“Like foster parents?” Wilson asked.
“Something like that,” Truman said, setting the bottle down.
“No, it isnotlike that,” Celine said. “We are not her foster parents. We are just her custodians until she can make her own way.”
“It’s all right,” I interjected. “I don’t mind.” I wanted nothing more than to go back to the kitchen and not be the cause of a family squabble.
“Well, I think you should join us,” Wilson said, and then he turned to Celine. “One meal can’t hurt, Mother. I am sure Rosie won’t start asking for the keys to the Packard after one meal.”
Wilson’s invitation startled me. Delighted me, too. But still. “I don’t know if I should,” I said. “I’m in my uniform. And it’s family time.”
“No one cares what you’re wearing,” Wilson said. “Sit and eat.”
“Why don’t you?” Truman added easily.
“Oh, all right, then,” Celine said. “Get another place setting, Rosie.”
“I can do that,” Truman said, rising from his chair. “You can go change if you really want to.”
“Oh... okay.”
I hurried to my room, stepped out of my maid’s uniform, and put on a soft cap-sleeved dress printed with daisies that fell to myknees in a flared hem. I usually wore it only for special occasions. It was my favorite. I yanked my long brown hair out of its ponytail and ran my fingers through the strands. I pinched my cheeks for color and was back at the table in less than five minutes.
We filled our plates and began to eat. It was such a pleasant sensation to be there at the table with all of them. I could almost see myself as a part of this family—and in this way, not as a maid. The food was wonderful and the music Celine had put on the phonograph so lovely, I felt happier than I’d been for a long time. I wasn’t contributing to the conversation—I was more than content to just listen and imagine—so I was only half-aware when they began to talk about the time Truman and Celine had taken a very young Wilson to see a staging ofA Christmas Caroland he’d been so afraid of the Ghost of Christmas Past that they had to leave the theater. I was smiling, imagining a young Wilson wailing at the specter of the Ghost of Christmas Past while audience members laughed or shook their heads in annoyance. I didn’t hear Wilson say my name. It wasn’t until he said it a second time that I realized he was asking me a question about ghosts.
“Beg your pardon?” I said.
“I said, didn’t you tell me once a long time ago that you can see ghosts? Or something like that?”
The air in the room seemed to turn cold. “What?”
Wilson furrowed his brow in thought. “I’m trying to remember now what you said. Let me think a minute. We were hiding in the vines from... I can’t even remember from what... and you told me you could see ghosts or hear ghosts?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Wilson, what are you talking about?” Celine picked up her wineglass and took a sip.
“Itwasghosts, wasn’t it?” Wilson said the words as if it was nothing to ask this question, the simplest thing in the world. Darts of bright purple spun around his question.
“I don’t... I...” But I couldn’t form a reply. What had I told him about what I could see? And when?
Wilson laughed. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Rosie. I’ve never met anyone who saw ghosts. That’s pretty keen, if you can.”
All three of them were looking at me, waiting for me to answer a question I wasn’t prepared in the least to answer.
“It’s not ghosts!” I blurted, words finally flying out of my mouth. But they weren’t quite the right ones. The Calverts’ stares widened.
“It’snot ghosts?” Celine said, echoing me.
I blinked back my rising alarm. “I mean, I can’t see ghosts. Of course I can’t see ghosts.”
Celine turned to her son. “How long ago was this?”
Wilson kept his eyes trained on me. “I don’t know. I was probably ten or eleven.”
Celine waved her hand. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Wilson. She would’ve been only six or seven. Of course she was pretending. You always were too trusting.”
Wilson didn’t break his gaze. “Were you pretending?” He looked at me as though I was holding back on him now and this saddened him. Hurt his feelings, maybe.
“Of course she was!” Celine laughed. “Or she was teasing you. Girls like to tease boys as much as boys like to tease girls. Don’t they, Truman?”
