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Show 2-4 Fidelio begged quietly at my side and Father winked at me as I gave him a scrap of ham. I blushed at the secretness of that wink, of the intimacy it took for granted. After dinner, we all helped clear and John mentioned croquet. Suddenly, everyone but my parents and grandparents seemed eager to be out-of-doors. John monitored the setting of the wickets while Frances and Charlie pounded in the stakes. Uncle Joe leaned back on his mallet and puffed his cigar, smoke curling up and over his Panama hat. Aunt Felicia trailed about the yard, examining Mother's roses, and had to be called from the backlot so the game could begin. They all shouted to me to come join them, but I didn't want to leave my post on the porch steps. I wasn't much part of what conversation there was but I didn't want to miss the change I kept expecting. Besides, Charlie was a real baby when playing croquet, even though he was just my age. He always bellowed when someone sent his ball under the peony bushes and I knew for certain I could not face that today. So they played in uneven teams and John soon led his side to victory over my uncle and aunt. Grandfather smoked his cigar while Grandmother knitted. Mother stroked Muffin, her favorite of all the cats, and both of them watched Father. He sat, his hands clenched behind his head, staring out over the yard and out to the Clemenses' Russian Olive hedge that bordered our backlot. No one said much but pretended to concentrate on the loud game going on in front of us. Something was unspoken, as if they were all afraid to start asking questions for fear of the answers. The afternoon wore down. "Well," said Aunt Felicia, finally coming up on the porch mopping her bright face, "we must be off. You'll want some time alone." She went to my mother and kissed her on the forehead. "Lawrence looks tired. Don't let him go back to work too soon, Katie." |
