“Not eat ice cream? Who doesn’t like ice cream? Weird.”
" Not unusual at all. Bollard must be cautious. Caution is vital for our family’s survival. He's the regent, you know. "Bollard never ate anything around us. Ever. Not even a cracker.
Dad ignored Grandma and continued, “The good news, Wavy can tell her uncle 'no’ from the start of the meal and maybe he’ll get up and leave. Then we can get back to life as normal.”
I smiled. We disagreed over Grandma’s diagnosis, but our normal was good. Better than good. If I ever needed someone, Dad was my it guy. During the summer, we attended archeological digs at the Susquehanna River. We played cards. He taught me interesting historical facts about the Gilded Age and Industrial Revolution. He walked me through changing a tire, taught me to drive.
“I’m glad you’re happy, but your happiness will not last long,” Grandma told him. “Destiny is destiny.”
Dad took Grandma’s arm. “Let’s go clean up the living room or your lovely daughter will have my head.”
“Matthew! Knowing our family, she could do worse to you but won’t.”
“Sasha.” Dad nodded to her and left the two of us in the kitchen.
“I’m heading out.” Sasha pulled me into a hug, lingering longer than usual. She whispered into my ear. “Ask about the ring.”
I nodded, indicating I would.
Sasha started towards the door but then came back and gave me one more quick hug.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said, and she took my hand. “I got this cold feeling, and I needed to hug you one more time.”
I smiled at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah, sure.” Sasha squeezed my hand.
“I mean it,” I said, and we walked to the door together. One meal, and the rest of the summer would get back on course.
Sasha opened the door. “Watch yourself. Good luck.”
Chapter 4
Ice Cream Bubbles
“Please come in, Uncle. Why don’t you join us at the table?” Mom moved to the side as Uncle Bollard entered our kitchen, and she said, “I made cake and coffee, and we have ice cream. Can I get you some?”
“No, thank you,” Uncle Bollard said, his nose in the air as he viewed our tiny yellow kitchen with our little farm table. Our house wasn’t big enough for a formal dining room, but Mom had stayed up late last night waxing the floors and washing the glass sconces. She set the table with the best we owned: the good white plates, peonies from the garden, and a green (and unstained) tablecloth. Mom even wore her favorite lilac print dress for the occasion. So far, Great-uncle Bollard didn’t seem impressed. I felt confident I’d made the right decision in not going.
Mom snagged the ice cream from the freezer and brought it to the table with her.
“I don’t know why you asked, Simone.” Dad didn’t bother to look up from his black coffee. “In the last twenty-plus years of our little annual get-together, I haven’t seen him eat so much as a crumb. Never saw him drink anything, either.”
Uncle Bollard stopped mid-step, straightened his dinner jacket, and peered down at Dad, who happened to be in an old t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. “Is my digestional constitution one of your concerns, Matthew?”
“Wouldn’t even make my top twenty,” Dad replied.
“So, that’s a no for cake. Waverly? Ice cream? You interested?” I nodded, and Mom opened the ice cream, only to find it frozen solid. She put the lid back on. “We’ll give that a minute. The thing’s rock hard.” Mom placed the ice cream container in the center of the table to give it some time.
As I sat there, the ring dug through my pocket of my cut-offs and into my leg. I had meant to ask Mom about it before dinner, but she was so busy cleaning, we didn’t have time.
Uncle Bollard sat down, arms folded before his chest, and asked, “Have you made your decision, Waverly?”
I opened my mouth in shock. I figured we’d have at least ten minutes of awkward small talk before the topic came up. Oh well. Better to get it over with,I thought, but before I answered, Dad spoke up. “She isn’t going.”
Uncle Bollard’s eyes narrowed. “This is Waverly’s decision.”
“It is. She has decided to not go.” Dad’s smile tensed, and his next words poured out with assuredness. “But just so you know, while it is true that Waverly has graduated from high school, she is still not legally an adult. If Waverly were to leave with you without our consent, the police could charge you with kidnapping.”
“Matthew, don’t be like that. He’s her uncle, for God’s sake,” Mom interrupted, and she added in a whisper, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“It’s a legal fact,” Dad said, and he took a drink of his coffee.
Uncle Bollard nodded towards Dad. “It occurs to me my offer displeases you.”
“You think?” Dad chortled. “I question why you even made it.”
Coolly, Uncle Bollard said, “As I explained, I—”
“She’s not ready at all. Not one bit.” Dad sat forward in his chair. “She isn’t going anywhere because college starts in a few months and she has plans already. If you want to spend time with your great-niece, you could stay in Barton. We have a pullout couch.” Dad gestured towards the living room.
Revolted by the idea, Bollard said, “No. I’ll not be staying in Barton. Neither Waverly nor I would benefit from such a limited location. No. I am offering Waverly my time in which she could benefit and gain valuable experience.”
“No. Nope. Okay, how about this one, I don’t like or trust you. “
“Matthew!” Mom said, “That is uncalled for.”
“Simone, let’s stop pretending. You aren’t happy with this either. We both know Leo attempted to use Bollard to scare me off. It didn’t work then, and I’m not giving in to him now.”
Back in September of 1995, my dad had
