“You okay?” Phoenix asked.
Caleb tried to straighten his face and brightened from scowl into grimace. “Yeah. You?”
“Sure.”
“It’s good to see you happy,” Caleb said.
Phoenix had a mix of feelings. Being in this place reminded him of Dad, and how the last time he’d been there, he’d been solid on his own two feet. The contrast pained him. Yet something about this no-nonsense woman reminded him how to laugh again.
They trailed their hostess and Mom, who were walking arm-in-arm.
Phoenix leaned on his cane to whisper to Rina, “My Uncle George has a heavy hand at the bar. He needs one for his own sanity.”
“I don’t drink,” she whispered back.
This serious woman appeared to need a drink as much as any of them.
“I’m not joking,” she said.
He couldn’t help it and cracked up.
“Are you laughing at me again?”
In the kitchen, George was already plunking hand-cut ice into tumblers and rimming the glasses with lemon wedges. He stopped when he spotted his guests.
He pulled each boy into a hug. He looked appraisingly at Phoenix all the way to the ground. “Well, look at you. As good as new.”
“Hardly,” Phoenix replied. At least Rina chuckled at his dry tone.
Mom turned. “Thanks, George. Phoenix worked so hard at physical therapy and is doing really well. He’s back at work. You’d hardly know what he’s been through.”
Is my family daft?His left sleeve was half-empty. His upright stance was only possible with a crutch.
Their hosts ushered them into the sitting room. Every surface appeared covered in fine fabric, from the windows framed with damask curtains to the overstuffed camelback sofas strewn with tasseled pillows. His cousins Stew and Harry stood to greet them. Caleb joined the guys around a chess table, perching his broad mass on a delicate upholstered chair.
Mom, George and Betsy gathered on loveseats nearest the mantled fireplace, settling drinks onto side tables.
Phoenix rested his cane against the camelback to place a hand on the sofa before easing into the seat.
“Can I get you a drink?” he offered Rina. He realized too late that he probably couldn’t deliver if she assented.
“I still don’t drink, same as five minutes ago. But I can get you one.” She stood and insisted. “Seriously, this one’s on me.”
Mom joined Rina at the oval serving table cluttered with decanters and crystal-cut bottles. As Rina prepared two tumblers of ice-cooled liquid, Phoenix could overhear parts of his mother’s cross-examination.
“How did you meet Phoenix?”
“In a coffee shop.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Sunday.”
“This week?”
After a longer conversation that Phoenix couldn’t hear, Rina returned, handing Phoenix an amber colored liquid.
“Chivas,” she said, pointing to his beverage. “Water,” she explained, lifting hers. She sat and touched her glass to his. “Do all your dates get the third degree?” she asked.
