Perfect Family by Pam Lewis Page A

was fine. Maybe she hadn’t been trying to get to that broken link. Not to anything at all but from something. Or someone. Someone had called her from a pay phone in Burlington. Who the hell had it been?
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    The mourners kept coming with hands to be shaken and cheeks to be offered. He caught glimpses of Pony, her pale profile sleeping through all this. Everything was surreal. The sounds, the murmurs, the muted colors. Pony’s friends were coming toward him. Lulu Garner, Carolla Lyon, and Katherine Nicely. The three little kittens.Summer after summer they’d practically lived at Fond du Lac, sleeping over many nights, giggling into the wee hours, spying on William. Now they were dressed in black and drained of color, their cheeks cool as they leaned up to accept his kiss.
    Katherine lingered. She was a square-faced girl with long pale hair, the kindest and smartest of Pony’s friends, a second-year med student at Columbia, he’d heard. She pressed her face into his chest. “William, I need to see you later. There’s something I want to show you. I’ll be at the lake most of the summer.”
    His father’s loud voice erupted from the other room, cutting through the reverential quiet. At the same time, he saw Tinker bearing down on him, her face twisted in dismay. “Do something,” she hissed at him. “It’s Minerva!”
    In the larger room, his aunt Minerva seemed to be hanging from his father’s arm, like a brightly feathered bird attacking much larger prey. His father stood head and shoulders above her, trying to shake her off.
    â€œThis is exactly the time and the place, Jasper.” Minerva was tiny, dressed in layers and layers, more clothes than person. She had a theatrical voice, one that carried. She and his father were in a cleared space like a pair of dancers. His father said something. “I will not keep my voice down,” she said, louder than before, seeming to give him a small push. William’s father dusted his sleeve and shot his cuffs. He said something else to her angrily and walked off.
    William smiled. He hadn’t known Minerva was here, and her presence lifted his spirits. She was his mother’s much older sister, eccentric and wonderful. She used to come up to the lake in a taxi from New York, and there was always great fanfare when she arrived, the bright yellow cab appearing through the trees and Minerva stepping out in her weird attire, laden down with ancient luggage and gifts for all the children. And always the expectation that something would happen. Each evening during her visit, Minerva and William’s mother had walked arm in arm along the dirt road, his mother leaning down, their heads together, talking. When Minervawas around, William’s mother seemed to have new energy. The sisters adored each other.
    Upon seeing William now, Minerva broke into a wide smile, rushed toward him, and tipped her papery cheek up for a kiss. “William, my dear,” she said.
    He was struck by her scent. Gardenia. He guided her to some chairs nearby. She took his hand. Hers were cold and delicate. “I’ve been watching you,” she said.
    â€œI hope I’ve behaved.” He grinned at her.
    She squeezed his hand. “You never do.”
    â€œWhat was that all about with Dad?” he asked.
    â€œYour father being your father.” She gave him a conspiratorial smile. “He’s a stubborn man.”
    â€œHe sounded angry.”
    â€œI’m sure he was,” she said. Her skin was whitened with powder, her mouth a shock of red lipstick. Her watery blue eyes were rimmed darkly in black. She was wearing blouses in pale and ruffled fabrics with various frilled necklines and cuffs. And she had on many skirts in frothy pastels, shrouding her legs and feet, like a peony. Pony had always defended Minerva. “It’s her style,” she would say. “Her flair.” But Minerva exasperated