LITMIR.BIZ

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going to be here any minute,” said Florence. She took the foil off Jill’s dish. “I’ll put it in the living room on the table.”

      “It would be better to put it in the refrigerator until they come,” said Jill.

      “You’re right,” said Florence. She reversed direction and headed for the kitchen. “I’m so confused. My father won’t even be here when they come. What will I tell them?”

      Jill thought for a moment. “Just tell them he went to see one of the priests,” she said. “He’ll probably be back before they come.”

      “I hope not,” thought Jim.

      Jill and Florence made a check to see if anything had been forgotten. Sure enough, something had: extra ice. “I’ll go get some,” said Jim. He was glad to get out of the house.

      Chapter 10

      Jim was on his way through the living room to go out the front door when he heard the crunch of car tires on the gravel in the driveway. He hurried to the window and parted the curtain. It was Ralph’s car. He dashed to the kitchen. “It’s them,” he cried. “They’re here.”

      “Oh God,” said Florence softly.

      “I’d better leave,” said Jill.

      “Stay,” said Florence, casting about for support.

      “No, I’ll come in later,” she said and she went out the back.

      Nora suddenly sang, “I love you,” in a high, crooning brogue.

      Florence walked with measured, deliberate steps to the living room, and then to the foyer, and stood at the front door. Nora followed. Jim was third in line.

      The bell rang.

      Jim felt his heart would stop at the energy in the room.

      Florence wouldn’t answer the first ring. She let the seconds tick by until there was a second ring; then she reached for the knob.

      The door swung open. Ralph was in front, a big smile on his face.

      “Hi ya!”

      He swung his head forward to kiss her; she swung her head forward at the same time.

      They cracked heads, forehead on forehead, nose on nose.

      They reeled from the impact.

      “I’m sorry,” he cried. He had horror on his face. Florence laughed gaily, as if it were the most delightful thing that had happened to her all day. She held her nose. “How silly,” she said.

      “How stupid of me,” he said.

      They both paused. Florence looked at him expectantly.

      “My folks,” said Ralph. He leaped to the side to let his parents come forward. He slammed his back against the door and the door hit the wall with a heavy thud.

      “I want you to meet my folks.”

      “Ralph, I’ve met your parents already.”

      “Of course,” he replied.

      Florence took the mother’s hand. “Mrs. Spaulding,” she said softly.

      “You’re all welcome,” Nora cried from the rear.

      Florence kissed Mrs. Spaulding. She looked to Jim to be a pleasant-enough middle-aged woman. In answer to the greetings, she widened her eyes, and fluted her mouth and said, “Oh, oh.”

      Florence turned to the father. “Mr. Spaulding.” She put one hand under his, and another over, and got him in a sandwich grip to kiss him.

      “You’re all welcome!” cried Aunt Nora from the back.

      Mr. Spaulding, tall and thin, stepped inside the doorway, and gave everyone a lopsided grin. He had a question-mark frame, stooped at the shoulders.

      Florence had the aunt now. “Aunt Anita.” As she was embraced and kissed, Aunt Anita tried to look inoffensive. She was a gray-haired woman, with a grin-and-bear-it smile.

      “You’re all welcome,” boomed Aunt Nora.

      Florence, Jim and Nora back-pedaled slowly into the living room. The Spauldings came forward. Everyone was talking.

      Aunt Nora was introduced. “You’re welcome,” she cried.

      It was Jim’s turn. Florence took his arm. “This is my brother, Jim.”

      “Well,” said Ralph’s mother. “Well,” she repeated. Her mouth was in the fluted position as she said it. Each time she spoke she widened her eyes.

      “Ralph told us about you,” she said to Jim. “He says you look just like your father.”

      Jim stammered an incoherent answer. The reference to the father was a cue for the Spauldings to look around for the father.

      Florence got a panicky look. “Dad should be back soon. He said he was going to be here at three. He should be back, shouldn’t he, Jim?”

      So she had thrown the hot potato to him. “I think so.” There was an awkward moment. Jim cast about for something to say in excuse for his father’s absence, anything. “He probably stopped in at church.”

      Florence seized at it. “Yes, he probably stopped in church.”

      Mrs. Spaulding looked puzzled.

      Jim elaborated. “He probably went to a novena.”

      He said this before he realized what he was saying. There was an element of truth in his father stopping in church, for he often did on a Sunday afternoon, to sit in the pew and look up at the tabernacle. But the idea of his going to a novena, with the elderly ladies, was impossible.

      “Isn’t that nice?” said Aunt Anita. “I make the novena of the Holy Souls every Tuesday night.”

      “Ralph, why don’t we have a drink?” cried Florence.

      “Swell,” said Ralph.

      Jim felt awful. He went to the kitchen ahead of Ralph. Then he went to the backyard. He had destroyed the whole occasion. The father should have been there at the door. What must they think?

      He went next door to the Connollys. He was still caught in the panic of the arrival scene. He wasn’t sure what he was doing. But he had a vague idea that, if he could do something about Uncle Arthur, then perhaps the situation wouldn’t be so bad for the rest of the afternoon. He would check on Uncle Arthur.

      Anyway, he just had to get away for a few minutes.

      Chapter 11

      “They’re here,” said Jim to Cricket in the Connollys’ living room. Cricket was watching the Yankees game.

      “I saw them from the window,” said Cricket. “I hate old ladies.”

      “You’re coming, aren’t you?”

      “Do we have a choice?”

      “No.”

      “I’ll wait a while,” said Cricket.

      Jim found Harold on the screened-off porch in front, working on his stamp books. He was slim-figured, and small, like his father, though he didn’t have his father’s fragile good looks. He was even a bit monkey-faced, with a long stretch of skin from his nose to his mouth. In his manner, he was supercilious, and obnoxious, or so it seemed to Jim. “Are you coming over to the dinner?”

      “Oh yes. I’ve heard that we’re supposed to have a festive belt-loosening this afternoon.”

      “Are you coming?”

      “I don’t know,” said Harold, pondering his answer, as if the world were waiting.

      “Don’t put yourself out,” said Jim. He

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