by Mary Daheim
Judith glanced at her son. “I recall the bucket story, but not much else.”
Mike looked embarrassed. “When I first met Justy, you weren’t home a lot. Even on weekends, you were always tired from coping with…Dad.”
The reference to Dan McMonigle evoked bittersweet memories. Dan had raised Mike as his own son. He’d done a decent job as a surrogate father, but he’d been a rotten husband. “I was an absent mother, what with holding down two jobs,” Judith acknowledged. “I also had to do what I could for Grams.”
Mike shrugged. “You didn’t have much choice.” He turned to Justin. “Speaking of fathers, didn’t your dad always side with Willie?”
“Oh, yes.” Justin sounded resentful. “My father was a few years younger than Willie. He looked up to him and envied his courage and determination. But the rest of the family, especially my mom, didn’t feel that way.”
“But,” Judith put in, “didn’t he come to see you and your mother this time?”
Justin’s expression was sour. “That was what Pepper said when she called to say they were headed this way. There was another reason, though. A local computer company had expressed interest in developing an action game using Willie. I don’t know if he got together with them.”
Judith shook her head. “If he did, it wasn’t face-to-face. Except for jumping out of windows and off roofs, he stayed close to the B&B. The only visitor was the publicist who took photos when your uncle got blown off course.”
Justin shrugged. “Family isn’t a Weevil priority. Pepper had mentioned getting together at Mom’s condo at the bottom of the hill. That’s why I thought the B&B would be a perfect place for them to stay—especially since Willie’s been banned from every local hotel that doesn’t have cockroaches for doormen.”
“And?” Judith prodded.
“And…nothing.” Justin shook his head. “Not a word from Pepper—or Willie—after I gave them your contact information two weeks ago. They never called to confirm the get-together, so Mom decided to leave town. I would’ve, too, if I hadn’t had to work.” He glanced at his watch with its plain black face and silver hands. “Speaking of work, it’s going on ten. I’ve got an early HR meeting tomorrow.” He bent down to kiss Judith’s cheek. “I won’t let Uncle Willie and Pepper cheat you out of the money for their stay here.”
“Don’t be silly,” Judith said. “You’re like family.”
Justin stopped on the porch, his face serious. “You’ve all been family since the first time Mike asked me to come for dinner. Before Mom moved here, I was lost, a hick from the sticks.” He took a notebook out of his inside jacket pocket. “I’ll make out an IOU.” Justin scribbled a few words and handed the page to Judith.
“We’ll both sign.”
Judith laughed at what he’d written: We’re in this together. The payoff is one cooked goose. “You don’t need to do that,” she insisted.
Justin looked earnest. “Years ago I said I’d roast a goose for Christmas or Thanksgiving dinner. Now I’ll make good on that promise, but I’ll cook it at Mom’s condo. Goose is greasy. I don’t want the fire alarm going off at my apartment or scaring your guests. Besides, I can’t think of another way to make up for saddling you with my crazy family. I should never have suggested your B&B.”
Judith glanced at Mike, who was looking bemused. “Well?”
“Why not?” Mike said. “Hey, Justy, tell your mom Kristin can help. Her granny’s an expert on roast goose.”
Visions of the know-it-all Kristin and Justin’s indomitable mother, Germaine, facing off with basting brushes over a roasting pan made Judith blanch. “Please,” she begged, “forget about your uncle’s stay. It’s over.”
“Oh, no,” Justin countered. “Sign here. I wouldn’t feel right about this whole mess if you didn’t.”
Judith scribbled her initials. “Okay, but it’s not necessary.”
“It is to me,” Justin said, starting down the steps. “One way or another, I’ll make darned sure you get what’s coming to you.”
Watching Mike and Justin walk toward the driveway, Judith realized that Justin’s last words had a double meaning—and one of them wasn’t good.
