Every Last Cuckoo by Kate Maloy Page B

garlic—following, of course, the Mexican appetizer—they drank an Israeli wine and reminisced about Jonathan and his young years. He had been a funny, easy kid all his life, blessed with native optimism and an intelligent sweetness that likewise blessed his parents.
    â€œYou were so incredibly lucky,” Sarah told Vivi for at least the hundredth time. “Stephie was our only easy teenager.”
    â€œBut at least you don’t have kids today,” said Molly. “Thank God for that. It gets worse all the time, what with drugs and sex and AIDS and . . .”
    â€œWho would
be
a teenager today?” sighed Leila. “How’s Lottie handling it?”
    â€œWe only know what we see,” Charles answered her. “Which all seems okay. We do sometimes wonder what the whole story is.”
    â€œAnything in particular?” Addie prompted.
    â€œYou name it,” said Sarah. “Lottie’s friends are mostly fringe kids, arty, geeky. Bright but bored by school. There’s a lot of rebellion and acting out. Lottie’s like them but not like them.”
    â€œHer grades are good, right? And I’ve never seen her surly.” That was Peter, whose thick brows drew down to the bridge of his nose.
    â€œHa!” Sarah answered. “Believe me, Lottie gets surly! And her grades are pure ego. She likes showing that she can rebel and still outshine the preppy kids.”
    â€œWhat about drugs?” asked Molly, returning to her theme.“And sex?” Sarah thought she caught a wistful note in Molly’s voice. Had she been a wild child seventy years ago? A different world, the 1920s, but there was that
roarin’
part.
    â€œWho knows?” Sarah moaned. “I’m her grandmother, for crying out loud. I do know that the school estimates a quarter of the kids are using marijuana, or alcohol, or harder drugs. And Lottie says it’s more like
three
quarters.”
    â€œSo what’s your guess?” Vivi asked.
    Glancing a little uneasily at Charles, Sarah replied, “My guess is Lottie smokes marijuana. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t drink, because she’s allowed wine at family gatherings and always turns it down. But
God
you should see her friends! Pierced in the most painful places. Every color of hair, tons of makeup, leather and chains and studded
dog
collars of all things. Even some of the boys wear black nail polish.”
    Charles leaned back. “Don’t worry about Lottie,” he told Sarah, stretching his legs under the table. “Long as everything else is okay, it won’t hurt her to smoke a little pot now and then. Assuming she doesn’t get caught.”
    Silence fell as surprised glances traveled around the table. Sarah was about to remind Charles of the very different tune he had sung about their own children when Addie cracked up. “Charles, I’m so glad to hear you say that! Leila and I couldn’t
live
without pot. Can’t
tell
you how it helps arthritis. And migraine. Not to mention flu and cabin fever and anxiety and acid reflux.” Leila nudged Addie conspiratorially, watching the reactions of the others.
    Molly humphed. “Think you’d discovered the stuff. Bet I smoked it before the first beatnik did.” She reached into the pocket of her long skirt, searching. “Anybody want some?”
    Charles grinned and said, “Why not?” and darted a look at Sarah.
    Once again she was about to pounce on him, but suddenly the lights went out. In the darkness they could hear the wind rolling like a boulder over the roof and whistling in around the door.
    â€œWell, when did that come up?” grunted Charles, pushing his chair back and feeling his way to the cupboard that housed the kerosene lanterns and matches. He came back ghostly, carrying a soft light in each hand. The glow threw his face into relief, blackening its furrows, bathing its surfaces. The shadows leapt upward,