For some reason, Jane had gotten it in her mind that the whole family needed to get together. Why, Phoebe could not imagine. It was the worst timing. Jake was barely up and able to hobble around. Olivia had apparently been back in therapy with Luci, who was still suffering the effects of the accident. She and Rob were miserable, even if the rest of them didn’t yet know why. Phoebe kept her eyes peeled on the driveway, awaiting any sign of them. She had a plan for Perry. He might be the last person who could help her.
“How many are we again?” Jane tapped her chin. The menu was lavish and lovely, per usual. But her mother seemed distracted and tense.
“Let’s see.” Phoebe counted through the family aloud. As she did, just because she could, she named them by foible. “Well, we’ve got the homeless, the lame, the old, the mute. The eccentric, the repressed. And one starving artist rounds out the guest list. That’s everybody!” She finished with an exaggerated clap. It was pure evil, but she couldn’t help it.
Jane narrowed her eyes. “Phoebe.”
“Mom.” Then, “Don’t even think about reaching for a cigarette.”
By the time the ears of corn had been shucked and the chicken marinated, Perry had pulled in. Phoebe grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and raced for the door.
Perry’s family had been her only hope for a somewhat normal evening, as stretched an expectation as that was, but she could tellthe second they stepped foot inside that they were not going to be able to deliver. “What’s wrong?” she asked, the second Amelia and Emma were out of earshot.
Perry looked askance. “Nothing. Why?”
“Never mind. Look, I was hoping to talk to you. It’s about the house.”
But Perry was peering over her shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. “Is Jake here yet?”
“What? No, not yet. But do you have a minute?”
Perry eyed the beer in her hand. “Is that for me?”
“Yes.” She handed him the bottle, but before she could get a word in, he headed for the kitchen.
“I need to talk to Dad.”
“Wait, I need to talk to you!” Phoebe trailed him impatiently, but Perry disappeared outside to the grill, where Edward was starting the chicken. Amelia already had her nose in a glass of wine. Emma stood forlornly by the counter beside Jane, taking instructions for mixing salad dressing.
“Where are Rob and the boys?” Amelia asked.
Phoebe blinked. What should she say? She had not received a single text from Rob. Unlike the rest of her relatives, it would be completely out of character for him to air any of their dirty laundry in front of her family, but they’d clearly reached an impasse. She realized, with a start, that anything was possible. “Out finishing up an errand. He’ll be back soon,” she lied.
Amelia nodded absently. “How’s the house going?”
“Oh, you know…”
“Look. They’re back.” Amelia pointed outside to the patio. Rob was talking to Perry, and the boys were heading her way. When had they arrived? Was Rob telling Perry the dire news? He’d better not be. She wasn’t giving up yet.
By the time dinner was set on the table, Phoebe’s nerves had been lubricated by a second glass of wine. Maybe she could get through this dinner, after all.
No sooner had the chicken platter been set on the table than everyone took their places. Phoebe looked around at the miserable expressions around her. No one made a move to serve themselves.
Jane took her place at one head of the table and frowned. She had cooked and cleaned and assembled everyone together, and they weren’t living up to their part of the bargain. “Isn’t anyone hungry?” she asked. Then, when no one really answered, “Eat!”
Dishes clanked, platters moved, and serving spoons sank into dishes. Then followed the sound of chewing and sipping, and a discontented groan from one of the boys when salad was dished onto his plate.
“Well,” Jane said, looking around at all of her people. “Isn’t this nice.”
Perry looked up. “Thank you, Mom. This is nice.” But his face told another story.
Amelia cleared her throat. “So, Perry landed the Super Bowl contract.”
“Is that so?” Edward beamed. “Congratulations, son. You worked hard for that.”
Perry shrugged. “It’s just work.”
“Just work?” Jake stuffed a large forkful of chicken in his mouth. “Isn’t that what you’re telling me I should be doing more of?”
