"Yes."
"And narrowed down who the boy was, you said."
"Well, Courtney gave him a couple of possibilities."
"So I guess now he's gone to talk to them."
"He's working on it," Delia told her.
She reached toward the drawer, and Susie slid infinitesimally to one side. "Looks to me like you would have gone with him," Susie said.
"Well, you can see I'm right here," Delia snapped.
She supposed that Susie must care for Driscoll; and in that case, well, all right, they should probably get married. How simple-minded Delia had been, to take their breakup seriously! And how sage and mature and practical Susie seemed in comparison! Delia flashed her a radiant smile. Susie examined her warily.
People always talked about a mother's uncanny ability to read her children, but that was nothing compared to how children could read their mothers.
The twins were describing their bridesmaid dresses. "Big floppy bows-"
"Puffy shoulders-"
"Exact same color as Crest fluoride toothpaste."
"They must be stunning," Nat told them. "And when do you plan on wearing them?"
"Maybe tonight," Marie-Claire said, while Susie, overlapping, said, "Tomorrow."
Everyone looked at her. She met Delia's gaze defiantly. "Well, if Driscoll brings me that boy, I mean."
"But he could do that in the next five minutes!" Linda told her. "You could get married this evening, if he hurries."
"Yes, but Dr. Soames can't fit us in till ten a.m. tomorrow."
"He told you that?" Delia asked. "You talked to him? When?"
"Oh, um, just a little while ago."
"But if our flight home is tomorrow at noon," Linda said, "and the drive to the airport takes, let's see ..."
Nat told Delia, "Sounds as if you won't be riding back with me tonight."
He spoke cheerfully enough, but Delia hadn't lost her suspicion that something was troubling him. She glanced toward the others, who were still discussing schedules, and then she said, "Nat, what brought you here? Really."
"Nothing, I tell you!"
"You just drove two hours for no reason."
"Two and a half, actually," he said. "Little backup on the bridge."
She scrutinized him. "How's the baby?" she asked.
"He's thriving."
"And Binky?"
"Healthy as a brood mare."
"Does she know you're in Baltimore?"
"I called her a few minutes ago. Your sister let me use your phone."
"And Noah has a cold, I hear," she said, still ferreting.
"The merest sniffle," Nat assured her. "I looked in on him this morning while I was driving around. Found him playing Tetris. Hardly on his deathbed, I'd say."
"It's true he didn't sound very sick," Delia said. "Maybe he just needed a day off."
"Yes," Nat said. "We could all do with a day off, from time to time."
Something bumped against the back door, and then Sam walked in bearing two bags of groceries. A long stick of French bread poked forth from one of them. "I found the ginger," he told Linda, "but they were fresh out of shallots."
"Well, never mind; we'll make do with green onions," Linda told him, taking the bags. "Is that okay, Delia?"
"Is what okay?"
"Can you make your Chinese dish using green onions?"
"I always use green onions anyhow," Delia said. "But-"
"Oh, good. Because we're going to be so many, you know, I thought you could fix your ... Oh, Sam, you haven't met Nat, have you. Nat Moffat, this is Sam Grinstead. I certainly hope you plan to stay for supper, Nat. Delia's Chinese dish feeds an army, believe me."
"I would love to stay for supper," Nat said, to Delia's surprise. He had risen during the introductions, and now he stood holding on to the back of his chair. Sam, who must have had no idea where Nat had materialized from, wore a pleasant, slightly blank expression as they shook hands. "Good to meet you," he said.
"Good to meet you you," Nat told him. And then he added, darting a mischievous glance at Delia, "I've heard so much about you."
This was lost on Sam, of course. He just smiled politely and asked Linda, "Have I got time for a house call before supper?"
"Ask Delia; she's the cook," Linda said.
Sam turned to Delia. "I promised Mr. Knowles I'd check on him," he said.
"You have plenty of time," she told him.
They spoke without letting their eyes meet, like people in a play, whose words are meant for the audience.
No one had to tell Delia which boy had turned out to be Courtney's caller. She knew it was Paul Cates as soon as she saw him-sweet-faced and naive, with a tousle of rust-colored curls. His jeans were a little too short for him, his sneakers too thin-soled and childish, his plaid wool jacket the kind boys wear in elementary school. He followed Driscoll over to Susie, who was perched on a stool chopping water chestnuts for Delia's Chinese dish. Behind him came Courtney, of all people. She took her place close behind Driscoll and Paul, tucking her hands into the pockets of her blazer and regarding Susie with undisguised curiosity. Susie, who had turned from the counter at their approach, looked only at Driscoll.
"Susie," Driscoll said, "this is Paul Cates." Then he faced Paul Cates and said, "Paul, I'd like to apologize. When you phoned here by accident the other night, I let you think you'd reached Courtney's house, but I was wrong, wrong, wrong."
Paul was beaming. "That's okay," he said.
Formally, Driscoll faced Susie again. "Now will you marry me?" he asked. will you marry me?" he asked.
