A Catered New Year's Eve

by Isis Crawford

  Bernie stopped pouring the crème de cassis into the wine glasses and directed all her attention at Sheryl. “My mother was like that, too,” she observed.

  “Sometimes,” Sheryl replied, “you just have to let things go. Forgive and forget. That’s my motto. You can always replace money. You know I called Rose.” Sheryl sighed and shook her head. “She wouldn’t talk to me. She said that Linda had to apologize to her directly.”

  “Which she wouldn’t do,” Libby guessed.

  “You got that right,” Sheryl said. “Anyway, enough of this. I know you’re both busy, so I’m going to clear out and let you two work. I just wanted to pop in and say hello and tell you how glad I am that you’re here.”

  “Thanks. We appreciate it,” Bernie told her.

  “That was nice of her,” Libby commented after Sheryl left.

  “It was, wasn’t it,” Bernie agreed as she finished pouring the crème de cassis and began adding the white wine.

  Five minutes later, Bernie and Libby carried the drinks into the living room and offered them to the guests. At nine, Bernie called everyone into the dining room. At five minutes after nine, Libby and Bernie began service. They filled everyone’s wine glasses with a Riesling—Ada’s choice—then served the first course, lentil soup, in small blue bowls. Everyone seemed to enjoy it and commented on the coconut and ginger seasoning. Ada Sinclair’s mom even went so far as to volunteer that the lentil soup was the best lentil soup she’d ever eaten, although Libby wasn’t sure if that was damning the soup with faint praise or not.

  Next, the sisters refilled the wine glasses and served the second course, salads composed of little gem lettuces, glazed walnuts, and thin slices of ripe pear dressed in walnut oil and lemon juice, after which came the third course, chicken Kiev filled with chive butter, wild rice, and glazed baby carrots.

  When everyone was done eating, Bernie and Libby cleared the table. Libby rinsed the dishes and packed them away—she liked to clean up as they went; it made leaving quicker—while Bernie made the coffee, both decaf and regular, and started plating the dessert, a chocolate sponge roll filled with a mocha ganache and frosted with chocolate icing. It was both light and rich and looked more complicated to make than it was.

  The slices were sitting on top of crisscrossed salted caramel ribbons and Bernie thought the presentation looked festive, if she did say so herself. The recipe was their mom’s, an oldie but goodie. In fact, Libby reflected, you could say that about the whole menu. But classics were classics for a reason. They endured because they worked on multiple levels.

  “So far, so good,” Bernie observed as she finished plating the last slice.

  “Unless something happens when Ada reads whatever she’s going to read,” Libby pointed out as she began pouring the coffee. Three decafs and six fully leaded.

  “Nothing is going to happen,” Bernie assured her. “What do you think? Should we get a sectional? Something in leather?”

  “Leather would be nice,” Libby agreed. “But what about the cat?”

  “We’ll put a blanket over the cushions,” Bernie told her. “Maybe something tobacco colored? We could get Dad a new chair while we’re at it,” she mused. “Something a little. . . nicer. A little more . . . contemporary. Something that takes up a little less space.”

  Libby snorted. “Good luck with that. If Dad had his way, he’d be buried in that chair.”

  “True,” Bernie conceded, remembering the fights her parents had had about it. Her mother had hated that La-Z-Boy recliner from the moment her dad had bought it at a garage sale and lugged it up the stairs. “It doesn’t even recline anymore!”

  “Unfortunately, Dad doesn’t seem to care.” Libby nodded toward the dining room. It was time to take in the coffee and dessert.

  Again, everything went as planned. Everyone at the table commented favorably on the chocolate roll and Ada’s brother and sister asked for seconds, which, as it so happened, the sisters had. Bernie was in the process of refilling the coffee cups for the second time when Ada nodded to her and mouthed the word now. Bernie nodded back; served the last cup of coffee to Ada’s uncle, Henry; put the coffeepot on top of the trivet sitting on the sideboard; and signaled to Libby that the time had come.

  Chapter 6

  Here we go, Libby thought as she made a thumbs-up gesture and leaned against the far dining room wall, crossing her arms over her chest. The show was about to begin. She noted that if anyone at the table thought it was odd that the sisters remained in the room, they didn’t indicate it. Instead they ignored them and went on eating and drinking.

