Chapter Twenty-Eight. You're doing what? Lacey asked.

"You're doing what?" Lacey asked.

"Look, are you coming to Thanksgiving dinner or not?" Chase said. She had somewhat expected this response from Lacey, but this was nothing compared to the next bombshell she was going to drop, the emotional equivalent of the bombing of Dresden.

She'd been forced to have an emergency session with Dr. Robicheck who kindly pointed out that what Chase viewed as drastic was a progression that had been steadily plodding along since she'd been aware of the pregnancy. She was changing so she could be a decent parent. Chase figured the doctor was right. Most of her swearing had stopped. She was more tolerant and she shopped at Costco. Perhaps, the biggest change was reconciling herself with her mother followed by her close ties with Addison. It was all so unlike her, she often didn't recognize her own thoughts. She approached her life now in an almost benevolent fashion. It was positively frightening.

"We're staying here until the delivery."

"You're staying here?" Lacey's tone shrieked of incredulity.

"Yes, what's wrong with that?" Chase rearranged her pencils in the desk drawer. Her makeshift office still needed some fine-tuning. She was going through Ariana's notes on her mystery novel. She found them quite helpful. Her animosity toward her editor had lessened. This was another oddity.

"You despise your mother and where'd you put the dogs?"

Chase whirled a perfect three-sixty in the expensive office chair her mother had purchased. She relished her next statement. "They're here."

"What!"

This was good. Rich like the espresso pie at The Flying J Cafe. She should really take Gitana there for lunch. Temporarily living in town had its benefits. She'd been to the library several times getting books, CDs and movies. They were listening to Bach, Vivaldi and Mozart so Bud could bone up on classical music in the womb. Gitana was reading Garrison Keillor's Lake Wobegon Days so she'd have an idea of small-town life with its glories and travails. All this was done in an effort to keep Gitana entertained.

"So are you coming for turkey or what?"

"Can I bring Jasmine?"

"Of course. 'You' now includes your partner," Chase informed her.

Chase could almost see the beaming look on Lacey's face.

"We'd love to."

Later that day, Chase availed herself of her mother's library. She pulled out Baudelaire, D.H. Lawrence, Vonnegut, Norman Mailer and J.D. Salinger. Her mother walked in. Chase looked up. "I didn't know you had such a library. Where have all these books been?"

"In the attic. Your father thought books were tedious and a waste of space."

Chase was mortified. It was absolutely scandalous.

Her mother nodded. "You know," she said, sitting on the edge

of what could only be called the reading table—a long narrow table with two straight back chairs, two bookstands and green shaded reading lamps so that Chase imagined being in an Oxford or Cambridge library. "We've never really had a talk about your father."

Chase didn't immediately know where this was going—then, she got it. In the figurative sense she was going to be a father. "Yes."

"What do you remember of him?"

She dutifully thought back. She'd been eight when he died. Leaning back in her chair, she decided he was a shadowy figure—a coming and going blur. He was never present in her mind at the breakfast table like fathers in the movies or TV There was the occasional, mostly silent, family dinner. She remembered her mother at one end her father at the other of the ornate dining room table and that she couldn't wait for dinner to be over. She didn't remember watching him shave, the smell of his cologne, bedtime stories, being hiked up in the air—he was nothing but a cipher in her child's mind.

"Truthfully, not much. I'd have to see a photo to recognize him."

Her mother smiled. "Good."

Chase wasn't certain if her mother said this out of conviction or spite. "I won't be like that."

"I know you won't." She touched Chase's shoulder.

Chase felt herself blush so she changed the subject before things got mushy. "Why are so many novels written by men obsessed with genitalia?" She'd just finished Villages by John Updike and another book by Philip Roth. She'd learned more about penises and what they did than she ever cared to know.

Stella laughed. "Now that you mention it—you're right, at least in twentieth century literature."

"That's why I'm a fan of the nineteenth," Chase said.

"I as well. I imagine that their perspective on the world is primarily viewed from behind a pair of furry golf balls and a bratwurst." She laughed.

Chase didn't laugh. She was worried. "What if Bud has a penis?"

"There's a fifty-fifty chance. You'd better bone up on your ball skills." This started a whole new rash of laughter.

Chase buried her head in her hands and moaned.

When her mother had regained her composure, she patted Chase on the back. "Don't worry. We'll make him into a multicultural, gender-informed, strong yet sensitive man. He'll see through the veil of his little head and steer on without further thought to his nether regions." Stella burst into apoplectic spasms of laughter.

Chase wondered if her mother had lost her senses.

"My, we're having a good time in here," Peggy said as she stood in doorway.

"She is," Chase said disgustedly as she looked around Peggy for a sighting of Addison.

"She's in the kitchen with Rosarita. She wants to make this smores pie thing for Thanksgiving so she's getting pointers from Rosarita," Peggy informed her.

"You're still coming to dinner?" Chase asked.

