“I’m just fine, thank you very much.” She harrumphed. Claire walked to her chair and crouched down.
“Don’t mind me.” After addressing the room, she turned full attention to Miss Jones. “I heard you’ve been busy lately, and spending a lot of time in the paper goods aisles. Are you planning for a lot of picnics this winter?” The wrinkles above her nose grew even deeper.
“You bothered me for nonsense?”
“Since the store was all out of them, I wondered if you had some plastic forks I could borrow?”
Miss Jones’ ears turned bright red. Her face might have too, but Claire couldn’t tell because of the thick make-up Miss Jones sported. Her hands clutched her shawl, wringing it so tight it shifted back and forth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, young lady. If you need plastic forks, you should have thought ahead.”
“I’m thinking a comfortable couch, cozy lamp and photos on a mantle are much nicer than a bench in the county jail which is, as I recall you once telling me, the place where vandalizing hooligans belong.”
A weird sound came from Miss Jones – somewhere between a gulp and a wheeze.
“Didn’t you need to be going, young lady?”
“I have a few minutes to listen in case you have something to say.”
“It’s so nice of the McKenna’s to take you in and make sure you have a place to go on the holidays. I miss my Everet more than ever this time of year. Even though we never had the chance to get married, he appreciated the holidays and this town. He had such a wicked sense of humor, but protecting the people he loved always came first. He’d be glad I’m here and glad the McKenna’s are looking after you the same way. He thinks you spend too much time in the cemetery talking to dead people, by the way. It’s the sort of hobby that gives one reputation for being batty.”
Her tone of voice insinuated a similarity between the two of them. Claire twirled a strand of hair until it fell loose in front of her face. Any sense of superiority she held over the mischief makers tumbled out of the side of an open box car.
WITH AN OVERPRICED glass of seltzer in front of him, James drummed his foot against the barstool as a subtle “ahem” drew his attention.
The Maître D glared down his rat like nose. “Your party has begun seating.”
James threw a twenty on the counter and followed the man. He’d offended him twice already, once by arriving with a suitcase and secondly by wearing creased suit jacket. If he asked the man to wait as he settled his bill, his food would contain spittle for sure.
Uncle Daniel, Cousin Danny and his father were all seated at the table set for eight.
“You are there.” His father pointed to the middle chair on the side. Danny was directly across from him.
“Sports Illustrated Swimsuit model.” His voice was too loud to call a whisper, but more hushed than his usual.
“What?” He looked at Danny.
“My date. What’s yours?”
James blinked. “I didn’t realize we were inviting guests.” Or objects. Danny may as well have been speaking about a car or a video game, a what not a who.
“I win.” Danny flashed a mouthful of blindingly white teeth. James reached for a chewable antacid.
“Here they come.” Daniel rose to his feet, as three women, two blonde and one brunette of nearly identical height approached the table. James and the other men followed suit. He recognized Illyana, who tottered toward the chair beside him on open toed sky-high sandals that had to be both cold in this weather and more painful than her usual heels. He pulled out her chair.
“So good to see you again, James. You have been a stranger.” Something seemed off in the way she spoke, as if every word gave her discomfort. She gave him a kiss on each cheek. “Have you met my sister, Cassia?” She drew the name into three syllables.
“I have not had the pleasure.” He walked to the other side of the table and kissed the raised hand she proffered. He took a quick glimpse of her shoes; the heels were not as high. She smiled and nodded.
“My English not as good as Illyana. She talk nice about you. You found moving-wall with nice painting of home for her.”
“She is too kind to give me credit, but thank you.” He’d found the triptych partition two and a half years ago, when the woman he was seeing dragged him to a friend of a friend’s art show. When he saw the piece, he had remembered Illyana’s homesickness and his father’s complaint about her clutter in the bedroom. The screen seemed like a solution to both problems. He reached further into the recesses of memory, but couldn’t recall Illyana mentioning a sister, even though the resemblance was clear.
A cough sounded. James realized Cassia’s fingers were still resting on his hand. He stepped back “I hope you enjoy your visit to New York.” Her already wide brown eyes grew rounder. He said something wrong. Again.
“This is Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn, my cousin James.”
“Nice to meet you.” The brunette spoke with a Texas twang and a genuine smile reached her eyes.
The wine steward approached the table, so James took a seat. The conversation was polite and trivial. What is on at the theater, who is getting divorced, who is getting married, what neighborhood is going downhill, and whether the Mediterranean or Caribbean beaches are better. Kaitlyn seemed as bored as he was, although she livened up the beach debate with a few stories from ocean-side modeling shoots. No-one mentioned sunsets and the pie had a soggy crust.
“We’re going to the cigar room. Excuse us, ladies.” The once court-mandated Thanksgivings with their dads had morphed once he and Danny had turned twenty-one. The only change seemed to be the ladies to whom they offered excuses.
James followed his dad, uncle and cousin
