Warm Wuinter's Garden (23 page)

“Ba da boop ba.”

“Well, what that means is that a lot of
almost anything can be bad for us and a little bit of most things
is good for us. Or, at least, isn’t bad for us. So, a little
eggmenog at Christmas is a good thing, but a lot of eggmenog is
not.”

“But, why is it mean?”

Nita held Kate’s hands and smiled
professionally, as if Kate were a judge, while she thought of what
to say next.

“No, Katie, it’s not that kind of mean. The
golden mean is a way to measure things.”

“Like the golden ruler? Our teacher told us
about the golden ruler.”

“Nita, you better quit, now. You’ve been
out-obfuscated.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Bett motioned to Kate.

“Kate, why don’t you help me pour the
eggmenog.”

Dilly came into the living room holding up
the nutmeg and grater triumphantly.

“I don’t know how anything gets done in that
kitchen.”

Bill looked up for a second then put his head
back down and continued reading from a thick blue binder. Dilly
asked, “Who’s going to pour?”

Kate gave her mother a big smile, pointed at
Bett, then, she hooked a finger into the center of her dress.

“Mopper and me.”

“No, pumpkin, you’re too little. You might
spill it.”

“But, Mommy, Mopper said I could.”

“Baby, why don’t you grate the nutmeg, that’s
a special job, and let Jessie help your grandma?”

“But, Mommy, I want to pour.”

“Kate, I mean it. Give Jessie the ladle, now.
Thank you. Jess, take the ladle, half cups, no more. Be careful.
Don’t spill it. Here, Kate. No, the other hand. You hold the grater
in your left hand. And, the nutmeg in your right. Just rub the tip
against it. Not so hard. Go fast, but not too hard. That’s right.
Now, go around the room and ask, ‘Would you care for nutmeg?’
Okay?”

Kate gave her mother a dark look.

The punchbowl of glass, with hand-painted
gold and silver flowers, had been sent from Germany as a wedding
present for Opa’s parents. Sitting on the gold-rimmed tray,
surrounding the pedestal of the bowl, were the fifteen
chalice-shaped cups that remained of the original eighteen. As Bett
held the out cup, Jessie, eyes frozen in concentration, brought the
long handled silver ladle to the cup. When the cup was half full
Bett set it on the linen runner that covered the scarred surface of
the cherry sideboard. After all the cups were filled, Bett and
Jessica began distributing them.

The chalice shape and the solemnity with
which her oldest granddaughter held the cup made Bett think of a
priest leading a procession. After Jessie passed out a cup, Kate
came up and asked if he or she cared for nutmeg. In each instance
when the answer was yes, Kate struck the nutmeg several times
across the grater with the same exaggerated stroke that a child
might use to light a kitchen match.

“Would you care for nutmeg, Mommy?”

“No, thank-you, Miss Kate. It makes me
sneeze.”

“Does it make me sneeze, too?”

“I don’t think so, honey.”

After she had finished making her rounds,
Kate knelt on the floor between the couch and the coffee table and
began to grate nutmeg into her cup of eggnog. She was very careful
to make sure that all of the nutmeg’s dust landed in the pale
yellow froth. She bent her nose to the cup to see if she would
sneeze. To get closer she spread her elbows out along the table.
Her right elbow caught the edge of her mother’s punch cup. The cup
tipped, fell against the edge of the table and rolled onto the
floor. A cataract of thick creamy fluid cascaded down onto the red
and blue border of the rug.

“Kaitlin! That was stupid. Pretty stupid. How
could you? Jessie, quick, get a sponge.”

Neil and Bett said so close together that it
sounded rehearsed, “Don’t worry, Katie, it’s all right.”

Lise ran to the kitchen.

At the end of the room where he had been
sitting alone Bill looked up from his reading. He stared
motionlessly as if waiting for something to happen. Kate, still on
her knees, feeling trapped between the table and couch and the legs
of her mother and grandmother, began to whimper. Dilly snapped her
fingers at Kate.

“Shush. Enough of that. You’ve done enough.
Give me the cup.”

When Kate hesitated Dilly said very slowly,
“Give me the cup, now. I thought so. Look. See. See here. You’ve
chipped it. You broke Granma’s cup.”

Bett interrupted.

“That’s okay, Dilly. It was an accident.”

