The Inn at Lake Devine Part 12

"Natalie?" I heard.

I looked up, projecting as much counterfeit innocence as I could in one expression.

"Do you know something we don't know?" asked Nelson.

I said, "Guys. Please. Let's change the subject. Anyone want thirds on cake?"

"We're waiting for your answer," said Nelson.

"We have our ways," said Kris. "You think we can't interrogate you till you drop?"

Had I promised the brat anything that I wasn't dying to betray? I reached for and sc.r.a.ped a few plates. Finally I said, "Would you guys beat him up or anything?"

"Us?" they said. "Chip?"

"And you don't have a lot invested in your sister's ... how shall I say this-honor?"

"She's answered it," said Nelson. "Let's not give her the satisfaction of eating out of her hand."

"Good," I said. "I'm glad you feel that way."

Nelson and Kris wheedled further: How did I know? When did it happen? Where were they?

I said, Okay, but they wouldn't tell their parents, would they?

They protested that they never told their parents anything.

I waited a few beats longer, then said only, "Okay."

"Okay what?" said Kris.

"They sneaked into my room last night."

"Your room?"

"Well, my new room. I moved my stuff into a double, and woke up around midnight to see two figures at the foot of my bed. Locked in an embrace."

"Dressed?" asked Kris.

"Do we want to know?" Nelson asked, wincing.

"Dressed to kill. At least Gretel was, in this getup-the G.o.ddess Aphrodite, in this white chiffon number-"

Nelson's expression changed. I saw something in his face that was unrelated to a big brother's chagrin over a sister's s.e.xual escapades.

"Just a nightgown," I backtracked. "Nothing scandalous."

"What did it look like?" he asked.

I proceeded carefully. "White? Like a tunic. Crisscrossed"-I traced the path quickly, clinically, on my own body-"with white satin ribbons."

Nelson looked at Kris.

Kris said, "What?"

"That doesn't ring a bell?"

"I don't know what the h.e.l.l you're talking about. I was hoping Natalie would get to the good stuff."

Nelson murmured, "Of course you weren't there."

"Where?" Kris and I asked together.

"That nightgown," he said. "It was Robin's. I mean, it was Gretel's gift to Robin at her shower. Robin loved it."

I said, No, there must be some mistake- "Gretel was packing up and returning the presents so I wouldn't have to ... so Sissy wouldn't have to."

I said, "Nelson, I had no idea-"

"Don't be ridiculous. You didn't know ..."

I said, "Except it's one more thing for you to be upset about."

He stood up, and pushed in his chair as if to a precise, reserved spot. "Would you folks mind if I turned in?"

We rushed to say, No, G.o.d no. Of course not.

"Natalie, as always, a magnificent dinner." He reached for my hand, kissed it sadly, distractedly, then walked away, his fists in his jeans pockets.

Kris directed me to a perch on the counter, outside the work zone, and coaxed me to pick up Gretel's adventure from the unfortunate junction of the repossessed gown.

Whispering in case there were princ.i.p.als or parents eavesdropping, I said, "So I wake up and I hear this sound"-I smacked my lips on the back of my hand to approximate smooching-"and I don't say anything for a few seconds, then I pipe up, from the depths of my pillow, 'Kids? Excuse me?' "

"No!" said Kris, laughing. "Did Gretel jump out of her skin?"

I shushed him. "Practically. She grabbed Chip. Meanwhile, I've turned on the light, so they know it's me, which is when Gretel starts negotiating with me. Or interpreting for me-how they couldn't sleep and had been pacing and happened to run into each other outside my room."

"Chip wasn't undressed or anything. I mean it wasn't totally embarra.s.sing, was it?"

"Pajamas." I fixed my eyes on his for comic effect and said gravely, "Thin cotton hospital pajamas."

He groaned. "And you weren't, like, embarra.s.sed? I mean, you were decent and everything?"

I said, "I was most decent. No question."

"I only asked because my family ... several times a day, it seems-me included-does something that is totally ... embarra.s.sing."

"No you don't," I said.

"I'm just picturing the whole situation, and I know Gretel, and I would put money on the fact that she made you feel as if you were the one who was trespa.s.sing."

I smiled and said, "Maybe. But I handled it."

"Who stayed? You or them?"

"Them."

He smiled. "But you had the last word?"

"d.a.m.n right," I said.

He picked up a dish towel and dried his hands. "Still, pretty brazen, huh? Leading him off to bed tonight for all the world to see. Knowing you know the whole story."

"I'm just a temporary cook," I said. "The young mistress of the house doesn't have to kowtow to the help."

