neighborhood—
“Yes,” said Geraldine Briggs. “Yes perhaps. Other stories?” A woman rose to describe an occasion on which Rita had cried upon hearing of the death of a young person.
Another woman rose and told of Rita’s refusal to accept money from a person ill able to afford a workshop.
Another woman rose and spoke of her friendship with Rita during the Ming Dynasty.
It was not clear what sort of story besides Mr. Aldren’s would have pleased Geraldine Briggs; certainly few of these stories did. But having opened the door, she was powerless to close it. The anecdotes poured out, ranging from the sentimental to the borderline insane, and their accreting weight slowly unmanned Louis, uncrossing his arms and bowing his shoulders, until finally he went and sat down by his father. His father seemed to be having a grand time, tossing his head back in delight, feasting on the dismal confessions as though they were popcorn. He went so far as to frown at Geraldine Briggs when, for the third time, she said, “Well, if there are no more . . .” She paused. It finally seemed as if there really might be no more. “If there are no more stories I think we’ll—” But yet again she was forced to stop, because Melanie had sprung to her feet.
Melanie smiled prettily, twisting her head around to meet as many eyes as possible, leaning back to catch a few more. The only ones she avoided were her family’s.
“I knew Rita Kernaghan, too,” she said. “And I wanted to tell you all that I firmly believe she’s already reincarnated! I believe she’s now . . . a parakeet! Isn’t that marvelous?” She clasped her hands in front of her and swung them like a happy girl. “I just wanted to tell you all how marvelous I think it is that she’s a parakeet now, how simply marvelous. That’s all I have to say!” With an unfortunate little wiggle of her bottom, and with one hand on her hat to keep it on, she dropped back down between her protectors, Mr. Aldren and Mr. Tabscott. The protectors traded smirks. The drab crowd, with dawning outrage, turned to Geraldine Briggs for guidance, but she appeared to have something urgent to say to the pianist. Eileen and Peter were whispering and nodding, maturely pretending not to have particularly noticed what Melanie said. The crowd began to murmur: Honor the dead! Honor the dead!
Louis was looking at his father, who in turn was looking at his wife. Once the surprise had faded there was nothing ramused or affectionate or even angry in Bob’s expression. It was pure disappointed disapproval. And, as such, an expression that only love could sponsor. He would have looked exactly the same if Melanie had said, “I’m being unfaithful. That’s all I have to say!”
The pianist had struck up a New Age melody, cosmic and burbling. “PEOPLE!” Geraldine Briggs shouted. “People, people, people. We have now heard BOTH sides, the glad and the unenlightened. So let us now go forth into the world with GLADDENED HEARTS AND SOBERED MINDS. REMEMBER THE ENVELOPES. AMEN!”
The drab men and women rose. As they headed for the refreshments they slowed and walked in half circles around Melanie like sullen, beaten hounds. She smiled and nodded to them all as she chatted with Messrs. Tabscott and Aldren and Stoorhuys, these favored hounds crowding around her. Soon Louis and his father were the only people still sitting.
“Sweeting-Aldren?” Louis said.
“Nature’s helpers. Herbicides, pigments, textiles.”
“Mom has something to do with them now?”
“You could put it that way.”
“She was so rude.”
“Don’t judge her, Lou. There’s no reason for you to trust me on this, but please don’t judge her. Will you do me that favor?” Coquettish was the only word for the way in which Melanie was accepting an ordinary cup of coffee from Mr. Stoorhuys, pretending to be tempted against her better judgment. “I thought I was going to scream ,” she went on to Mr. Aldren. For one brief
“Yes,” said Geraldine Briggs. “Yes perhaps. Other stories?” A woman rose to describe an occasion on which Rita had cried upon hearing of the death of a young person.
Another woman rose and told of Rita’s refusal to accept money from a person ill able to afford a workshop.
Another woman rose and spoke of her friendship with Rita during the Ming Dynasty.
It was not clear what sort of story besides Mr. Aldren’s would have pleased Geraldine Briggs; certainly few of these stories did. But having opened the door, she was powerless to close it. The anecdotes poured out, ranging from the sentimental to the borderline insane, and their accreting weight slowly unmanned Louis, uncrossing his arms and bowing his shoulders, until finally he went and sat down by his father. His father seemed to be having a grand time, tossing his head back in delight, feasting on the dismal confessions as though they were popcorn. He went so far as to frown at Geraldine Briggs when, for the third time, she said, “Well, if there are no more . . .” She paused. It finally seemed as if there really might be no more. “If there are no more stories I think we’ll—” But yet again she was forced to stop, because Melanie had sprung to her feet.
Melanie smiled prettily, twisting her head around to meet as many eyes as possible, leaning back to catch a few more. The only ones she avoided were her family’s.
“I knew Rita Kernaghan, too,” she said. “And I wanted to tell you all that I firmly believe she’s already reincarnated! I believe she’s now . . . a parakeet! Isn’t that marvelous?” She clasped her hands in front of her and swung them like a happy girl. “I just wanted to tell you all how marvelous I think it is that she’s a parakeet now, how simply marvelous. That’s all I have to say!” With an unfortunate little wiggle of her bottom, and with one hand on her hat to keep it on, she dropped back down between her protectors, Mr. Aldren and Mr. Tabscott. The protectors traded smirks. The drab crowd, with dawning outrage, turned to Geraldine Briggs for guidance, but she appeared to have something urgent to say to the pianist. Eileen and Peter were whispering and nodding, maturely pretending not to have particularly noticed what Melanie said. The crowd began to murmur: Honor the dead! Honor the dead!
Louis was looking at his father, who in turn was looking at his wife. Once the surprise had faded there was nothing ramused or affectionate or even angry in Bob’s expression. It was pure disappointed disapproval. And, as such, an expression that only love could sponsor. He would have looked exactly the same if Melanie had said, “I’m being unfaithful. That’s all I have to say!”
The pianist had struck up a New Age melody, cosmic and burbling. “PEOPLE!” Geraldine Briggs shouted. “People, people, people. We have now heard BOTH sides, the glad and the unenlightened. So let us now go forth into the world with GLADDENED HEARTS AND SOBERED MINDS. REMEMBER THE ENVELOPES. AMEN!”
The drab men and women rose. As they headed for the refreshments they slowed and walked in half circles around Melanie like sullen, beaten hounds. She smiled and nodded to them all as she chatted with Messrs. Tabscott and Aldren and Stoorhuys, these favored hounds crowding around her. Soon Louis and his father were the only people still sitting.
“Sweeting-Aldren?” Louis said.
“Nature’s helpers. Herbicides, pigments, textiles.”
“Mom has something to do with them now?”
“You could put it that way.”
“She was so rude.”
“Don’t judge her, Lou. There’s no reason for you to trust me on this, but please don’t judge her. Will you do me that favor?” Coquettish was the only word for the way in which Melanie was accepting an ordinary cup of coffee from Mr. Stoorhuys, pretending to be tempted against her better judgment. “I thought I was going to scream ,” she went on to Mr. Aldren. For one brief
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