To See the Moon Again (31 page)

In the silence that followed, Julia stood at the stove and stirred the soup. The sandwiches were ready to grill, and the griddle was hot, but now wasn't the time for the sound of food being prepared. No sizzling or scraping.

At length Carmen said, “I . . . like her. A lot.”

Luna must have been as confused as Julia, for she said, “You
like
her?”

“Vanessa,” Carmen said. “I like her. She's nice.”

Nice.
It was the same thing she said about so many people. Maybe it was true about Vanessa, but Julia also knew that a big part of other people's niceness was Carmen herself. Always friendly and generous, always ready to give anyone the benefit of the doubt.

“Something inside me didn't want to like her,” Carmen continued, “but another part wanted to, desperately. That's why I had to talk to her. If I could like her, it would be such a help.” She laughed suddenly, a bright and brittle laugh. “And then I got a bonus. I got to hear Lizzy say, ‘
Thank you. My Piggy Wig is soft. I like it. Nice Piggy Wig.
' Of all the things she could have said, she said
that
.” She was still laughing as she spoke, but there were tears in her eyes. She stopped all at once, swiped at her cheeks with both hands, then said, “When did you say your son was getting home? I've got to talk to him, too. I can't leave until I do.”

Luna nodded. No argument, no warning. “He should be home by six. I usually take my newspaper down there in the evening. Vanessa likes to do the crossword puzzle. She doesn't care if they're old. It's not the news she wants, just the puzzle.”

Carmen said, “She likes crossword puzzles? See, didn't I say she was nice?”

“We can watch for his car, and you can take it to him when he pulls into the driveway,” Luna said. “Tell him you're visiting me.”

They ate their soup and sandwiches and later sat in the living room with the drapes open, watching for his car.

•   •   •

C
ARMEN
wasn't gone long, and her report was brief. “He was very polite. Said to thank you for the paper. We talked a little, but I could tell he wanted to get inside, and I was glad to see that. I told him I saw his wife and little girl at the park, and his whole face lit up. He has a good face and big, manly hands. I like his eyes.” She looked at Luna. “They look like yours. They scrunch up at the corners when he smiles. I like his smile, too. And his voice. Does he sing?”

She looked straight at Luna, waiting. Unlike some of her questions, this was evidently one she wanted an answer for.

“Yes,” Luna said. “He sings in their church choir. He also took piano lessons in school, then cello. He plays in a community orchestra over in Charlotte.”

Carmen nodded. “That'll do.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Okay, I have a picture in my head now. Robert. Vanessa. And Lizzy. The Fiorellis. A very, very nice family.”

G
REAT
L
ENGTHS

The week before Christmas, on a late Saturday afternoon, Julia was in the kitchen of the stone house making a fruit salad called Olympian Nectar. She was working her way through the recipe, slicing, dicing, chopping. Strawberries and blueberries weren't as good this time of year, but they looked pretty and would taste fine in a recipe that called for so many other things. The bowl already held the berries, pineapple, bananas, and golden raisins. Next came the cup of grape juice, the applesauce, shredded coconut, maraschino cherries, and pecans.

The salad was the last thing to put together. All the casseroles were ready to go into the oven in shifts, and Carmen had made two loaves of bread that morning. Julia couldn't remember the last time she had given a dinner party, and she wouldn't be giving one now if Carmen hadn't begged.

The whole idea had been set in motion when Luna had invited Julia and Carmen to come to her house in Roskam the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Dinner had been a quietly happy and elegant affair that day, made happier by the fact that it was mild enough afterward to go over to the park, and more joyful yet, though not at all quiet, because Robert, Vanessa, and Lizzy, along with their houseful of company, had all trooped over to the park also. Vanessa's family had driven to Roskam for Thanksgiving Day, and several had stayed over the weekend.

Somehow Carmen had ended up playing tag and Red Rover with the children, pushing them on swings, going down the slides, organizing races. She had taken a picture on Julia's cell phone of all the cousins climbing over the tires, with Lizzy right in the middle, wearing her pink cap, her little tongue stuck out the side of her mouth with the effort of keeping up with the big kids.

From time to time even now, Carmen stopped midsentence and said things like, “She sure doesn't hold back, does she?” or “Remember when she was chasing her cousin and she
caught him
?” She seemed particularly pleased that the cousin was a boy, and a whole year older than Lizzy.

That Carmen would ask for a dinner party, given her general indifference toward food, had surprised Julia, but she had readily agreed, hoping it was a sign of things to come. Who knew what other changes might follow? Maybe she could convince the girl to buy some new clothes one of these days. Or take a bath in a full tub of water instead of only a few inches.

