This was the party line, clearly, as I heard it repeated multiple times before breakfast, including from my dad, who had talked to the hotel’s general manager on his way back from his daily swim.
“Some tracking models have it not even coming this way,” he assured us. “The dinner should go on as scheduled, no problem.”
“Well, that’s good,” Nana replied, turning a page of herTimes. “With all the planning for the menu and coordinating schedules, I’d hate for the weather to force us to cancel.”
“You won’t be able to keep Bailey away even if the Club is the only thing left standing,” I told her. “She won’t miss those forks foranything.”
“Good,” she replied, sipping her coffee. “Because I had them put oysters on our menu just for her.”
This I couldn’t wait to share. Did Bailey even like oysters? Did it really matter?
“Speaking of the dinner,” Nana continued as I perused the day’s obits, which consisted of one passing (Marlene Ficus, 55, after a brave fight against ovarian cancer) as well as an In Memoriam (John Davers, gone now five years, and missed greatly since he’s been up in heaven), “I’m confirming the numbers this morning at nine. Did you hear from your friend?”
That would be Roo, who she’d told me to invite after asking who I’d been chatting with on the phone so regularly. Nana had never been one to miss much, but I was really glad this time she’d been paying attention.
“He says he’ll be there,” I said.
“Who’s this?” my dad, chewing, asked.
I paused, hesitant. “Roo Price.”
“Wait, he’s coming to the dinner? After what happened at the party?”
“That was not his fault, remember?” I said.
“I thought this was a dinner for Mimi and her family.”
“To thank them for all they’ve done for Emma this summer, yes,” Nana said. “It sounded like this boy was part of that, so I said to include him. Is that a problem?”
Instead of answering her, my dad looked at me as if I was up to something. Which was so not fair, because I had followed his rules completely, not leaving the Tides except for short nearby outings, usually with him or Tracy. In fact, the only contact I’d had with the other side of the lake, other than my calls with Roo, hadn’t even really been contact at all.
It had been a couple of days earlier when, after a particularly slow shift at Defender, Roo and I finally made our way through the entire photo album. Even though we’d been through so many pictures and stories from the first page to the last, I’d gotten used to there being another one to turn, one more reason for us to keep talking. I wanted it to keep going, like that big album in the sky we’d discussed. The final picture was him at the Station by the pumps, grinning, in a Blackwood T-shirt. The end.
“And now you’re all caught up,” he said as I sat there with the album on the bed in front of me. Outside, I could hearkids in the pool, playing Marco Polo. “You know as much as I do.”
Which did not explain why I felt such a loss. I swallowed, then said, “I need to return it to you. Although I’m not sure how to get it over there.”
“Don’t even think about it,” he said. “The last thing I need is you in trouble again because of me. Just bring it to the dinner.”
The album meant so much to me, though: I could only imagine he felt the same way, even if he knew it by heart. Also, I didn’t want to have to explain it to my dad or anyone else. “How about this. I’ll leave it at the desk, like you did with the sparklers.”
“Saylor. You really don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” I said. “I’ll take it down right now. And then when you pick it up—”
“I will grab it and run before I bump into your dad,” he finished for me.
“I was going to say I’d meet you in the lobby.”
“No way.” He was firm. “I’ll see you at the dinner, when it’s authorized. Until then, it’s just the—Yes, ma’am, we do offer a ten-year guarantee on any work we do as well as all windows!”
And that was that. Now that the storm was building, suddenly people were very interested in home window protection. The phones were ringing so constantly that Roo was kept on even after Kenyatta returned from Barbados. He’d been so busy, in fact, that we’d barely talked other than him letting meknow he got the album and confirming the dinner that night. But all that mattered was that I would finally see him.
“Well, it should be a nice evening,” my dad said now as I got up, folding my paper. “Six, right?”
“That’s right,” Nana said. “We’ll have a lovely time.”
I hoped she was right. I had so much riding on this dinner, if only as a way to bring these two sides of the family, and the lake, together. Would drinks, appetizers, a salad, entrees, then dessert and coffee be enough to start to mend the tear of my mom’s problems, the divorce, and the past? Maybe with oysters, and special forks, the answer was yes.