  A moment later, Ada cleared her throat. No one paid any attention. Libby had a feeling that no one in the family usually paid attention to Ada. She cleared her throat again, pushed her chair back, and stood up.

  “I have something to say,” Ada announced.

  This time everyone stopped eating and turned to her.

  Ada leaned forward and looked everyone in the eye. Then she began to speak. “Ten years ago to the day my dad died.”

  Vicky Sinclair, Ada’s stepmother, frowned and let out a loud groan. “Please, let’s not do this again,” she told Ada.

  Ada’s mom put down her fork and nodded. “Vicky, for once, I agree with you.”

  “Thank you, Linda.” Vicky said. She gave her a wintry smile and started playing with her diamond ring.

  “Do what?” Ada demanded.

  “Say what you were going to say,” Vicky said.

  “How do you know what I was going to say?” Ada asked, a truculent tone in her voice.

  Ada’s stepmother stopped playing with her ring and touched her blond hair. Her frown deepened. “It’s obvious, isn’t it,” she told her. “You always bring the same thing up.”

  Marty Grover, Joel Grover’s son, put down his napkin. “Please, Ada. Remember, you promised not to bring this up again after the last time. You’re not the only one that suffered a loss.”

  “We all have,” Vicky said. She dabbed at her eyes. “But we have to go on with our lives instead of dwell in the past. It’s what your father would have wanted.”

  “You don’t know what my father would have wanted,” Ada snapped.

  This is where everything goes south, Bernie thought as Ada’s aunt, Sheryl, patted Ada’s hand and told her everyone was going to be fine.

  Ada looked down at her, then looked back up and said, “I have new information.”

  Ada’s mom groaned and shook her head in a gesture of disbelief. “After ten years? Come on.”

  “I’ll tell you what would be new,” Ada’s stepmother, Vicky, chimed in. “What would be new, Ada, is you not talking about this.”

  “You’re going to want to hear what I have to say,” Ada replied. Bernie and Libby noted that her voice was beginning to rise.

  Ada’s uncle, Henry, swallowed a sip of coffee, carefully rested his cup on his saucer, and jumped into the conversation. “Ada, please,” he said, reaching out to her. “Let’s not rehash this now. There’s nothing to be gained. We all agree bad things happened. We all agree everyone said things they shouldn’t have said, but that’s in the past. Now, let’s finish our dinner so we can watch the ball drop and celebrate what’s going to be a truly great new year.”

  Ada stuck her jaw out. “Fine, after I make my announcement.”

  Sheryl put her hand on her husband’s arm before he could reply. “Let her talk, Henry. She deserves her chance. Isn’t that right, everyone?” Then she turned to Ada. “Go ahead, dear,” Ada’s aunt instructed. “Say what you wanted to say.”

  “Thank you,” Ada replied, looking around at everyone sitting at the table. Then she cleared her throat and began. “As I was saying, my dad died ten years ago today.” She paused for a moment. This time no one interrupted. “As you all know, back then I didn’t think my dad died from a pill overdose. I thought he had been poisoned.”

  Ada’s stepsister, Erin, groaned. “Oh, God,” she said. “Here we go again. Ada, tell me you haven
’t contacted the police.”

  Marty put down the spoon he’d been fiddling with and said, “It wouldn’t matter if she had, Erin. After all, they didn’t pay any attention to her trying to drag my dad’s name through the mud the last time. Why would they this time?”

  Ada’s mother tsk-tsked. “Ada, you have to let this go,” Linda told her daughter. “This obsession of yours isn’t healthy. You know what happened the last time.”

  Ada’s brother and sister didn’t say anything. They exchanged glances and rolled their eyes.

  “I found something new,” Ada declared as she reached into her skirt pocket, pulled out a small black and white notebook like the kind you buy in a drugstore, and waved it in front of everyone. “I found this in a box in the attic. Evidently, my dad kept a journal.”

  “Hardly a journal,” Ada’s mother corrected her. “More like a bunch of notes to help him remember stuff. An aide-mémoire, if you will.”

