I considered Elisabeth Nicolet. She’d been a recluse. “
I checked the time. Nine-forty. Her sophomore year Katy was voted one of the “Beauties of Virginia.” Though she maintained a grade point average of 3.8 while working on dual degrees in English and psychology, she’d never been a slouch socially. Not a chance she’d be home on a Friday night. Ever the optimist, I brought the phone to the hearth and dialed Charlottesville.
Katy answered on the third ring.
Expecting her voice mail, I stuttered something unintelligible.
“Mom? Is that you?”
“Yes. Hello. What are you doing home?”
“I’ve got a zit on my nose the size of a hamster. I’m too ugly to go out. What are you doing home?”
“There is no way you are ugly. No comment on the zit.” I settled against a cushion and put my feet up on the hearth. “I’ve spent two days digging up dead people and I’m too tired to go out.”
“I won’t even ask.” I heard cellophane crinkle. “This zit is pretty gross.”
“It, too, will pass. How is Cyrano?” Katy had two rats, Templeton and Cyrano de Bergerat.
“He’s better. I got some medicine at the pet store and I’ve been giving it to him with an eyedropper. He’s pretty much stopped that sneezing thing.”
“Good. He’s always been my favorite.”
“I think Templeton knows that.”
“I’ll try to be more discreet. What else is new?”
“Not much. Went out with a guy named Aubrey. He was pretty cool. Sent me roses the next day. And I’m going on a picnic tomorrow with Lynwood. Lynwood Deacon. He’s first-year law.”
“Is that how you pick them?”
“What?”
“The names.”
She ignored that. “Aunt Harry called.”
“Oh?” My sister’s name always made me slightly apprehensive, like a bucket of nails balanced too close to an edge.
“She’s selling the balloon business or something. She was actually calling to find you. Sounded a little weirded out.”
“Weirded out?” On a normal day my sister sounded a little weirded out.
“I told her you were in Quebec. She’ll probably call tomorrow.”
“O.K.” Just what I needed.
“Oh! Dad bought a Mazda RX-7. It is so sweet! He won’t let me drive it, though.”
“Yes, I know.” My estranged husband was undergoing a mild midlife crisis.
There was a slight hesitation. “Actually, we were just going out to grab a pizza.”
“What about the zit?”
“I’m going to draw ears and a tail on it and claim it’s a tattoo.”
“Should work. If caught, use a false name.”
“Love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too. Talk to you later.”
I finished the rest of the Turtles and brushed my teeth. Twice. Then I fell into bed and slept eleven hours.
I spent the rest of the weekend unpacking, cleaning, shopping, and grading exams. My sister called late Sunday to say she’d sold her hot air balloon. I felt relieved. I’d spent three years inventing excuses to keep Katy on the ground, dreading the day she’d finally go up. That creative energy could now be turned elsewhere.
“Are you at home?” I asked.
“Yep.”
“Is it warm?” I checked the drift on the windowsill. It was still growing.
“It’s always warm in Houston.”
Damn her.
“So why are you selling the business?”
Harry has always been a seeker, though her grail has never been in focus. For the past three years she’d been gung-ho buggers over ballooning. When not floating safaris over Texas, she and her crew packed an old pickup and zigzagged the country to balloon rallies.
“Striker and I are splitting.”