He came over to where I was sitting on the linoleum counter above the cabinets. Solemnly, as if speaking for the entire ungrateful management, he said, "I want to thank you for dinner ... not just for dinner. For breakfast today, too. Especially for breakfast."

He took a step closer, so there was no room left between the toes of his sneakers and the cupboard door. Without meaning to-or at least without planning the next step-I hooked my legs around his playfully. Which led to his arms around my neck, and my arms around his waist.

"You're welcome," I said.

We would have kissed. We were a second from it, an inch, which is where things froze on Christmas night 1974. We might as well have been kissing for the effect we created, the alarm we tripped.

The well-oiled door swung inward, delivering Kris's mother for her nightly inspection. We jumped apart, but not as cleanly as we would have if our arms and legs hadn't been entwined.

Ingrid stared for a few unforgiving seconds, then hissed, "Remember tomorrow," and turned on her heels.

I jumped off the counter and sputtered, "Do you think we forgot?" at the same time Kris called, "Ma!"

The door swung hard, vibrating. If she heard us, she didn't look back.

THIRTEEN.

My parents came to the Inn an hour ahead of the service, so when Mrs. Fife couldn't go to the funeral, couldn't even be propped up, it was my mother who stayed behind with her.

Mr. Fife said, No, he couldn't endorse such a plan; it was his duty to stay if Sissy couldn't go. My mother insisted. She a.s.sured us that she'd locate what she needed-the tea bags, the scotch, the cold compresses-closing the door on our procession with a firm and competent click.

Mr. Fife, his sons, and Nelson got into the undertaker's limousine; the remaining Berrys took the van, while I drove with my father, somberly dressed in his black overcoat and the gray felt homburg that he wore only for rides to churches and to synagogues. He kept shaking his head and repeating, "That poor Sissy. That poor woman. These poor people."

I said, "It's been hanging over everyone's head for so long, they never thought this day would come."

It set my father off, as if he had been mulling over this ill-gotten delay. "Why in G.o.d's name did they wait so long?" he demanded.

"I told you-Jeff was in the hospital. They wanted him to be able to go. Then there was Christmas."

"The Jews have it right," my father said. "We bury our dead before the next sundown." He muttered, "Waiting and waiting in a strange place, away from home. It's ridiculous! It's cruel! And for what? To put a sick boy at his sister's grave? Jesus, I couldn't believe it when you told me they were waiting this long."

I said, "It seemed right when the decision was made, to have the funeral up here, where Robin wanted to be married."

"Meshugas!" my father said. He patted my hand, and I knew he was saying, I'm riled up, honey, but I didn't mean that you had anything to do with this lousy decision.

I said, "I think it's been torture for the Berrys."

"Well, isn't that too bad."

Surprised, I said, "No one complained. I just meant that it's a huge responsibility."

"They're innkeepers! They're professional hosts. Tragedies happen. You make your living inviting strangers into your home, you can't always expect it's going to be easy."

"First you say the funeral should have happened days ago, and in the next sentence you're saying, 'Too bad for the Berrys. They have to accept whatever happens under their roof.' "

"All of a sudden you admire them? You think I'm wrong to hold a grudge?"

We were at the YIELD sign that marked the end of the sh.o.r.e road and the beginning of the route to Gilbert Center. Two cars ahead of us, the limo driver, as if mindful of recent tragedies, was driving with studied slowness.

I said, "That was a different time."

"And you think people change?"

I said, "Whatever Ingrid Berry thinks of me, she hasn't pa.s.sed it down to her children." To her sons, at least, I thought.

"They'd be fools if they didn't appreciate you, with all the help you've been. They got a free cook and bottle washer, and a very nice, soothing, helpful girl, who the Fifes happen to love, so it's all very convenient. Just because you dislike someone doesn't mean you won't take advantage of her. And now, your mother."

"Mom? I thought you said that was fine."

"It's fine because there was no one else, apparently. But what kind of system is this? Your mother's practically a stranger! Where are Sissy's sisters? Her best friends?" He shook his head with deep disapproval. "The Berrys are takers, Nat. That's all I'm saying."

I said, "Dad. They invited me here as a special friend of Robin's-before anything went wrong. I couldn't leave them in the lurch."

"Who?" he asked. "Who couldn't you leave in the lurch?"

"Everyone: Mr. Fife, Sissy, Nelson, his brother."

At just that juncture, Kris, from the backseat of the van, turned around to check on us. I waved discreetly, and he waved back.

"Which one's that?" my father asked.

"Kris," I said. "Kristofer."

My father said nothing. His badly aligned tires thumped the country road. "Are you packed?" he asked me finally.