"Of course. The pie is Addison's personal contribution."

Stella wiped her eyes. "I haven't laughed like that in years."

"I'm glad I could be of service," Chase said, getting up.

"But seriously, Chase, if Bud is a boy we'll make him a good one—so don't worry."

"Oh, honey, you and Gitana are going to be the best parents on the planet. Don't give it a second thought. Besides, Addison is chomping at the bit to give you all a hand." Peggy took off her blue blazer with gold buttons and draped it over a chair. She looked dressed for the club with her khaki trousers and penny loafers.

"Thank you, Peggy." As Chase left she overheard Peggy tell her mother "I was at the club and met with Evelyn Myers. She wants us to tail her cheating no-good husband. According to her he's worth a lot."

Their voices trailed off. It seemed the detective agency was never short of cheating spouses. Those two will be making a fortune, Chase thought.

In the kitchen, Addison and Rosarita were going over the cutout recipe from the food section of the newspaper and adding its required ingredients to the already daunting grocery list. The three of them were doing the shopping.

Addison lit up when she saw Chase. "Look at this. Isn't it fabulous," she said, giving Chase the recipe.

"Wow, that does look good," Chase said.

"It's not overly complicated. Rosarita says it's okay not like a chocolate mousse, double boiler thing."

Rosarita clucked and shook her head. "Simple is better."

"Exactly, especially when there's already a lot to do. Are we ready?" Chase asked.

"Si," Addison and Rosarita said in unison.

Chase handed the clipboard with the grocery list to Addison. "You're in charge of inventory accumulation."

Rosarita cocked her head and looked at Addison. "I'm in charge of checking stuff off the list. I know simple is better, but she's a writer and it's an occupational hazard."

Chase strode quickly to the door. Rosarita grabbed Addison's arm. "Come, before her big brain gets her in trouble."

Three shopping carts later they returned to the Hummer. With some difficulty and several attempts they got the groceries in the back.

"Be careful, those are the crescent rolls," Addison said as Chase attempted to shut the tailgate on them.

"Right." Chase pulled them out of the plastic grocery bag and threw them in the backseat.

"That's much better," Addison said, rolling her eyes.

They climbed in the car and Chase got out of the parking lot as quickly as possible as it was beginning to resemble a bumper car ride. As Chase merged onto the freeway, heading toward her mother's house she questioned Addison about the grocery list, making her reiterate it several times.

"Are you going to do these holiday things a lot?" Addison asked, putting the clipboard under her seat.

"I suppose so, especially once Bud arrives." She found herself thinking about Bud like a guest or long lost acquaintance soon to arrive. "Why do you ask?" She exited the freeway and turned on Mountain Avenue.

Addison didn't reply instead she readjusted the teddy bear's seat belt that had gone askew since being knocked in the head with the packet of buns.

Chase glanced in the rearview mirror. She must watch things like that. It could have been Bud's head. "All right, I'm a little nervous which tends to make me neurotic. I'll work on it."

"All will be fine, mi’ja. No worries," Rosarita said, touching Chase's arm.

"I know." She took a few deep breaths. She almost chewed a cuticle, but Addison reached forward and grabbed her wrist.

"Don't, you're doing so well."

Chase put her hand back on the steering wheel. They pulled up into her mother's driveway. Chase swung the Hummer around the circular driveway so she could back up to the garage. The Hummer didn't fit into the garage, being too tall, an engineering snafu, Chase thought ruefully as the three of them stared at the load.

"I know," Addison said, hopping out. She pulled out a green metal garden cart from the depths of the garage.

"Brilliant," Chase said, and they began loading the cart and dragging it to the kitchen.

When they got into the house, Gitana and Stella were playing Scrabble. The game board lay between them on the white couch with the dogs curled up on either side of them.

Boy, things have really changed, Chase thought.

Gitana looked up and smiled. "Your mother is smoking me."

"I don't wonder. She used to drill me on vocabulary every night at dinner. Thank God, she didn't go in for the National Spelling Bee."

Stella smirked. "It did cross my mind." She put down six tiles to spell "radical."

"Thirty-five points!" Gitana screeched.

"I could help," Addison offered.

"No way, you're on kitchen duty," Chase said.

Addison ignored her. She reached over and rearranged Gitana's tiles.

Gitana smiled slyly and then plunked them down against an existing word, spelling out "callously."

Stella and Chase peered down at them.

"Fifty-five points," Chase said.

Stella smiled savagely at Addison. "You're next. If a nine-year-old can beat me, it's back to the dictionary."

"I only play for money," Addison said, rubbing her fingernails on her T-shirt.

"A nickle a tile?" Stella queried.

"I'll keep score," Gitana said, sliding over to let Addison slip in.

Chase put her hands on her hips. "There goes my kitchen help."

No one paid any attention as they set up a new game.

Дата добавления: 2015-10-31