When they emerged everyone was gathering in the dining room. As they took their seats they were introduced first to Carl the graduate student. Thin, blonde, and pale, he clearly spent a lot of his time hunched over books. For a month now he had been sleeping on Judy's couch because there had been a fire in his apartment. Jaime wasn't sure whether it was real or the power of suggestion, but she could have sworn there was a hint of smoke in the air. Next they met Brenda, a solemn, dark haired girl who slouched over her plate, silently regarding all with large, baleful eyes.
Serving dishes were circulated around the table and everyone helped themselves, except for Bruce, who served both himself and his little daughter, slapping a large portion of the Tex-Mex casserole onto her plate.
"Daddy!" she whined, "That's too much! I wanted to get my own!" Quite suddenly, her face was suddenly bright red and tears brimmed in her eyes. "You always DO that! You ruin everything!" She tapped her feet rapidly on the floor in frustration, and made a sound in her throat that reminded Jaime of a helicopter engine warming up - a hum that rises in pitch, foreshadowing either lift off or a giant fit. Everyone watched this change of humor in dumb amazement. Bruce, to his credit, remained impassive, serving spoon still in hand.
"Time out Katherine." Judy said firmly. "Go. Now."
Katie sat back in her chair and folded her arms. If she could have bolted herself down she would have done it.
"You will not speak to your father that way. He was only trying to help." Judy rose to her feet. "Three. Two…"
Katie stood and turned, kicking both table and chair in one sweeping, petulant motion, and flounced out of the room. "You don't get anything, Mom!" was her parting shot.
Judy, quiet but obviously vastly irritated, followed her out.
"Sorry about that." Bruce said. "She's been a little difficult lately."
"Understatement of the year." Sam grumbled.
Only Bruce seemed completely unfazed by the sound of stern parental words floating back to them from three rooms away. He was wanted to tell his brother-in-law about his new passion - canoe building. The one currently in the shop was his third attempt. The first had been heavy and inelegant, the second too tippy. Sam piped up, and in his unsteady baritone told of how they had dumped in the river the very first time they dipped their paddles into the water.
Judy returned the dining room flushed, her face grim with irritation.
"Oh don't look like that." she said, glaring at her brother.
"What?"
"You look like you've got the vapors."
Jaime suppressed a smile. Oscar had indeed acquired a vaguely sour look during Katie's outburst which hadn't yet faded away.
"This is what children do, Oscar."
"I didn't say anything!" he protested.
"You don't have to." she replied, her manner softening as she sat down and dropped her napkin into her lap. "You probably won't remember but you pulled some stellar tantrums. One minute the nicest little boy you ever met, and the next minute a raging lunatic. In fact, when she does that she reminds me of you."
Sam's dropped his head till his hair provided a screen for the smirk on his face.
Oscar looked to his wife for sympathy. "She's making it up."
"I'm not making it up." Judy retorted, whacking him on the shoulder. "Some older kid was stealing his lunch every day, and he wouldn't tell anyone about it."
"Now that sounds familiar!" Jaime laughed.
"You mean people are still stealing his lunch?" Bruce inquired.
The entire table erupted in a guffaw. "No -" Jaime called out over the hubbub, grinning, "the not telling anybody about it part!"
"I remember that kid." Oscar grumbled. "Billy Frocklidge. He had to be a bully with a name like that. Occasionally I dream of finding him and sending a team, armed to the teeth, to burst into his house in the middle of the night…"
"Honey, it's no use." Jaime said soberly. "I'm sure he ate the evidence a long time ago."
Everyone laughed again, and Jaime basked for a moment in the warmth of the family dinner - silverware clanking, boys shoveling food into their mouths, the passing of plates. It had been a long time since those family dinners with Helen and Jim and Steve.
Still, at this table, with four silent diners (Judy, Carl, Sam and Brenda) and one who was prone to silence (Oscar), conversation didn't flow like a river. Jaime managed to eke some information from Carl about his house fire and the drunken roommate who had set it, and then about the Master's thesis he was completing.
When she asked Judy about her work at the university, Jaime suddenly recognized the source of her discomfort. Judy had not once made eye contact with her – not at the door when they'd met, not when they'd sat down for dinner, and not now, when Jaime had directed conversation to her. It was as though Jaime was the elephant in the room, too painful or too uncomfortable for Judy to acknowledge. This observation produced a small hole of despondency in her stomach and the prospect of the two days visit looked about a month long.
Just then Oscar ran his hand down her neck and smiled at her. She couldn't tell if he sensed what she was feeling or was merely checking in - as he might any old time. Whatever the case, she loved him for it.
Katie appeared at the kitchen door and shuffled to the table, arms hanging limp by her sides, a demoralized look on her face. In a high and nearly inaudible voice, she apologized.
"That's okay Peanut." Bruce said warmly, squeezing her small shoulder as she sat down in front of her laden plate, likely cold. "You'll always be my Peanut, even if you are rancid."
A frown of self pity fluttered over Katie's face, and her mother interjected. "Bruce, don't tease."
Alerted to the delicacy of Katie's mood, Bruce added, "You're not rancid, Peanut. Always freshly roasted and lightly salted in my books." He received for this comment a reluctant smile. "Now you'd better finish your dinner, because we have cherry pie, made by yours truly this very afternoon."