Susie said, "Well, I guess."
One of the twins said, "Hot dog!" and the other said, "Kiss him! Kiss him, Susie!"
Susie planted a kiss to one side of Driscoll's mouth. She told Paul, "It's nice of you to be so understanding."
"Oh, I don't mind a bit!" he said, and he sent Courtney a shining glance from under his long lashes. Courtney just surveyed him coolly and then turned back to Susie.
"And Courtney, it was nice of you to come along," Susie told her.
"No problem. Me and your brother Carroll met last spring at a party."
"Oh, really?"
"My girlfriend asked him to her birthday party; I put it all together when your fiance told me your name."
Paul was looking less happy now; so Delia broke in and said, "Can you two stay for dinner? We're having this Chinese dish that's infinitely expandable."
"Well, I might might could," Courtney said. could," Courtney said.
Paul said, "I'll just need to phone my mother."
"Right over here," Delia told him, and she cupped his elbow protectively as she led him toward the phone. How cruel and baffling-how tribal, almost-young girls must seem to boys! Somehow she hadn't realized that when she was a young girl herself.
"I propose a toast," Nat said. He raised his coffee mug. "To the bridal couple!"
Driscoll said, "Why, thanks"-not having the dimmest notion, of course, who this old man might be, but adapting with his usual good humor. "Hello, Ma?" Paul said into the phone, and then Carroll appeared from the dining room just as Eliza stepped through the back door; so both of them had to be filled in on the latest developments. Eliza hadn't even heard yet what Driscoll's magic task was. She kept saying, "Who? He brought who?" with her eyebrows quirked in bewilderment, her pocketbook hugged to her chest, and Courtney was sidling toward Carroll to ask, "Carroll Grinstead? I don't know if you remember me," and the twins were insisting that this time they should wear lipstick to the wedding.
Delia took her cutting board to a less populated area, and she started chopping ginger. Her Chinese dish required eleven different bowls of ingredients, most minced no bigger than matchstick heads, all lined up in a row for rapid frying. So far she had finished only bowl number four. She was thankful to be occupied, though. She chopped rhythmically, mindlessly, letting an ocean of chatter eddy around her. Tick-tick Tick-tick, the knife came down on the cutting board. Tick-tick Tick-tick, and she slid all her thoughts to one side as she slid the mounds of ginger into a bowl.
With every one of its leaves in place, the table filled the whole dining room. ("This tablecloth came from your grandma's hope chest," Linda told the twins. "The stain is where your aunt Delia set a bowl of curry. She She doesn't give a damn; she was your grandpa's favorite; she treats these things like Woolworth things.") Twelve place settings marched the length of it-five at each side, one each at head and foot. There had been talk of inviting Eleanor, but Susie didn't want to jinx her entire marriage with thirteen at table; and no one answered the phone when they called Ramsay. doesn't give a damn; she was your grandpa's favorite; she treats these things like Woolworth things.") Twelve place settings marched the length of it-five at each side, one each at head and foot. There had been talk of inviting Eleanor, but Susie didn't want to jinx her entire marriage with thirteen at table; and no one answered the phone when they called Ramsay.
"Courtney, I'll put you in the middle here," Delia said. "Then Paul, you're next to Courtney ..."
Courtney, however, had obviously made up her mind to sit with Carroll, which left Paul stuck between the twins; not that the twins weren't delighted. And the others remained standing while they continued a discussion they'd started in the living room-something about Mr. Knowles's tingly arm. "Didn't Daddy always say the same thing!" Eliza was exclaiming. "He used to say he wished he had a dictionary of pains. Those symptoms people came up with-'Pepsi-bubble stomach' and 'whiny argumentative back'!"
"Driscoll, you're beside Linda," Delia said, but Driscoll, feigning engrossment in the conversation, kept his face turned toward Eliza and sneakily drew out the chair beside Susie. Delia gave up. "Oh, just sit sit," she told Nat, and Nat sat down where he was, which happened to be exactly where she'd intended, at her right hand. "Help yourself to some rice," she said, passing him the bowl, and she told the others, "Everything's getting cold!"
Eliza settled at Sam's left, shaking her head at what Sam was saying. "Who knows, anyhow?" he was saying. "Maybe it's all equal: hangnail for one, cancer for another. Everything on the same level, just barely within endurance."
"Sam Grinstead, you don't believe that for a minute!" Linda squawked. "What a bizarre suggestion!"
Delia said, "Paul, will you have some rice and pass it on, please? Everybody! Sit down!"
Very suddenly, the rest of them sat. They seemed to have run out of steam, and there was a pause, during which Paul dropped the serving spoon to the table with a loud clunk. He bared all his teeth in embarrassment and picked it up.
Nat said, "Do any of you know the photographs of C. R. Savage?"
The grown-ups turned courteous, receptive faces in his direction.
