the night of Susan’s scheduled flight to London, disrupting her travel plans.
Ellen invited her home for Sunday brunch on December 13th, the anniversary of Serge’s death. Her husband, Jed, a K Street lobbyist for one of the banks, was in charge of the kitchen that morning.
“Looking forward to Christmas?” Jed asked, chewing gum and handing her a cup of coffee. He was preparing a pile of blueberry pancakes, spooning the mixture onto the stove from a mixing bowl. Ellen was taking care of the twins, holding one with each hand as they trotted unsteadily round the kitchen like string puppets. Susan perched on a stool by the counter.
“Sort of. Not really. It’s a bit of a schlepp to my mother’s on the coast, and my daughter’s doing her own thing,” she said. “And as Ellen probably told you, there’s a cloud hanging over the family. So it won’t exactly be festive.”
“Sure,” Jed said. “So you’re going to France as well?”
“I kind of feel obliged to see Serge’s family. His brother lives in Rennes, he’s a chemist.”
“What, chemistry?”
“No, drugstore. Problem is I think he helps himself to a few too many of his drugs.”
“You mean he’s an addict?”
“More a hypochondriac. There’s always something the matter with him, so he self-medicates.”
“Oh, man. And are you done with all the paperwork now?”
“I’m not sure. That’s another reason I need to travel to France, their family notary was handling all that, but it should be pretty straightforward. It just takes time.” She turned to Ellen. “So which of these lovely boys is Darren, and which is David? They both look so much like you, by the way.”
“Jed says they’ve got my nose, poor things,” said Ellen. “This one in blue dungarees is Darren. And this little fellow is David.”
“They’ve got Jed’s chin though,” Susan said. Jed, stroking his square jaw, grinned from behind the kitchen counter. “They’re a year old now, right?”
“Fifteen months exactly.”
Susan got down on her knees to play. “They’re such fun at this age,” she said. “I remember when Mimi learned to walk. Oh for the days when she couldn’t answer back!”
“Don’t you believe it,” Ellen said. “Once one of them starts emptying his lungs, the other follows suit straight away.”
Jed gave her a lift back to the Metro after brunch, and she asked how his firm was doing after the banking collapse last year.
“Let’s just say it was bad,” he said in a Texan drawl, lingering on bad as he checked the rear view. “It’s tough right now. Customers hate us, and blame the banks for the recession.”
“I guess that’s where DeKripps is recession proof,” said Susan. “Even in a crisis, people love sweets. And of course the worse people feel, the more they eat.”
“Did you prove that in focus groups?”
“No, but others have.”
“Seriously, do you mind if I ask you something? It’s about Ellen. Do you think she’s working too hard?”
“Why?”
“She’s listless. Distracted when she gets home. She’s usually as focused as a laser beam.”
“Did she say anything about Barney?”
“Of course,” he said.
“Do you think she’s under too much pressure from him?”
“Could be. It’s this new product, right?”
“It’s in development stage right now. Our department is going to be under a lot more pressure once it launches. We’re the ones who have to sell it. But I’ll make sure Ellen’s okay. She’s got my back too.”
“Thanks. Appreciate it.” But she could see he was hoping for more.
*
Susan was restless on the flight to London. She clicked through the movies on offer but couldn’t make up her mind. When the flight attendant brought drinks, she picked up her can of tomato juice and examined the Nutrition Facts on the side, squinting at the print size which seemed to be even tinier than usual. The ‘one hundred percent’ tomato juice contained nine grams of sugar. Well, if
Ellen invited her home for Sunday brunch on December 13th, the anniversary of Serge’s death. Her husband, Jed, a K Street lobbyist for one of the banks, was in charge of the kitchen that morning.
“Looking forward to Christmas?” Jed asked, chewing gum and handing her a cup of coffee. He was preparing a pile of blueberry pancakes, spooning the mixture onto the stove from a mixing bowl. Ellen was taking care of the twins, holding one with each hand as they trotted unsteadily round the kitchen like string puppets. Susan perched on a stool by the counter.
“Sort of. Not really. It’s a bit of a schlepp to my mother’s on the coast, and my daughter’s doing her own thing,” she said. “And as Ellen probably told you, there’s a cloud hanging over the family. So it won’t exactly be festive.”
“Sure,” Jed said. “So you’re going to France as well?”
“I kind of feel obliged to see Serge’s family. His brother lives in Rennes, he’s a chemist.”
“What, chemistry?”
“No, drugstore. Problem is I think he helps himself to a few too many of his drugs.”
“You mean he’s an addict?”
“More a hypochondriac. There’s always something the matter with him, so he self-medicates.”
“Oh, man. And are you done with all the paperwork now?”
“I’m not sure. That’s another reason I need to travel to France, their family notary was handling all that, but it should be pretty straightforward. It just takes time.” She turned to Ellen. “So which of these lovely boys is Darren, and which is David? They both look so much like you, by the way.”
“Jed says they’ve got my nose, poor things,” said Ellen. “This one in blue dungarees is Darren. And this little fellow is David.”
“They’ve got Jed’s chin though,” Susan said. Jed, stroking his square jaw, grinned from behind the kitchen counter. “They’re a year old now, right?”
“Fifteen months exactly.”
Susan got down on her knees to play. “They’re such fun at this age,” she said. “I remember when Mimi learned to walk. Oh for the days when she couldn’t answer back!”
“Don’t you believe it,” Ellen said. “Once one of them starts emptying his lungs, the other follows suit straight away.”
Jed gave her a lift back to the Metro after brunch, and she asked how his firm was doing after the banking collapse last year.
“Let’s just say it was bad,” he said in a Texan drawl, lingering on bad as he checked the rear view. “It’s tough right now. Customers hate us, and blame the banks for the recession.”
“I guess that’s where DeKripps is recession proof,” said Susan. “Even in a crisis, people love sweets. And of course the worse people feel, the more they eat.”
“Did you prove that in focus groups?”
“No, but others have.”
“Seriously, do you mind if I ask you something? It’s about Ellen. Do you think she’s working too hard?”
“Why?”
“She’s listless. Distracted when she gets home. She’s usually as focused as a laser beam.”
“Did she say anything about Barney?”
“Of course,” he said.
“Do you think she’s under too much pressure from him?”
“Could be. It’s this new product, right?”
“It’s in development stage right now. Our department is going to be under a lot more pressure once it launches. We’re the ones who have to sell it. But I’ll make sure Ellen’s okay. She’s got my back too.”
“Thanks. Appreciate it.” But she could see he was hoping for more.
*
Susan was restless on the flight to London. She clicked through the movies on offer but couldn’t make up her mind. When the flight attendant brought drinks, she picked up her can of tomato juice and examined the Nutrition Facts on the side, squinting at the print size which seemed to be even tinier than usual. The ‘one hundred percent’ tomato juice contained nine grams of sugar. Well, if
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