Chapter Three
As Judith slipped Justin’s IOU into the strongbox where she kept cash and credit card receipts, the golden-wedding-anniversary couple returned. Judith hurried to meet them before they headed upstairs. The seafood restaurant on the bay had been excellent; their room was very comfortable; they had no idea what to expect of the city, never before having gone farther from Memphis than Little Rock, where their son and his family lived. After more than fifteen years of innkeeping, Judith could ask questions, hear answers, make appropriate responses, and establish rapport while her brain was otherwise engaged. None of her guests seemed to realize she wasn’t really listening. According to Renie, Judith was so adept at exuding warmth—and telling lies when the need arose—that she could probably fool Saint Peter when she arrived at heaven’s Pearly Gates.
As soon as the Tennessee couple headed upstairs, Judith went back to the kitchen, where Mike was pouring himself a glass of milk.
“Are the boys asleep?” she asked.
“They should be,” Mike replied, closing the fridge door. “They went on a sugar high after Gee-Gee let them plunder her box of chocolates. She never let me do that. Then she told them Santa Claus got drunk, fell off the roof, and killed himself. It took Kris and me ten minutes to make them stop crying.”
Judith shook her head in bewilderment. “I honestly never know when Mother is genuinely gaga or just putting me on.”
Mike shrugged. “She’s earned the right to be muddled. The boys like her. Maybe they sense she’s got a good heart.”
Judith shot her son a hard look. “A strong heart, anyway.”
“Ma…” The single word conveyed reproach.
“I know,” Judith responded. “I get frustrated. I’m glad the boys have a great-grandmother. You got shortchanged with grandparents. Only Mother was there for you—and for me. My father died too young.” Feeling her eyes grow moist, she turned away, wishing as she often did that Donald Grover wasn’t such a distant, yet dear, memory. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, and turned around to hug her son. “Your boys are such darlings. I hope they’re having fun.”
Mike laughed. “They are,” he said as Judith moved out of his embrace. “But they’re worn out. After they watched the movie with Willie in action, they wished he was still here. It’s hard for them to understand that thirty years later, Willie doesn’t look like the guy on the screen.”
“He may dye his hair and he’s got wrinkles, but he seemed very fit. I don’t remember his movies. I suppose his fans would recognize him.”
Mike took a big drink of milk. He nodded—and shrugged. “Justin told them that Willie couldn’t be exactly like the movie version and Kristin reminded them that the most fun would be Halloween. That made up for missing Willie.”
“Good.” Judith tried to sound pleased rather than guilty about being unable to share the entire holiday with the children.
“They’ll have a grand time.”
Mike drained the glass. “It’ll be huge. Is it so popular that you have to reserve a place on the avenue to watch the parade?”
“No,” Judith replied. “But get there early if you want a seat outside.”
Mike looked puzzled. “We’ll walk with the kids. You can’t stand around too long on your bum hip. Should we leave first to get a table for you?”
“Ah…I meant if you want to drive and not walk up the Counterbalance.”
“It’s only three blocks,” Mike said. “Living at the summit, we walk uphill a lot. The boys are so excited they’ll practically fly there.”
“Oh. Of course.” Judith couldn’t look Mike in the eye. “Walking isn’t easy for people with hip problems.” She had to reveal her travel plans, but hesitated, playing for time to figure out how to attend at least part of the parade. Maybe Renie or Joe would have
some advice. “Where’s your father?” she asked.
Mike laughed. “He dozed off about twenty minutes into Extrema Escrima, leaving Willie at the mercy of a Mongol horde.”
“I didn’t know Willie made historical films. Was Genghis Khan after him?”
“No.” Mike took a couple of snickerdoodles out of the sheep-shaped cookie jar on the kitchen table. “These Mongols were part of a motorcycle club from Southern California.”
“I hope the bikers won,” Judith murmured. “It’s after ten, so I’m going to lock up. The guests who are still out on the town will have to use their keys. Wake your father so he can go to bed.”
“Will do.” Mike glanced at the dishwasher. “I almost forgot—Kris told me to unload that thing when the green light came on.”
“I’ll do it,” Judith said.
Mike shook his head. “I told Kris I would.”
Judith scrutinized her son as he opened the dishwasher. “Hold it,” she said. “I don’t like asking, but is all this drill sergeant stuff from Kristin part of the deal you agreed to after she wanted to separate?”
