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I contemplate my course of action, when a sudden unwelcome intrudes my subconscious.

I hadn't the right. She had made sure of that five freaking years ago. 

"That's very progressive, for a 30 minute chinwag. So, what about it?" I snap, disgusted with myself for being even remotely interested with her answer.

"This Saturday. He's says there's a nice new Chinese restaurant, at the hillside", she responds in the same tone, trying to provoke me no doubt. And succeeding beautifully.

"And you don't like Chinese! Tsk tsk. No wonder you're hiding".

I mentally evoke the picture it'll make, with him tumbling down said hill following a swift kick on his puny backside.

"We could make it a double date, with Kate and Ryder. And I'm sure I'll find something on the menu which suits my palate", she returns equably, clearly enjoying herself,
the shrew
.

Or you could ask Drew", she blurts out, and gets embarrassed all over again.

Aha! So that's where the wind blows, huh? Now that she's made a slip,  I latch onto it with innumerable pleasure, like a leech on the scent of human blood.

I regard her closely, quirking my eyebrows at her obvious discomfort, thoroughly enjoying the scenario. I know the situation was pretty hopeless, if a petty case of jealousy could make me want to do cartwheels in the hidey-hole. But I decide to let it go, and enjoy the show.
Small pleasures!

"No thank you. Drew and I are going out for a movie", I explain in a serious tone, not betraying my inner glee by an inch. She buys it too, and I get to witness the subtle but visible tightening of her jaws with no little pleasure.

"Fine. Good", she declares stoically, then adds like an afterthought, "which movie?"

I shrug nonchalantly  "Whichever she wants to see, we haven't decided". Too many details were unhealthy, and I haven't the smallest clue about which movies were playing in the mall. It was a last minute improvises.

She just nods her head in quick successions, reminding me of Noddy, and grows silent again. She was a lot more silent these days than she'd ever been.

"I told him I had plans this weekend", she mumbles dejectedly, and I savor the sweet taste of triumph.

"What plans?" I query lightly, well aware that she'd lied. She had always been terrible with lying, and knowing Taylor, the persistent pest that he was, he wouldn't have bought it that easily.

"I said I had to go Christmas shopping", she murmurs by means of explanation, and I burst out laughing. Not because it was the oldest female ploy in the history of the earth. Well, not only because of that. But because anyone who knew Elizabeth, knew how much she hated shopping, absolutely loathed it, which was probably an abomination to the general female populace. She simply didn't believe in the concept of going out to shop, when everything worthwhile was available on e commerce websites. And Christmas shopping for her meant the weekend before the actual day, just like me. Also, the idea of her lying to avoid him and his miserable advances pleases me considerably.

She glares at me in return, and I stifle another laugh. A few minutes later, I hear Kate howling my name like a hungry wolf, and we make our way back to the house. Together.

6. Facade

As it happens, neither of us have to follow through on our excuses on Saturday, as we are snowed in, and very inconveniently too. The yard is flooded with several inches of ice, and the roads have been blocked until the weather clears.

I've been moping since morning, and blaming it on the sheer inactivity of the morn. Fact is, I'd have probably ended up brooding, snow or no snow. It's a bitter pill to swallow.

Kate had come up with some amazingly ludicrous ideas, ranging from snow games in the chilling winds, to monopoly games where the paper money had gone missing, to the time-worn stone, paper, scissors.

Thankfully, for all concerned, she had finally settled at fiddling with the pianoforte.

But she couldn't keep her quiet, even when she was at it.

"So who is going to the Sunday dance", she sings cheerfully, in a high soprano voice, destined to pierce eardrums since 1993.

No one pays attention, which obviously makes her repeat the twitter.

"We're all going. The mayor telephoned your father personally", mom

volunteers, shutting her up, momentarily.

The Sunday dance is a valley tradition, which was to take place on the first Sunday of December each year, in the town's largest assembly hall, designed entirely for dancing, frolicking and such.

Every year, the mayor held out invitations for the dance. Though the history suggested strict impartiality with regards to invitations, it was generally known to be otherwise. Henceforth, it was an overpriced extravagant affair, reserved for the pompous elite. And we were privileged enough to be counted among them.

I for one, was in no mood to dance, and began wishing for a snowstorm in an abrupt change of pace.

"I wish to god they wouldn't partner me with Brian this time', Kate exclaims abruptly, hitting the piano equivalent of the eighth octave.

"What's wrong with Brian? He's one of those who actually owns a brain in his top shelf." Brian was a mathematical genius, though I could see why she didn't want to dance with him. His people skills were comparable to that of Sheldon Cooper's.

"Oh yeah! That was evident when he explained Abel's Lemma to me, in between romping like a larky ostrich and methodically abusing my foot. And God help me if Mr. Goldberg asks me to dance."

"
Oh come on
! What's wrong with Mr. Goldberg? He can hold an intelligent conversation, plus he's a superior dancer", I reason, and receive a pointed glance that promises retribution.

"Oh he can hold a conversation alright! What he cannot hold are the contents of his stomach, and the whiff of putrid air that leaks out of his nether orifice."

