imagined, after a day spent dealing with an old bat like herself. Glorious didn’t complain about helping Nona. She was relaxed and seemed actually happy about everything. Still, Nona felt guilty about keeping Glorious later than six o’clock. It made a long day for Glorious, and of course Nona paid her well, but still she hated to be a bother. Nona never liked being a bother.
So even before Charlotte had come to live in the house, Nona had hit upon a routine that satisfied her. She simply retired at six o’clock. She brushed her long white hair, braided it, and tied the braid with a plaid grosgrain ribbon. She cleaned her teeth, set her bridge into a glass of denture cleaner, and washed and creamed her face. She slipped into one of her flannel nightgowns and settled into bed, resting in the clever chair pillow Glorious had given her one Christmas. Its back was soft and plump and Nona could rest her tired arms on the arms of the pillow. That done, Glorious would settle the bed tray over Nona’s lap, and on the tray was Glorious’s latest splendid culinary effort for Nona’s dinner. Also, a glass of red wine. Also, the remote control. Glorious would kiss Nona on the forehead and hurry downstairs. Soon a friend would come by for her in a rackety old car and Glorious would go giggling out the front door into the evening. Nona would eat, watch the news, and shout her opinions at the overly groomed newscasters, and sometimes she watched her favorite television shows: As Time Goes By. Keeping Up Appearances. Masterpiece Theater. Often, she read. And more and more often, she dozed. She seldom slept for more than four hours straight anymore. She was amazed at what sorts of things one could see on the television at three in the morning.
When Charlotte moved in, she made it clear she didn’t want to alter Nona’s routine. Of course Nona could hear Charlotte rattling around the big old house, preparing herself a meal—the aromas drifting temptingly up the stairs—or talking on her cell phone, or leaving the house and returning later after a movie or a meal with a friend. Nona enjoyed those signs of life. Somehow they had tacitly agreed that Charlotte would greet her grandmother in the morning but not at night. It had to do, Nona thought, with the fact that she didn’t like her family to see her without all her teeth.
It was not just vanity. It was also about dignity and, more than that, about power.
Every summer of her life since she was twenty-three, Nona had spent in this house surrounded by family. The summers had been splendid when she was young. When she had energy. She’d run the house, raised her children, and found time to go sailing or play agame of tennis. She’d orchestrated birthday parties, Fourth of July celebrations, clambakes for seventy.
But not until five years ago, when Herb died, had she been responsible for Family Meeting.
No one could ever call Nona self-effacing. But there truly was a generational difference in the way wives responded to their husbands. When Nona was a bride, women were more submissive. That was simply the way the world was. Nona wasn’t responsible for that and she would not accept any kind of guilt. In turn, she did not try to judge or condemn her daughter-in-law Helen for Helen’s attitude toward Worth. In fact, she admired Helen and thought Helen handled Worth pretty well. Worth was a lot to handle. He was the most handsome of Herb and Nona’s children, and the one who shouldered the inheritance of the bank. Of the three children, he was the achiever, bright, charming, ambitious, and political.
Worth and his younger brother, Bobby, had always fought—there were only two years between them. Perhaps Bobby would have been more rebellious or perhaps he would have straightened out. No one would ever know. Bobby had been killed in Vietnam in 1970.
One thing Nona was certain of, although she never had spoken of this with anyone, was that Worth’s sense of family
So even before Charlotte had come to live in the house, Nona had hit upon a routine that satisfied her. She simply retired at six o’clock. She brushed her long white hair, braided it, and tied the braid with a plaid grosgrain ribbon. She cleaned her teeth, set her bridge into a glass of denture cleaner, and washed and creamed her face. She slipped into one of her flannel nightgowns and settled into bed, resting in the clever chair pillow Glorious had given her one Christmas. Its back was soft and plump and Nona could rest her tired arms on the arms of the pillow. That done, Glorious would settle the bed tray over Nona’s lap, and on the tray was Glorious’s latest splendid culinary effort for Nona’s dinner. Also, a glass of red wine. Also, the remote control. Glorious would kiss Nona on the forehead and hurry downstairs. Soon a friend would come by for her in a rackety old car and Glorious would go giggling out the front door into the evening. Nona would eat, watch the news, and shout her opinions at the overly groomed newscasters, and sometimes she watched her favorite television shows: As Time Goes By. Keeping Up Appearances. Masterpiece Theater. Often, she read. And more and more often, she dozed. She seldom slept for more than four hours straight anymore. She was amazed at what sorts of things one could see on the television at three in the morning.
When Charlotte moved in, she made it clear she didn’t want to alter Nona’s routine. Of course Nona could hear Charlotte rattling around the big old house, preparing herself a meal—the aromas drifting temptingly up the stairs—or talking on her cell phone, or leaving the house and returning later after a movie or a meal with a friend. Nona enjoyed those signs of life. Somehow they had tacitly agreed that Charlotte would greet her grandmother in the morning but not at night. It had to do, Nona thought, with the fact that she didn’t like her family to see her without all her teeth.
It was not just vanity. It was also about dignity and, more than that, about power.
Every summer of her life since she was twenty-three, Nona had spent in this house surrounded by family. The summers had been splendid when she was young. When she had energy. She’d run the house, raised her children, and found time to go sailing or play agame of tennis. She’d orchestrated birthday parties, Fourth of July celebrations, clambakes for seventy.
But not until five years ago, when Herb died, had she been responsible for Family Meeting.
No one could ever call Nona self-effacing. But there truly was a generational difference in the way wives responded to their husbands. When Nona was a bride, women were more submissive. That was simply the way the world was. Nona wasn’t responsible for that and she would not accept any kind of guilt. In turn, she did not try to judge or condemn her daughter-in-law Helen for Helen’s attitude toward Worth. In fact, she admired Helen and thought Helen handled Worth pretty well. Worth was a lot to handle. He was the most handsome of Herb and Nona’s children, and the one who shouldered the inheritance of the bank. Of the three children, he was the achiever, bright, charming, ambitious, and political.
Worth and his younger brother, Bobby, had always fought—there were only two years between them. Perhaps Bobby would have been more rebellious or perhaps he would have straightened out. No one would ever know. Bobby had been killed in Vietnam in 1970.
One thing Nona was certain of, although she never had spoken of this with anyone, was that Worth’s sense of family
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