14…Names
When we get back, Bea is there, setting out a lunch of sandwiches. I realize I'm famished.
"Your phone's been chirping like a dog," Bea complains. "It's about to drive me nuts."
"That doesn't make any sense, and besides, you already are nuts, Aunt Bea," I reply, helping Henry into his club chair. She ignores me. "I'm sure it's Emory, but I don't feel like talking to her."
"Why not?"
"Long story."
"Well, isn't it a darned good thing that we're about to sit down to lunch, so we'll have plenty of time," she says brightly.
"Cuando terminara esta pesadilla!" When will this nightmare end! I mutter in Spanish, mostly to myself, but I hear Henry chuckling.
"You know Bea's going to hound you until you tell her."
"What did Henry say?" Bea asks. His language is truly clearer, but I still have to translate.
"He said, to quote The King, 'You ain't nothin' but a hound dog,'" I creatively translate.
"Elvis didn't write that song, Leiber and Stoller did. And Big Mama Thornton recorded it first and with a lot more emotion." Bea is always so annoyingly didactic about music.
"Whatever." I roll my eyes at her. "Elvis sang it, so I can still quote him." But Henry's right; best just get it over with. I sigh dramatically. "Okay. I'll tell you about last night."
And I do. I tell the stupid story of the stupid dinner again, mostly with my mouth full of this perfect sandwich on homemade bread, I notice. Again, I leave out the church garden.
"So…That's pretty much why I don't want to talk to her right now. She wants a do-over dinner tonight. And I don't think I'm up for it."
Bea is silent for a while, eating her sandwich and kale chips. "I just want you to think about something for a second." She puts the last bit of her sandwich down.
Henry watches us both, slowly chewing.
"Think of what?" I say automatically, although I'm not sure I want the answer.
"Well…Emory has been a good friend to you, right? A great friend, even."
I shrug noncommittally, but the truth is, yes, she has.
"You know I think she is hilarious with all her Southern hoity-toitiness," Bea laughs to herself, shaking her head. "She was probably the prom queen, right?"
"And Homecoming Queen. And Salutatorian of her high school. And President of everything, including Student Council."
"Right," Bea says. "And Mommy and Daddy's little princess, and pretty as a picture. Good grades, probably never got a B her whole life. Loving family. Successful at everything. Always at or near the top. Always getting her way. Always admired, etc. etc. Even through college."
"You've pretty much summed her up perfectly."
"And now she's come to the big city—the biggest city, mind you—and is interning at Vogue, right?"
"Uh huh."
"The top fashion magazine where all the other tops-of-their-class, pretty princesses have ended up," Bea says. "And some might not be as kind as she is. And maybe she's not always getting her way. Not always the queen of the world any longer."
Oh. "Your point?" I ask.
"My point is that maybe she's going through her own adjustments and changes to her new world. Maybe things aren't working for her the way they used to, with everything a guaranteed success. Maybe you could ask her why she was so off last night. Why she got drunk as a punk and burst into tears, like you said. Maybe you could cut her some slack and accept her apology, knowing she's always been a caring friend to you."
Great. She's right. Now I feel all awash in guilt. Again! I look down at my plate, ashamed at being so churlish.
"And maybe you could cut yourself some slack, too. You've had a lot of changes and upsets in your life, lately. But even with all that, you can choose how you want to be. Choose compassion for your friend. Choose understanding."
I look up at Bea's earnest face for a long moment and something else new occurs to me. I quickly remember back to her talk about being a burden, and other things she's walked me through, going back even several years. And then Henry talking me through things earlier. Why have I not seen this before?
"Omigod!" I exclaim loudly. "You sound almost like Henry! And Rosamunde, too, for that matter! How did this happen?"
Her eyes go big. Henry reaches across the table to put his hand on Bea's arm, saying the sweetest thing.
Bea looks at me quizzically. I tell her, "Henry said you are the daughter that he and Rosamunde always wanted. And that you are wise, like she was."
Tears immediately spring to Bea's eyes. She jumps up from the table, taking her plate to the sink.
I turn to Henry in wide-eyed consternation, starting to get up to go to Bea. Henry shakes his head. I sit back down as she turns on the water.
"You and I aren't the only ones who miss our Rosamunde," he whispers.
I can't stand it, her being so sad. Jeez! This whole day has been emotional! Over the sound of the running water, I call out, "I'll ring Em and say yes to dinner tonight, but maybe just at The Rambler. I don't feel like going out again. Okay, Bea?"
"That sounds like a kind thing to do," she says thickly through her sniffles.
"I've got a radio show scheduled tonight, and the twins and some of their friends are coming over, so you know where I'll be." As if she's ever anywhere else but at home. "Stop by afterwards for dessert. You and Em can introduce me to your cute boys."
"He's not my cute boy!"
Henry says, "But you like him."
"I never said that!" I protest. "In fact, I believe I called him a pendejo."
"We will come back to that another day, but it'll be interesting to see what transpires." Again with his sparkling eyes! "There's something there."
"I never said that either!"
Henry smiles at me in a way that says, You didn't have to.
Bea asks, "What did he say?" I don't answer her.
I quickly pick up my plate, joining Bea at the sink to escape Granddad's discerning stare. Does he not miss anything?!
Bea tries to take my plate from me, but I hold tight to it, not looking at her, muttering "I'll wash it." When I do glance up, Bea has dried her tears and is grinning at me. "Stop it!" I hiss before she returns to the table.
Henry says something that I can't translate immediately. It's a lot easier if I can see his face, but mine is too red to go sit back at the table. "Say again?" I listen intently.
I catch it this time. "You said there was a mix-up with the names, but you never did say what your boys' name actually was."
"It's Leif, Granddad. Leif. But his patch said 'Vince.' And he's not my boy!"
I take my time washing this one plate, just like Bea did with hers. I try to ignore the murmuring behind me. "I promise I will not mind if you quit talking about me now!" I hear Bea chuckle and I'm glad she's not so sad, but it seems to be at my expense.
"Why don't you ask all of them to come for lunch here tomorrow?" Henry says.
Huh? I'm not altogether sure about this—the very idea of it is like worlds colliding—but I don't want to turn him down either, especially because they would be the first visitors he's had other than family, Em, Bea and me. "Um…Okay. I'll ask, but they're probably all busy. Are you sure, G?"
"Yes, Granddaughter, I'm very sure."
"What did he say?" Bea asks.
I just shake my head, drying my overly-washed plate. "He said, and I quote… nice housedress!"