But most likely the motivation behind the dinner party had more to do with Carmen's firm belief in reciprocation. Luna had spread a feast for them in November, so nothing would do but to return the favor and invite her to Beckett. And many weeks before that, Pamela had fed them well at her house in Virginia, so this was to be a double reciprocation, for Pam and Butch were driving down and were due to arrive within the hour.

It couldn't be just a regular meal at the kitchen table. No, Carmen had to make it into a Grand Occasion. In between studying for her GED test, which was scheduled for March, she had thrown herself into the dinner plans, had been at it off and on for weeks. She went through cookbooks and recipe files, took stock of Julia's china, and drew up a guest list, which Julia had at first mistakenly assumed would include only five of them.

When Carmen asked if the dining room table had an extra leaf, Julia said uneasily, “How many people are you thinking of inviting?” and the girl responded with “How many
can
I invite?” Evidently she wasn't to be deterred by a minor detail such as the fact that nobody else in Beckett, South Carolina, knew Luna, Pamela, and Butch. Gradually she narrowed the total to thirteen and drew up a seating arrangement, which she revised numbers of times.

In Julia's opinion, it was going to be the least homogeneous assortment of thirteen people ever convened, but Carmen was proud of the diversity, especially age-wise, the youngest guest being five and the oldest sixty-three. Julia had questioned her about the number thirteen, not because it was considered unlucky—Carmen would laugh at that—but because only twelve chairs would fit around her dining room table. Not a problem, Carmen had said. They could squeeze in another chair at one end.

The table was ready now except for the centerpiece, which Carmen was in the process of assembling in between checking on the ham, which was cooking slowly on the grill outside.

Julia mixed the maraschino cherries into the salad, then went to the refrigerator to get the bag of pecans. On her way back she paused at the door of the dining room for another look. She was still trying to see the table objectively. Did she like it because it really looked good, or simply because it was the product of Carmen's quirky imagination?

The girl must have been afraid she would never have another opportunity to sit in Julia's dining room and eat off her good dishes, for she had decided to use place settings from three different patterns of china, alternating them around the table. Nothing Julia would have ever thought of doing, though she had to admit the result wasn't bad. Thankfully, the three patterns coordinated nicely—a white set, a blue Spode, and red cut glass. Hardly a Christmas look, however, especially with the navy blue tablecloth and the white napkins, folded like sailboats, with a place card sticking out of each one. It looked more like a Fourth of July dinner, but Carmen said the centerpiece would set things straight concerning the season. And the sailboat napkins, she explained, were a reference to a Christmas song. Hadn't she ever heard of “I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In, Plus Ten More”?

All of this from someone who had never shown the slightest interest in anything remotely fancy. It had taken an amazing amount of labor, most of which Carmen had done herself. Julia wasn't worried about the meal—it was a good menu, better than anything she had put together for a long time—but she feared that Carmen might have set her hopes too high.

Though she had forgotten much of what she once knew about the art of giving dinner parties, one sure principle Julia remembered was that even if every dish turned out perfect, there were always things you couldn't plan for—awkward silences around the table, guests with strange food allergies, spills and breakage, verbal gaffes, late arrivals or no-shows.

Well, if the whole thing was a flop, it would still be something to remember, maybe to laugh over someday. Regardless of how it turned out, it would be another manifestation of Carmen's tendency to take anything she did to great lengths.

•   •   •

J
ULIA
looked out the kitchen window. A fleet of white clouds floated through the pale blue ocean of sky above the treetops, which, except for the evergreens, were mostly bare now. The two little girls across the street were out in their yard again, jumping in piles of leaves.

Julia glanced at the thermometer mounted outside the kitchen window. Fifty-two degrees. A perfectly poised temperature for a December day. Twenty degrees colder and it would be freezing; twenty higher and it would be balmy. At dessert time maybe they could move to the living room and turn the gas logs on. Or maybe not. Maybe with all those people in the house, they would need to open the windows instead.

The Olympian Nectar was finished now, a pretty salad with all the fruits purpled by the grape juice. Julia covered it and put it in the refrigerator. She took the casseroles out and placed them on the stove, then turned the oven on to preheat. She went to the back porch to check on Carmen's progress with the centerpiece.

On the wicker table sat a toy sleigh made of red tin, filled with cascades of ivy. Carmen was adding pinecones, holly berries, and miniature blue Christmas balls, moving around the table to study the effect from every angle. She had dug the sleigh out of a box of old Christmas decorations in the attic, had asked Julia if it was okay to ditch the Santa Claus and reindeer, several of which were missing their antlers.