“Accidents happen when little girls are
foolish. You…”

What Bill had been waiting for seemed to have
occurred. He got up from his chair and moved toward the couch.

“Enough. Leave her alone.”

Dilly jerked her head toward Bill.

“What are you telling me?”

“Just leave her alone. Your mother was right.
It was an accident.”

“She…”

“I mean it, Dilly. Shut up. Leave her alone.
It’s Christmas.”

Dilly’s voice rose in tone and volume.

“She’ll never learn.”

“None of us will ever learn all the lessons
you think we need.”

Bill put his hand out across the table toward
his daughter.

“I’m going for a walk. Want to come with me,
Kate?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Go wash your hands, sweetie. Get the sticky
off. I’ll get your coat.”

During Bill and Dilly’s interchange the rest
of the family drew back into a vacant-stared silence. After Bill
left the room everyone came back to life. Bett thought it looked
like a game of charades when the guessing ends and movement is
restored. Only Dilly remained frozen. Bett and Lise worked around
Dilly’s feet cleaning up the eggnog. Neil took as long as possible
at the punchbowl refilling his cup. Jessie rearranged the crèche
scene set up on the piano. Nita looked at Peter, raised her
eyebrows and gave him a half-smile. Finally Dilly said, “There’s
always someone tired at Christmas.” She left it to each of the
family to decide who she meant. Not everyone guessed the same
name.

* * *

Lise half-turned to her older brother in the
pale yellow light of late afternoon.

“God, Pete, I’m so stuffed I may seize up
somewhere along this road.”

“If you do?”

“Just leave me. I deserve my fate. It was
great though, wasn’t it?”

“Anytime anyone else is doing the cooking I
think it’s great.”

“I guess so. How long’s the Retreat closed
for?”

“A week.”

“That’s a long time for you.

“It’s been really slow anyway. It won’t hurt
that much.”

“I’m glad you did it. It’s been great seeing
you and knowing you’re not going to jump back in the car in the
next minute.”

“I’m glad I’m here. And sorry Brad isn’t. I’d
like to meet him. Dad said he was great. Really smart, but not
genius, can’t do anything but think smart.”

“He’s got family, too.”

“Have you met them?”

“No. They’re in Kentucky.”

“Are you going to anytime soon?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning is this serious?”

“Going to Kaintuck makes it serious? Who
knows. Some days it feels that way. I feel really connected. Other
days it feels like PBS. You know? Interesting stuff. Good for you.
Enlightening. But still with the urge to flip the channel to see
what else is on.”

“Because you’re bored?”

“No, not even really that. More just to see
what else is on. Don’t want to miss anything. The thing is Brad’s a
great guy.”

As she was becoming uncomfortable, Lise
asked, “What about you?”

“The usual. Clear sailing. Nothing. Nothing
going on. Nothing on the horizon. Nothing likely to be on the
horizon.”

“Is that how you want it?”

“No. But, that’s how it is.”

“Why, Pete?”

Peter took a long time to answer.

“Lise, look. It’s P-town. It’s the business.
It’s Massachusetts. It’s the hours. It’s the kids. It’s me. Mainly
me. It’s not a great package.”

“You could be wrong. Let’s cut down through
here. There’s always great sea glass out on the point.”

For the second time in less than five
minutes, Lise wanted to change the direction of their conversation.
Peter had been fifteen when she was born. By the time she was old
enough really to be aware of him, he was gone. Her earliest
memories of him were as someone home for the holidays. He had been
more guest, more an uncle, than a brother. Home from college. Home
in a uniform. Then home from the war. Wounded and wary. She really
hadn’t come to know him until when she was in her early teens. She
had spent most of three summers living with Pete, Gaby and the
boys. The first summer she had babysat Miguel and Chris while Gaby
helped out at the restaurant; however the next two summers she
worked as a dishwasher and, then, as a prep cook. It was during
those two summers that Lise came to love and respect her
brother.

