looked at her.
His father, afraid he had been rude, said, “It worked out very well — four of each.”
Jack shrugged. “Faith. Hope. Grace. Roberta—”
“No,” his father said. “Charity was my first thought. But your mother sort of put her foot down. She thought it would make her sound like an orphan or something. The word is actually agape. Caritas is the Latin. Nothing you would name a child.”
Glory said, “I think we should change the subject.”
“Your mother wanted to call her Gloria, the usual spelling, but I couldn’t see that, when all the other names are in English.”
Jack said, “Fides, Spes, Gratia, Gloria.”
“Ah, the old jokes,” Glory said.
“Yes, it was Teddy who came up with that one,” the old man said. “Everything was high school Latin around here for a while, wasn’t it.” He looked at Jack. “Teddy called yesterday, by the way.”
Jack nodded. “Sorry I missed him.”
“Well, I suppose he’s used to it by now. I guess he’d better be.”
Jack smiled at his father. “Yes, well, there’s something else I forgot. If you’ll excuse me for a minute—” And he put down his fork and stood up and left the table and left the room.
Boughton shook his head. “First he was off picking flowers. Now he’s left the table in the middle of dinner. I suppose because I mentioned Teddy. I don’t understand it. They used to be close, when they were boys. At least he’d talk to Teddy now and then. I believe he did. That was my impression.”
Glory said, “You might lower your voice a little, Papa.”
“Well, sometimes I just don’t understand his behavior,” he said in an emphatic whisper. “I thought after all this time he might be—”
Glory touched her father’s wrist, and Jack walked into the silence of interrupted conspiracy, or so he must have thought, smiling as he did, guilelessly, eyebrows raised. “Sorry,” he said. “If you’d like, I could just wait out here in the hall for a minute or two. Until you’ve finished.”
“No. You’d better sit down,” his father said. “Your dinner is cold enough already.”
Jack smiled. “Yes, sir.” He was holding a baseball in his hand. When he had sat down, he held it up for Robby to see. “What have we here?” he said.
Robby said, “Um, fastball!”
Jack laughed with surprise, and looked at his hand. “Right you are!” He