This did the trick. The thunderclouds lifted from Katie's landscape, and she actually managed to eat most of the large helping of food that had so upset her in the first place.
After dessert she was packed off to bed by Judy, who stated that a good night's sleep was a cure for most ills. Sam and Brenda were going to meet friends, followed out the door by Judy's admonishments to be careful, and Bruce's firm demand that Sam be home by midnight. Carl retired to the family room to read, leaving Oscar and Jaime to a game of Scrabble with their hosts.
Unfortunately the game only served to solidify Jaime's observations. Judy teased Oscar in her droll way, and he responded in his usual manner, by looking martyred. They clearly were extremely fond of each other. With Bruce, she was quietly warm. But when Jaime spoke up, Judy invariably turned her attention to her tiles. One of the elderly family cats (Tippy, the brown tabby who had been sleeping on their bed) curled up in Jaime's lap, as if in solidarity. She was grateful.
The game advanced slowly over almost two hours, to the tune of Ginger the dog snoring under the table. The clock ticked. Short conversations sprang up and faded. It occurred to Jaime that she didn't really like Scrabble, especially when certain people (Judy and Oscar, namely) took far too long to make their moves.
By the time the letters had dwindled to a few, she was weirdly rattled and grumpy, and when Oscar leaned over to kiss her she accused him of cheating. She had intended it as a joke, but it came out sounding serious.
"Just kidding." she was forced to say, with a pathetic little laugh.
She won the game handily, circumstances having brought out her latent competitive instincts. Judy came in second, Oscar trailing her by five points. Bruce cheerfully brought up the rear, undone by too many vowels.
When the board was cleared away and Bruce said something about scotch, Jaime announced she was going to bed. She wasn't particularly tired, but had had enough of the slightly uncomfortable social situation, and was more than happy to retire with The Great Gatsby, which she had just started.
She had just pulled up the covers around her and opened her book when Oscar quietly entered the room.
"Hey!" she said, "Weren't you going to stay up for a bit?"
"Nah." he replied, heading into the bathroom.
While he brushed his teeth, Jaime reminded herself not to say a word or give off any whiff of discomfort. He didn't need that. Tomorrow was a new day. She stared intently into her book and tried to look deeply absorbed, reading the same paragraph several times over.
He only glanced at her as he changed into t shirt and pajama bottoms and slipped under the covers, the fold-out bed creaking under his weight. Placing his chin on her shoulder, he stared a moment at the page she was supposedly reading, then pulled the book from her grip and snapped it shut.
"Hey!" she protested. "I was reading that and now you've lost my…"
"Page seventy-nine." he said, pulling her into his arms. "I'm sorry about this."
"About what?" she asked, gazing at him with what she hoped was a steady, unclouded expression.
"My sister. I don't know what's with her. She's not the most demonstrative person at the best of times, but when she's uncomfortable she gets ...haughty...or something...I don't know what it is, but I can't stand it, and I have no idea what to do about it."
"I think the problem is me." Jaime said glumly.
"No Babe." he protested, taking her right hand in his left, threading his fingers through hers.
"No, really. I don't think she likes me." She nestled into him, her head against his chest. The steady thump of his heart was reassuring.
"Not possible." Oscar replied firmly. "Everybody loves you, Babe. It's one the of the natural laws of the universe."
"You're sweet, but not everybody, Bup. The prisons are full of people who curse my name daily."
"They don't count. Name one non-criminal who doesn't love you. Hell - even half the damned criminals love you."
Jaime wondered if she was really going to have to call up a list of people who disliked her. It was surprisingly difficult to think of anyone.
"You agree with me." she asserted. "I can tell. You're just trying to save my feelings."
He sighed and kissed her forehead, which she figured was an acknowledgement. "Do you…" he hesitated, "do you think she could be jealous?"
Jaime shrugged.
"She and I have always been close…and having you in my life has changed that…and then there's the fact that Katie would gladly trade her mother in and run off with you."
"Oh, Katie has a little girl crush on me, that's all. But I don't know... I think you'd know better than I if Judy's prone to jealousy."
"Well I'll talk to her tomorrow." he said resolutely.
"No Bup," Jaime replied, sitting up to look him in the eye. "you'd better let me do it. I don't want her to think I'm the kind of woman who hides behind her husband and squeals to him."
"But she's my stupid sister." he said, using exactly the tone he would have used when he was ten. "I know her, and I can cut straight to it."
"Sure, but ultimately, it's going to be my relationship with her. We're stuck with each other, so we'd better sort it out."
He chuckled and gave her one of those sappy, melted smiles he saved just for her. "Is this the part of the mission where I tell you it's too dangerous and you inform me that you're going to do it anyway?"
She loved it when he looked at her like that. "I guess so."
He sighed. "I just wanted this to be a nice weekend for you. I was imagining we would feel like a family."
"Hey!" she replied, giving him a bracing squeeze, "We only just got here. We'll have fun. Don't get that old inboard worry engine going, okay?"
The melted look returned. "Okay."
"And don't be angry with her. The most productive thing you can do is to have a good visit. You don't see nearly enough of them and it's important, okay?"
He smiled and gazed at her for a long moment. "Have I ever told you I think you're a hell of a girl?"
"I believe you have." She grinned. "But I'm always open to hearing it again."
"You're a hell of a girl." he whispered, and then he kissed her.