“I never had the time for that kind of thing,” Colson said. “Something calledwork. Corporations don’t run themselves.”
We sat in silence. I reached for a chip. Colson did likewise. Suzanne—not quite as skinny as Regina, but getting there—abstained. Jilly, with her mouth full, pushed Teddy Ruxpin’s button. For once I was glad to hear his stupid singsong voice: “Can you and I be friends?”
“I got him for kindergarten graduation,” Jilly told her grandmother. “Want to see my room?”
“We have to be heading out, unfortunately,” Suzanne said. “Your grandfather and I have dinner reservations. Tomorrow’s the service for Harold.”
“You aren’t having supper with us?” Jilly asked her. They didn’t act anything like the grandparents onThe Waltonsreruns she watched on Nickelodeon. But as little enthusiasm as these two demonstrated for the role, they were still her grandparents.
“Maybe next time,” Suzanne said. Jilly looked vaguely disappointed. Or maybe just surprised.
All this time, Regina had yet to put in an appearance. Neither of her parents had mentioned this. It was Forrest who did, finally.
“If you’re not sticking around for dinner, I’d better see what’s keeping that daughter of yours,” he told them. He’d brought out his best imitation of the old Forrest, the one I loved, not much in evidence lately. “You know Regina. Always off someplace, up to something.”
We all knew the truth. She was up in her room. Regina hardly ever went anywhere.
“I’ll be right back,” Forrest said. As if his in-laws might miss him.
An awkward silence fell over the room again. Prudence asked Colson if she could refill his drink. “I’m driving,” he told her.
This was when Suzanne addressed me for the first time. “So what brings you to Lake Catherine, dear?” she asked. “Are you one of the children’s young friends from the club?”
Yeah, right. Almost fifteen years old, and I’m hanging out with a couple of spoiled pip-squeaks. For fun.
“I’m the babysitter,” I told her. “I come from New Jersey.”
“New Jersey.” She considered this for a moment. “The shore?”
“Hubbard. My dad and Forrest grew up together.”
Something inspired me to go further with this. Maybe it had something to do with the weird dark side of myself that had been coming out for a while in the pages of my journal. The Bad Girl.
“Forrest was really bad at reading and spelling. My dad wrote his papers for him. Sometimes he’d forge notes for the two of them when they wanted to skip school. They snuck into the movies a lot. One time they watched four James Bond movies in a row.”
I studied Colson’s and Suzanne’s faces as I spoke.Nothing.But I was on a roll.
“How interesting,” Suzanne said. “I guess we’ll be heading back to the hotel.” She reached for her bag. She was one of those women who brought her purse with her wherever she went. You never knew whenyou might have some shopping to do. Or one of the servants might try to steal your charge cards.
This was when Regina appeared at the foot of the stairs. She was wearing one of her floaty dresses. I guessed that Forrest had encouraged her to put it on so she’d look a little more normal, though she didn’t.
“Hello, Mother.” She drifted over to where Suzanne sat checking her lipstick to receive a kiss.
“Father.” He turned his head to receive what passed for a kiss.
“Keeping your figure, I see,” he observed. Did he think it looked good, her being so skinny?
“It’s too bad about Harold,” she said.
“He’d been in the nursing home for almost ten years,” Colson told her. “The last time we saw him, he thought I was his father. Miserable life.”
“I guess in that case your friend dying could be a relief,” Forrest said. “When a person gets like that, it’s a huge burden on the family, right?”
Colson gave him a look. You might have called this the evil eye. I could read his mind. He was thinking that this was what his son-in-law’s attitude would be toward him someday, when he was the one to kick the bucket. Why would anyone feel otherwise?
Suzanne had her hand on the doorknob now.
Maybe Regina felt a need to make one last try, because she turned to her mother and said, “I’ve been working on a knitting project.” Meaning the white mohair thing that never seemed to progress beyond the fourth row of stitches.