  “There are some interesting things in this book,” Ada said, ignoring her mother’s comment. “Things you all need to hear.”

  “Such as?” Ada’s sister Rachel challenged.

  Ada’s brother, Rick, moved his plate back and began tapping out a rhythm on the dining room table with his fingers. “You always have to be the center of attention, don’t you,” he remarked. “You are beyond predictable.”

  Ada glared at him and kept on talking. “Things that confirm what I was saying about what happened to my dad and possibly Marty’s dad not being an accident.”

  “Leave my dad out of this,” Marty Grover growled as he threw his napkin on the table and started to get up. “If you don’t, I’m out of here.”

  Ada turned to face him. “Listen, I’m sorry for what I did,” Ada told him. “I was wrong.”

  “That’s a new one,” Ada’s brother muttered as Ada pointed to the black and white notebook.

  “I think your dad was a victim, too, Marty.”

  Marty sat back down. “Go on. I’m listening.”

  “Don’t encourage her,” Ada’s stepbrother, Lance, told Marty.

  Marty turned to face him. “Do you mind? I want to hear what she has to say.”

  “Why?” Rick replied. “It’s all going to be nonsense. A total time suck.”

  Marty crossed his arms over his chest. “That may be, but I still want to hear it anyway.”

  “Don’t you get it, Marty?” Ada’s brother said. “My sister is nuts. Everything she says is nuts.”

  “Yeah,” Ada’s sister said. “She needs to get back on her meds big-time.”

  Ada glowered at Rachel and Rick. “I find it interesting that you don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

  “That,” Rick replied, “is because I’ve heard it all before.”

  “Multiple times,” Rachel added.

  Ada’s mother pushed her plate away and looked at Ada with distaste. “Why do you always have to do this?” she asked her.

  “Do what?” Ada demanded. “I’m trying to . . .”

  “You’re trying to make a scene,” Ada’s mom said. “You’re trying to cause trouble. As per usual.”

  Bernie sighed. She was thinking that maybe they wouldn’t be getting that sofa after all when Peggy Graceson, Ada’s neighbor, leaned over and patted Ada’s arm.

  “It’s okay,” she told her. “Anniversaries are hard. We understand.”

  Ada glared at her, but Peggy continued anyway. “This is hard for all of us. But meeting here like this . . . well, it’s like a memorial to the fallen.”

  “That’s funny coming from her,” Vicky muttered as Ada shook off Peggy’s hand and began to talk again.

  “I thought everyone would want to hear. . . .”

  “Ada, I know I don’t and I’m sure I’m speaking for everyone else when I say that,” Vicky snapped. “For heaven’s sake, think about someone other than yourself for a change. Think about what this endless rehashing does to us. To me. Finding your dad . . .” Vicky choked back a sob and ostentatiously wiped away a tear that was trickling down her cheek with the back of her hand.

  “You need to listen to me!” Ada yelled, her face growing red with frustration. “All of you need to shut up and listen to me!”

  An uneasy silence settled over the room. Everyone exchanged glances. After a moment, Ada’s uncle spoke.

  “Read it then,” he told Ada, “and get it over with so we can get on with the celebration.”

  “Happy to,” Ada said, biting off each word as she opened the notebook to one of the passages she’d previously marked and began to read out loud. “You see what I mean?” Ada asked five minutes later when she had finished.

  Bernie and Libby watched everyone at the table exchange more looks with each other. Ada’s stepmother shook her head.

  “No. I’m sorry, but I don’t. I think that as per usual you’re making something out of nothing. Those are my late husband’s notes, nothing more.” Vicky pushed a strand of blond hair behind her ear with a perfectly manicured finger. “I think that perhaps your siblings are right. Perhaps it’s time for you to go back to your therapist.”

  Ada’s mother turned to Ada’s stepmother. “Frankly, I think that’s for me to say, not you,” Linda retorted.

  Ada’s stepmother shrugged. “Have it your way, Linda, but I don’t think that ignoring Ada’s . . . shall we say . . . disruptive tendencies . . . is doing her any good. Remember what happened the last time.”