Mike’s face flushed slightly. “In a way. That is, Kris felt useless after she resigned from her ranger’s job.” He grabbed a handful of silverware and put it on the counter. “You know we’d tried from the get-go to be posted to the same place, even if it meant moving across the country. That didn’t happen.” Mike took out the rest of the silverware. “Even after we had the boys, she still felt she’d lost her identity and become just another wife and mother.” The stew pot and the lid were next. “It wasn’t fulfilling.”
Judith was staring incredulously at her son. “Wife and mother don’t qualify as possibly the most important jobs on earth?”
“Oh, sure,” Mike replied, stacking a half-dozen plates in the cupboard next to the stove. “But that was all about the boys and me. She wanted something that was…how did she put it? Exclusively hers.” Glassware was next. “Kris realized she needed to get back to her roots. All the women in her family through four generations were raised on farms, including Kristin on her parents’ wheat ranch.” He paused, juggling several bowls before putting them in the cupboard. “They did organic before the rest of the world caught on. Crafts, too. Almost everything was homemade, including clothes and bedding and rugs.”
“Odd,” Judith remarked. “I can’t picture Kris’s mother building a tractor.”
Mike made a face at Judith. “I said ‘almost.’” He was holding a salad bowl. “Kris does pottery, too. Where does this go?”
“One cupboard over, second shelf.” Judith considered taking more Excedrin. Her headache had come back.
“Getting in touch with the earth and letting it nurture her was what Kris wanted, which is why she became a forest ranger in the first place,” Mike continued, hanging coffee mugs from hooks above the shelf where he’d put the salad bowl. “My part of the agreement was that I’d help with mundane chores.” Holding a cast-iron skillet, he gestured at the dishwasher. “Like doing this. Organizing and scheduling are her domain because she’s good at it.”
“Oh, yes,” Judith agreed. “She reminds me of Aunt Ellen—on speed.”
Mike looked puzzled. “What’s wrong with that?”
Judith sighed. “Nothing, I suppose. Aunt Ellen can hold down three jobs at once, volunteer for every needy cause in Beatrice, Nebraska, serve on I don’t know how many committees, manage a gubernatorial campaign, take night classes, raise three kids, attend all the Cornhusker football games with Uncle Win, and make crafts. She’s lived away from here for so long that she’s forgotten Pacific Northwesterners rarely wear earrings made out of corn kernels. And did we ask for a photo in a sunflower seed frame showing Aunt Ellen and Uncle Win standing in front of the world’s largest ball of twine in Cawker City, Kansas?”
Mike grinned. “I get your point. But Kristin turns out some really cool stuff.” He removed the last items from the dishwasher and frowned. “I don’t know where the measuring cups and the vegetable peeler and the Tupperware go.”
“Just leave them on the counter. Please. My head’s spinning.”
“You sure?”
“Yes!”
“Whoa!” Mike moved closer to his mother. “Don’t you feel well?”
Judith started to answer, but stopped. This would be the perfect time to mention her Sunday departure, but she couldn’t. She smiled wanly. “I’m just tired. It’s been a hectic year.” She saw the concern on his face. Although he’d inherited Joe’s coloring and red hair, his eyes were brown. As he grew older, he looked more like her own father. “I shouldn’t have pried about you and Kristin. To quote Aunt Ellen, it’s N-O-M-B—none of my business. I’m just so glad that the two of you have resolved your issues.” Oh, good grief, Judith thought, I’m spouting psychobabble. “I mean, meddling motherhood isn’t my style.”
“Forget it,” Mike said, kissing Judith’s cheek. “We’re fine.”
“Good.” Her smile was genuine. “Tell your dad I’ll be up shortly.”
“Sure.” Mike started for the back stairs, but stopped short of the hallway. “I’m glad this worked out for us. The boys can’t wait to go trick-or-treating in the city after dinner Sunday. It’ll be fun to have them meet the neighbors, especially in the cul-de-sac.”