When everyone in the restaurant was running
around yelling and screaming, Pete was calm. When the kitchen was
hit with a dinner rush, rather than panicking as the salad and
dessert men often did, Pete moved even faster and became more
efficient. When busboys fought with dishwashers and waiters swore
at the sous-chefs, her brother would defuse the anger with a
calming word or two. For a time Lise had admired her brother, to
the point of hero worship, for his concern, calm competency and his
gentle leadership. Four years later, seeing Peter’s anguish at the
loss of Gaby and the boys, Lise’s admiration had been tempered with
compassion. Later, her compassion had become mixed with frustration
as she watched Peter’s life tortuously coil around itself.

It was compassion which led Lise to change
the subject by turning off the road. She climbed across the field
of boulders that buffered the curve of the road from the
destructive waters of storms and high tides. She cleared the last
rocks and jumped down onto the sand. Looking back, she saw her
brother slowly making his way through the jumble of stone. His long
stops, false starts, flailing arms, and grimacing mouth were a more
descriptive rendering of his condition than his words had been. She
regretted leaving the road. Her mother’s sickness, Bill’s outburst,
her brother’s pain were making Lise feel as though too many
uncertainties were intruding in her life. Ignorance in science was
one thing.

After Pete recovered from his climbing over
the rocks, the two of them began to walk out toward the end of the
spit of beach that pushed its way deep into the cove.

“Sorry.”

“For what?”

“For taking so long.”

“Ssshhh.”

“These feet.”

Pete walked with his head down until Lise
said, “Don’t miss it. It’s too gorgeous. We can look for glass on
the way back. God, I miss the water. Looking at the Charles River
from a sealed lab window just doesn’t make it.”

“Well, at least you see what you can see. I
live surrounded by water and hardly ever remember to look.”

“You probably see other things.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe people. You always
seemed to know what was going on at the restaurant. What do you
think that was with Dilly and Bill? Was that anything?”

“I don’t know. God, she can be so tough. No
one’s allowed a mistake. It’s hard putting that on a kid. Mistakes
should be forgiven.”

Lise wished that her brother could hear
himself.

Lise mused, “Maybe it really is just
Christmas. Mom said they were supposed to be with Bill’s family
this year. Could be that, or something else.”

Peter nodded. “I imagine Dilly insisted they
be here because of Mom. Could be economic. Do you know what’s
happening with him at work? I’d think engineering firms would take
it pretty hard in a downturn, and Mass. is in a freefall. Could be…
Who knows. Could be anything.”

“Marriage?”

“Couldn’t say, Lise. Wouldn’t know. Didn’t
see my own collapse. Do you get over there much?”

“Never.”

“Never?”

“Not really.”

“Why not? What are you? A half hour
away?”

“A little more. Not much.”

“So?”

“God, Pete, I don’t know. Our lives are
pretty different. I mean what do we have in common? Except
here.”

“Nita, too?”

“A little more. We get together in the city
once in awhile. The museum has a thing in the spring where they ask
garden clubs to do arrangements that relate in some way to certain
of the museum’s paintings. We got together for that last year.”

“You should see them more.”

“I don’t know, Pete. It’s great down here. I
like it when we get together with Mom and Dad. But when I’m with
them up there I feel like a stranger, almost an intruder. There’s
no common ground. What seems weird is that all this stuff with Mom
seems to have made it worse. Rather than pulling together, we’re
being pushed even further apart. Like we need the distance for
safety until we know what’s going on. “

“I know what you’re saying, but you can get
past it. If you saw Dilly once in awhile, you might know what’s
going on.”

“Right. You know she’d never talk about
anything. You know that. Bill’s right. She’s the big sister. To
everybody.”

“She might not say, but if you were there you
could see.”

“God, look at that horseshoe crab. Of all the
things that show up on a beach they always seem to me to be the
least likely. They’re more like armadillos. I can see stumbling
over one in Arizona next to a cactus, not on the beach. Did you
ever see that bicycle helmet I made from the huge one I found
washed up at the Dondells?”

“No, and I’m certainly very sorry I missed
that. It sounds like you.”

“Actually it wasn’t for me. It was for
somebody, but I drifted away from him before the shell was ready.
I’ve still got it. You should see it. I kept the tail and painted
warding-off symbols on it. You know what? Why don’t you come to
Boston? Hang out with me a couple of days. I’ll show you the
helmet, the weird proteins I’m growing. We could do Chinatown. Eat
some Vietnamese. That’s your favorite, right? Chinatown’s half
Vietnamese now. You weren’t going to stay here the whole time
anyway were you?”