  Bernie was wondering what had happened the last time when Linda glowered at Vicky and said, “That was a fluke. . . .”

  Vicky smiled sweetly. “If that’s what we’re calling it.”

  Linda shook a finger at Vicky. “Don’t you dare blame my daughter. Without you it wouldn’t have happened. And as for disruptive,” Linda continued without pausing for a breath, “highly imaginative, yes, but disruptive, no. After all, she isn’t the one who broke our family up.”

  Henry jumped into the conversation. “This again, Linda?” he cried.

  Linda waved her hand in the air. “I’m sorry, Henry. You’re right. What’s the point? What’s done is done. Name-calling doesn’t help. Sorry, Vicky.” And she looked at her watch. “It’s almost midnight,” she announced. “Time to go into the other room and greet the new year.”

  “Yes, let’s,” Ada’s stepmother agreed. “I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she told Ada’s mother, although at the time Bernie and Libby didn’t think she looked one bit contrite.

  Chairs scraped against the floor as everyone followed Linda’s request. The guests filed into the living room as Bernie and Libby began clearing the table.

  “That was an interesting conversation,” Bernie noted as she began picking up the plates.

  “Wasn’t it, though,” Libby agreed. “I wonder what all that business with Ada was about?”

  Bernie shook her head. She didn’t know and at this moment she didn’t care. All they had to do was serve the champagne and strawberries and they were out of there.

  “We’re almost home free,” Libby noted as she gathered up the rest of the plates. Then she and Bernie began walking down the hallway into the kitchen. After all, she reasoned, the most combustible part of the evening was behind them.

  “I don’t know why dad likes fishing so much,” Bernie said, entering the kitchen and depositing the pile of dishes by the sink. The whole baiting the hook thing was too gross, she reflected. Now fly fishing, on the other hand, was a whole different story. You used lures for one thing, the clothes were pretty snazzy, and since casting required real skill, the odds of her catching anything were zero to none. Unfortunately, her dad wasn’t into that.

  “Me either,” Libby agreed. “For a moment there, I thought Vicky and Linda were going to come to blows,” she observed as she put her plates next to Bernie’s—they still had to wash them, dry them, and put them back in their covers.

  Bernie laughed. “They weren’t even close.”

  “They were getting there,” Libby said.

  “Getti
ng there doesn’t count,” Bernie told her.

  “Count for what?” Ada asked. She was standing at the entrance to the kitchen.

  Both Bernie and Libby jumped and whirled around. Libby dropped the sponge she’d been holding.

  “You startled me,” Libby told Ada as she retrieved it.

  “What were you two talking about?” Ada asked again. “What doesn’t count?”

  Good question, Bernie thought as she uttered the first thing that popped into her head. “Not doing something.” Then she made up a story to go with what she’d just said. “We’re catering an event for the summer solstice, but the group we’re catering it for hasn’t given us their menu yet. I know it’s six months away and six months seems like a long time, but it’s not.” Bernie frowned. “They keep on telling us they’re going to get to it, but getting to it doesn’t count because we still don’t know what we’re doing.”

  “I’ve always wanted to go to a summer solstice party,” Ada said wistfully.

  “Then I’ll make sure you’re invited,” Libby said, feeling guilty about the lie she was telling. But she noted as she said it that Ada seemed to have calmed down since the scene in the dining room. Her face had lost its flush and her body was no longer rigid with anger. So maybe there wouldn’t be any fireworks after all. Now, there was a happy thought.

  Chapter 7

  Bernie and Libby could hear the low hum of conversation coming from the living room as Ada stepped into the kitchen. Bernie noticed she was still clutching the notebook she’d read out of.

  “I can’t believe how neat this place is,” she commented, looking around the room.

  Bernie laughed. “We try to keep on top of things,” she told Ada as she put the dessert plates in the sink and began to run the water. She intended to soak them for a few minutes before she washed and dried them. “Makes cleanup a lot faster.”

  “And easier,” Libby added.

  “I can’t seem to do that,” Ada lamented. She sighed.

  “Linda says I’m a slob.” Just mentioning her mother’s name brought a flush back to Ada’s cheeks and she started talking about the scene in the dining room.