All Your Pretty Dreams by Lise McClendon Page B

Carol’s now-deceased mother, had also been
invited, along with Father Teddy. Nora held Margaret’s hands and
whispered solemnly, presumably about her crazy son. Margaret nodded
like a metronome run amok. Frances wore the same gray jeans and
blue shirt— both too short in the cuffs. Kiki had changed into a
yellow top and white slacks that set off her tan.
    “ You didn’t tell me you
played the accordion, that you’re in a band,” she said, giving
Jonny a playful smack on the shoulder that made a hot run down his
spine. “You Minnesotans are so modest. Where I come from if you
have a talent everyone knows about it before you can
spit.”
    She was from suburban
Chicago. She’d heard plenty of polka bands in her youth and was not
adverse to a swing around the floor now and then. He told her about
Lenny’s party and she was sorry to have missed it.
    “ You’ll play again, right?
The band, I mean.”
    Jonny glanced at his
mother. Was the Rose Rave still on? Margaret was helping set the
table, setting out bowls of olives. She looked composed, normal, as
if her husband wasn’t the town laughingstock, sowing his
late-middle-aged oats. “We might be doing a gig next Saturday. If
you’re still around.”
    “ Fantastic! It’s been ages
since I saw someone under the age of sixty— and frankly, worth
looking at twice— play a polka. I’ll see if we can
stay.”
    She bumped his elbow
conspiratorially. This was flirting. Jonny remembered it slightly.
He gave her an appreciative look as her glance fell to his left
hand. “Now what’s this I hear about you being married? That better
not be true.”
    “ Separated.”
    “ You look sad,” Kiki said,
peering up into his downcast eyes, a pout on her bow-shaped mouth.
“You miss her.”
    “ I’m working to make it
final.” Easy how the exaggerations flow: he hadn’t done one thing
to make the divorce a reality. And here he was meeting attractive
women. What was he waiting for?
    At dinner he had Kiki on
one side and his grandmother on the other. Nora chewed roast beef
slowly, making little conversation. Carol tried to draw her out,
asking if this year’s blueberry crop was a good one and whether
she’d had any of the college students out in her field.
    “ They spent two days in
the back acreage,” Nora said. “Counting the bees.” Kiki stifled a
giggle. Nora gave her a sharp look. “It’s a scientific study. The
more bees, the more berries. I’m curious to find out what sort of
bees I have. I’d love to have more.”
    “ I’m allergic to bee
stings,” Frances complained. “Bees attack me. I blow up like a
balloon.”
    “ Bees don’t attack,
Frances dear,” Nora said, setting down her fork. “They are
interested in nectar. And if they’re honeybees, making honey. They
are very interesting creatures. That girl— what’s her name?” Jonny
told her. “Isabel is a clever girl, so smart. I enjoyed her. She
hopes to make a career in science. We need committed people in
science, especially women. They understand the big picture so much
better than men do. How all the earth is connected. Bees are a
vital link in the food chain.”
    The others chewed silently
at this speech, looking at Nora as if they didn’t know her. Or
didn’t know she had opinions on such topics. Jonny knew but hadn’t
heard Nora expound so much in ages. Kiki raised her eyebrows and
smiled.
    “ She does wear odd
costumes,” Carol said.
    Nora harrumphed. “We need
more women in science. It’s not a fashion show.”
    An awkward pause, then
thankfully Kiki changed the subject, talking about college campuses
( los campi , she
called them charmingly) and their travels around the Midwest in an
ancient Cadillac that belonged to her mother. Ten miles to the
gallon, she said, rolling her eyes.
    “ Her father was an
astronaut,” Frances said suddenly, motioning to Kiki with a toss of
her hair. Had there been one more moon mission, he would have
walked on the lunar surface. “And made