I follow. "What does that mean?"
"We will see."
Her snotty, stubborn tone makes me bite down on my response.
There is no talking to her like this. It can wait until later.
We go inside, and Dad has his over-the-top, jovial mood on.
It grates against bone and teeth.
He is planning something. At least that is how it seems.
He puts his glass down on the coffee table as he comes to me to grab me in a bear hug. Extra tight, extra strong. And I'm sure it contains all sorts of warnings that I play neutral too as I give him a hug back. "Son. You made it."
Lyndall offers her own tiny knives of offense I don't need. "Jesus, Dad. It is a drive from the Big Apple. And if you had your family in one place?—"
"I'm glad you came. This way, I had Maria make another batch of lasagna."
"I only want salad."
I give her a look. "I'm sure it comes with salad."
Her eyes turn to slits. "Or just bread."
"Knowing Maria, there will be all kinds of bread. Including garlic."
"I want soup."
But Dad is an expert at ignoring her. After all, he has done it all her life. And it is like she hasn't said a word.
I set the table in the dining room as Dad goes to light up a cigar.
But Lyndall is in top form. She slaps it away, muttering something about maybe she should let him drop dead and save herself a life of misery.
I have to cough to cover the laugh.
I still offer her a hard look. "Get the drinks, Lyndall, and soda or water for you."
She does as told.
Dinner is not the most pleasant thing.
Normally, Lyndall keeps the vitriol until we are alone, like she did outside, but all through dinner, that she doesn't eat, and the dessert she turns her nose up at, my sister pretty much screams from the rooftop how unhappy she is.
"Did you know, Enzo, that I don'tneedto go to boarding school? The school has students who go home. And go home for weekends. It is just him."
She hooks a thumb at Dad.
He reaches for his Scotch and fills his glass. "I'm not in the same place all year. But I will be spending my time for the foreseeable future here and in Long Island."
I frown at that.
Foreseeable is different. Something is going on.
Which isn't my business.
It is the business of whichever cousin he chooses to take over.