I burst out laughing, concocting a disturbingly accurate picture of

Mr. Goldberg dancing with Kate, and the poor unsuspecting spectators diving for cover. I chance a look at Beth, who is busy muffling her own giggles with her palms.

With a fresh spurt of laughter, I add, "One would think you'd be the safest then, since you'd be facing
him,
and not his
nether
region."

"You'd think so", she retorts, sarcastic," but then his superior dancing comes into play, and he twirls one around, before fresh air could work its magic and dissipate the fart funk."

Awesome. And now we are all roaring. I clutch my stomach as waves and waves of jocularity hit me, giving way to some god awesome scenarios. Beth abandons all pretenses of propriety and shakes with mirth on the dining chair. Even mom has a difficult time keeping a straight face, as she rummages through the kitchen, with a pair of quivering shoulders.

"Shut up, Nick. Stop laughing. It could've happened to anyone. It could've happened to you", she whines, and I guffaw like a loon.

"It couldn't, no", I tease, wiping tears of mirth with exaggerated artifice.

"You're one of the few fortunate ones. He doesn't partner with boys", I bait her, and she sticks her tongue out at me like a true five year old, before going on to play some of the most tuneless, cacophonous jangles of all times.

"Oh Beth, your father just called this morning. He wanted me to tell you, he'd be home for new years," mom announces from the kitchen, and just like that, the laughter abates.

She stops nibbling the ill-fated apple she'd been chewing for the last twenty minutes, and looks up from her seat onto where I was seated. I quickly school my expressions to that of careful impassiveness, while my heart struggles to ignore the implications of this recent piece of information.

She frowns in bemusement before tugging a wayward lock of hair behind her ears, while the rest of it is neatly coiled into a bun, showcasing her exquisite face.

"Thanks aunt Claire, I was trying to reach him, but my cell has no network."

So the princess was eager to escape to her palace. She had already fetched her father to collect her. The entrapment of family confines had begun to bore her, no doubt. So much for the prodigal daughter, I mentally hiss.

"No problem child, eat your breakfast. I'll reheat the coffee."

She mumbles another thanks, while I sat pissed and angry at the world in general.

"You know Nicholas, you could actually try
playing
that thing, instead of fidgeting with it all the time. As it happens, Elizabeth could lend a hand at the piano too, now that she's here", speaks Kate, interrupting my scoffing fit.

I turn to give her the beady eye, which she studiously ignores. It must've been her idea of a payback for laughing at her. Nevertheless, I continue to glare at her back, in the hopes that she'd eventually turn back, which she does a minute later, only to taunt me with a mocking grin, more suited to an alley tomcat.

Before I could manage to open my mouth and deliver an appropriate insult with my wrath honed tongue, Elizabeth intercedes, "Thanks Kate, but I don't play the piano anymore", at the same time I said "I'm in no mood to humor you, and I'll do as I like with my guitar. "

Without waiting to analyze why her response has me riled up even further, I scowl like a wounded lion, irritated at them both, my pride in tatters.

"Your constant plucking is grating my nerves", she calls out, when all her attention seeking schemes come to not. And I cannot help respond with,

"Then cover your bloody ears", more loudly than I'd intended, incredibly amazed at her audacity. What a champion whiner she was!

And here I'd been sitting and wishing myself deaf for the past half hour, watching her butcher the piano mercilessly.

Mrs. Mathews, our housekeeper, is clearly disconcerted by my precipitous outburst, as she manages to spill the leftovers on her apron while cleaning, Mom raises her eyebrows at me in silent admonition, and
Elizabeth
just ignores us all, staring at the dining table, seemingly mesmerized by the glassware.

Willfully ignorant of the heated ambiance, Kate stands up from her footstool, and finally deciding to take matters in her own hands, essentially drags Beth to the pianoforte, signaling for her to play.

This time, mom aims her thunderous green orbits at Kate, which pleases me considerably. From the looks of it, a certain someone is about to receive a very colorful verbal thrashing, which would have appeased me some more, when Beth does something that stuns us all.

With a horrible cry of choking angst, she jerks her hand in withdrawal, as if the piano keys had somehow singed her fingers. She stands paralyzed and petrified, shaking and nauseated and repelled by the sight of the pianoforte, which was her own possession in the house and her mother's last remembrance. She flees to her room without a backward glance, leaving a sickening feel in the pit of my stomach.

7. Because people change

"How is she"?

We're sitting near the hearth, a coffee mug in hands, having just finished with dinner. Kate has burned a rug in the carpet by her pacing, and dad is frowning at the sheet of flames erupting from the fireplace. Since I had tried both, without success, I am now seated at the settee, desperately trying to give the impression of calmness I no longer feel.

I don't think I fool anyone.

Beth had slept all through lunch and now dinner too. Going by the look that is currently plastered on mom's face, I concluded that her second attempt at waking her up after dinner has blown too.

"She's still asleep", mom answers my silent inquiry and sits down next to dad.

"I think something's wrong with her", Kate declares, momentarily halting her march.

"I think the strain of sitting through your piano session took a toll on her", I snap, irritated with the stunt she'd pull this morning.

"Can you stop being a jerk, and be serious for a minute".