“It will.” Judith felt her smile freeze. “Night.”
She watched her son disappear up the stairs. Before she could pick up the phone to call Renie, the two couples from Alaska returned, laughing their heads off. By the time Judith got to the entry hall, she could see only feet as they headed up to their rooms. The Canadian father and son were still out. As Judith was about to lock the door, she heard someone on the front porch. She saw a man and woman through the peephole. “Yes?” she said, opening the door.
“Hi,” the raven-haired woman said. “We heard you have a vacancy. Can we come in?”
The couple looked respectable and had two small overnight bags. “Please do,” Judith said, stepping aside to let them enter. Before she could close the door, Sweetums padded inside with a disdainful swish of his plumelike tail. “Did you find us through the state B&B office?”
The man, who Judith judged to be in his mid-thirties, turned to the woman, who looked about the same age. “The…what?”
His companion nodded. “Someone with the state,” she replied, and gave Judith a self-deprecating look. “I’m awful at names.”
“That’s okay,” Judith said. “Your room is the largest one we have.” She paused, waiting for one of the newcomers to inquire about price.
“Sounds great,” the man said. “How do we pay?”
“Credit card or cash,” Judith replied. “Is this for one night?”
“We’re not sure,” he said, taking two one-hundred-dollar bills out of his wallet. “Will that cover it?”
“That covers the room,” Judith said. “There’s tax, of course.” He dug out two twenties. “Does that work?”
Judith accepted the bills. “More than enough. Do you want change?”
He hesitated, watching a haughty Sweetums study him from the parlor door. “Keep it for the cat.” The man smiled, revealing a slight gap between his front teeth. “Where’s the room?”
“I’ll show you.” She picked up the registration book from the oak stand next to the credenza and noticed that she’d left her notations about the train trip alongside the visitor information. Not wanting Mike or Kristin to discover her plans, she tucked the travel data inside the registry. “Name?”
The woman burst into laughter. The man looked bemused. “You’d better let me fill that out,” he said. “It’s hard to spell.”
Judith watched him print ZYZZYVA in the appropriate space. “You’re right,” she agreed. “It is hard to spell. How is it pronounced?”
The woman laughed again. “I told you I was awful with names. It’s taken me two years to spell his. It’s pronounced Zee-zee-vah.”
Judith smiled. “I hope your first names are easier.”
“They are,” Mr. Zyzzyva said. “I’m Dick, she’s Jane.”
“That I can do,” Judith assured them.
Dick finished the registration form while Jane tried to pet Sweetums, who briefly allowed the attention until he yawned and ambled off to the living room.
“I like cats,” Jane said in a rather wistful voice. “House cats, I mean. The undomesticated types are to be avoided.”
“Definitely,” Judith agreed, handing over the keys and the B&B information packet.
“I’ll go up with you. Breakfast starts at…” She paused as the front door opened to admit the Canadian father and son.
Jane was already on the first landing. “You’re busy. We’ll figure it out. Thanks!” She continued going upstairs.
Jean-Paul Gauthier and his son, Étienne, were touring the United States to visit parks, gardens, and other outdoor areas designed by Frederick Law Olmsted and his sons. Judith had spoken only briefly to the Gauthiers upon their late check-in. Étienne, who preferred being called Steve, was working on his PhD in landscape architecture. As part of his dissertation, he and his father were touring North America to study numerous sites designed by the Olmsteds.
“Were you able to see much of interest this late in the day?” Judith asked.
“Sometimes,” Gauthier père replied in his French-Canadian joual accent, “you see more in the dark. Shapes, forms, how sky and earth mingle. The rain is not so good, but it has stopped now.”
Gauthier fils darted an amused look at his father. “Papa has eyes like a cat,” he said with only a faint accent. “I’d rather see things in daylight.”
The father gave the son an indulgent look. “The young—so literal. We must humor them, eh? Our accommodations are most agreeable, madame. Merci et bon soir.” He sketched a little bow.
The pair went upstairs. Judith locked the door and returned to the kitchen. It was ten-thirty, but not too late to call Renie, who was a night owl.