"A nineteenth-century fellow," he said. "Used the old wet-plate method, I would suppose. There's a picture I'm reminded of that he took toward the end of his life. Shows his dining room table set for Christmas dinner. Savage himself sitting amongst the empty chairs, waiting for his family. Chair after chair after chair, silverware laid just so, even a baby's high chair, all in readiness. And I can't help thinking, when I look at that photo, I bet that's as good as it got, that day. From there on out, it was all downhill, I bet. I bet that's as good as it got, that day. From there on out, it was all downhill, I bet. Actual sons and daughters arrived, and they quarreled over the drumsticks and sniped at their children's table manners and brought up hurtful incidents from fifteen years before; and the baby had this whimper that gave everybody a headache. Only just for that moment," Nat said, and his voice took on a tremor, "just as the shutter was clicking, none of that had happened yet, you see, and the table looked so beautiful, like someone's dream of a table, and old Savage felt so happy and so-what's the word I want, so ..." Actual sons and daughters arrived, and they quarreled over the drumsticks and sniped at their children's table manners and brought up hurtful incidents from fifteen years before; and the baby had this whimper that gave everybody a headache. Only just for that moment," Nat said, and his voice took on a tremor, "just as the shutter was clicking, none of that had happened yet, you see, and the table looked so beautiful, like someone's dream of a table, and old Savage felt so happy and so-what's the word I want, so ..."
But now his voice failed him completely, and he covered his eyes with one shaking hand and bent his head. "So anticipatory!" he whispered into his plate, while Delia, at a loss, patted his arm. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he said. Everyone sat dumbstruck. Then he said, "Ha!" and straightened, bracing his shoulders. "Postpartum depression, I guess this is," he said. He wiped his eyes with his napkin.
"Nat has a three-week-old baby," Delia explained to the others. "Nat, would you like-"
"Baby?" Linda asked incredulously.
Sam said, "I thought Nat was your your friend, Linda." friend, Linda."
"No, he's mine," Delia said. "He lives on the Eastern Shore and he's just had a baby boy, a lovely boy, you ought to see how-"
"Most irresponsible thing I've ever done in my life," Nat said hoarsely. "What could I have been thinking of? Oh, not that it was anything I planned, but ... why did I go along with it? I believe I thought it was my chance to be a good father, finally. I know it was, or why else did I assume it was a girl? All my others were girls, you see. I must have thought I could do the whole thing over again, properly this time. But I'm just as short-tempered with James as I ever was with my daughters. Just as rigid, just as exacting. Why can't he get on a schedule, why does he have to cry at such unpredictable hours ... Oh, the best thing I could do for that kid is toddle off to Floor Five."
"Floor Five? Oh," Delia said. "Oh, Nat! Don't even think it!" she said, patting his arm all the harder.
She should have realized at his wedding, she told herself, that someone so elated would have to end in tears, like an overexcited child allowed to stay up past his bedtime.
"Yes. Well," Sam said, clearing his throat. "It's really very common now, this more senior class of parent. Why, just last week I was reading, where was it I was reading ..."
"The important thing to remember is, this is your assignment," Eliza said in ringing tones. She was all the way up near Sam, and she had to lean forward, bypassing a row of tactfully expressionless profiles, to search out Nat's face. "It's my belief that we're each assigned certain experiences," she said. "And then at the end of our lives-"
"The New England Journal of Medicine!" Sam announced triumphantly. Sam announced triumphantly.
Nat asked Delia, "Do you have a place where I might lie down?"
"Yes, of course," she said, and she slid her chair back and handed him his cane. "Excuse us, please," she told the others.
Everyone nodded, abashed. As she and Nat crossed the hall, she could almost feel the furtive exchange of glances behind their backs.
"There's a flight of stairs," she warned Nat. "Can you manage?"
"Oh, yes, if you'll hang on to my other arm. I'm sorry, Delia. I don't know what got into me."
"You're just tired," she told him. "I hope you're not thinking of driving back tonight."
"No, I suppose I shouldn't," he said. On each stair step, his cane gave a tinny rattle, like a handful of jacks being shaken. His elbow within his tweed sleeve was nothing but knob and rope.
"I'm going to make up a bed for you," Delia told him when they reached the second floor, "and then you should call Binky and tell her you're staying over."
"All right," he said meekly. He hobbled through the door she held open and sank into a slipcovered chair.
"This used to be my father's room," Delia said. She went out to the hall closet and came back with an armload of sheets. "There's still a telephone by the bed, see? From the days when he was in practice. Even after he stopped seeing patients, he could pick up his receiver whenever Sam got a call; chime in with a second opinion. He just hated to feel left out of things, you know?"
She was babbling aimlessly as she bustled around the bed, smoothing sheets and tucking in blankets. Nat watched without comment. He might not even have been listening, for when she went to Sam's room to borrow a pair of pajamas, she returned to find him staring at the blue-black windowpanes. "In fact," she said, placing the pajamas on the bureau, "I can't tell you how often I made up his bed just the way I did tonight, while Daddy sat where you're sitting now. He liked for his sheets to be fresh off the line, oh, long after we switched to an automatic dryer. And he would sit in that chair and-"