Carmen saw her and looked up. “Does it look okay?”

Julia laughed. “Fetching.” She was no longer surprised at anything Carmen did. She could take an old sock and somehow turn it into a work of art, which was exactly what she had done for their Christmas stockings now hanging from the mantel in the living room.

“What did you do with poor old Santa?” Julia said.

“Left him in the attic with the reindeer,” Carmen said. “They're up there conspiring. I heard Prancer tell Blitzen they're going to crash the party.” She laughed and stuck a sprig of holly in her hair. Even that looked good.

•   •   •

I
T
was funny how everyone seemed to arrive at the same time, as if they had traveled in a caravan. Pam and Butch pulled into the driveway first, followed by all the others in close succession, with Luna being the last by only a few minutes. By six thirty they were all seated in the dining room, except for Carmen, who was standing to deliver a few opening remarks. She started by introducing each guest, though they had already met informally in the living room. She circled the table as she spoke, touching the chair of each person in turn.

She started with Julia, then Luna. Then Colleen, their neighbor across the street. Then Colleen's two little girls, Jackie and Nicole. “They sometimes let me play with them if I beg hard enough,” she said. The little girls, usually full of chatter, smiled shyly as if this Carmen couldn't possibly be the same one who played hopscotch with them and talked in funny voices.

She proceeded to Dr. Boyer, who bobbed his head primly and offered the same smile that had always struck Julia as self-satisfied. He was wearing a limp houndstooth sport coat and black vest, with a pocket watch on a fob, which he had already pulled out once to consult.

Carmen moved on. “And my pastor and his wife, Chris and Christy—I promise I'm not making that up—and their two sons, Jared and Jay, who look like twins, but fortunately their parents had a year after Jared to catch their breath and try to regain their sanity.”

Jay spoke up. “Yeah, and then they said, ‘Okay, let's try again, I know we can do better than that.'”

Everyone laughed.

“And when
that
didn't work out,” Jared said, “oh, well, oops, they were stuck with both of us.”

More laughter.

“And my highly esteemed Aunt Pamela,” Carmen was saying now. Pamela flapped her napkin and said, “Woo-hoo!”

“And her husband, Uncle Butch,” Carmen added. “They gave up a bluegrass Christmas shindig to drive all the way down from Virginia.”

Carmen smiled and looked around the table. “Okay, so now that everybody knows everybody else, you can all share your deepest, darkest secrets while you eat.”

Dr. Boyer looked worried. He pulled out his pocket watch again and looked at it.

Pamela exclaimed, “I've got a secret! Butch and I have lost fifty-three pounds between us! In just
nine
weeks!”

She stood up and took a little bow amid a flurry of congratulatory remarks and applause.

Julia joined in, even though she felt like pointing out to Pamela that something one bragged about constantly hardly qualified as a secret. But she was glad for her sister, she truly was. If she weren't looking at the proof with her own eyes, she wouldn't have believed that a water exercise class could really help people lose weight. Pamela had told her on the phone recently that she and Butch were having a contest now, carefully checking each other's weigh-ins to make sure there was no cheating. The loser had to take the other one on a cruise. Pamela thought this was hilarious. “See, we're guaranteed a cruise either way!” she had crowed.

After Pamela finally sat down, Carmen asked Pastor Chris to say grace, and then she started bringing the food in from the kitchen. She was dressed in all red tonight—a pullover sweater of Julia's and a pair of red pants, not exactly the same shade of red, though she declared them “close enough.” Her face was bright, her mass of curls still sporting the sprig of holly. She showed no signs of being as high-strung as Julia had always been when she used to host dinner parties.

Julia wanted to pull her aside and warn her not to presume on the fact that everything had gone smoothly so far, to remind her that the evening was far from over and anything could happen. She could tell her about the time many years ago when she had knocked herself out putting on a dinner for the English department faculty, only to have the dean's wife get suddenly, violently ill right as the beef Wellington was being passed around the table.

But no, she couldn't do that. Let the girl have her pleasure while it lasted. Let her find out for herself how quickly a dinner party could take a turn for the worse. For now, Julia meant to relax and enjoy it. Not being in charge was a good way to start.

•   •   •

T
HE
food was good—the fatted pig, as Carmen called the ham, the Olympian Nectar salad, the homemade bread, the mint tea, the potatoes au gratin, the green bean–carrot–corn medley, and the squash casserole. There were no lulls in the conversation, no embarrassing slips of tongue, no glasses tipped over, no unwelcome surprises of any kind. No one seemed to be in a hurry. Even Dr. Boyer seemed to forget about his pocket watch.