would never win a spelling contest, either. See how easy it was. For at least five minutes she hadn’t given Scott one stray thought.
“Oh, good, here it is,” Liz said.
The New India Restaurant was a plain white building, set in the middle of a field like a barn. Beyond it, a line of yellow willow trees. A cow bellowed. Another car turned into the lot behind them. “There’s Mom.”
“I knew she’d be on time.” Liz locked the car. “Scott should show up any moment.”
“What about Jason? Is he coming?”
“I don’t think Mom invited him.”
“Oh! Tobi’s not going to like that.”
Their mother came up, combing her hair. Her blouse had pulled out of her skirt. “Hi! Am I late?”
“You can’t be late, you’re the guest of honor.” Liz tucked her blouse for her.
“Where’s Tobi?” Their mother peered into the VW. “She didn’t come with you? She didn’t come home from school?”
“Mom, let’s go in,” Liz said. “Maybe she’s here already.”
She wasn’t. The restaurant was cool, dim, and nearly empty. Pink tablecloths, the gleam of silver, bud vases, each one with a single pink carnation. A man with dark, smooth black hair bowed. “Follow me, please.” Refined English accent. They sat down and another man poured water.
“We’ll have a bottle of the house white wine,” her mother said. She glanced at her watch. “Grandma’s coming with Daddy. He could have picked Tobi up, too. What is she up to? In some ways, she’s so scatterbrained
“Tobi?” Karen said. “Mom, she’s not-”
“Well, not scatterbrained, but you know what I
mean,” she said, turning up her hands in appeal to Liz. “Just sort ofhectic?” Liz laughed. “Yeah, Tobi’s hectic, all right.” Karen drew patterns in the tablecloth with a fork. Maybe Tobi was with Jason. In his studio? She imagined it big and bare, white walls and lots of windows on the north side. Artists liked northern light. She’d always wondered why. There’d be a skylight, too, and a bed right under it so he could look up at night and see the stars. Besides the bed, maybe just a few chairs. And his easel, of course. No, not an easel; he wasn’t a painter. What did sculptors work with? Clay? Patting little balls of clay the way they used to when they were kids? Karen had never been any good at that; the only thing she could make were snakes. Maybe he was working in marble. She could imagine him in his jeans and desert boots climbing up the side of a hunk of marble, chipping away at it with a hammer. And Tobi? Where was she in this picture? Sitting on a chair, gazing up at Jason admiringly? Uh-uh! That wasn’t Tobi’s style. Washing his dirty dishes at the sink? Scratch that one, too. Try again. This time, the picture that popped into Karen’s head was of Tobi and Jason together on the bed beneath the skylight.
“Hello,” her mother said. “You found it all right.” Karen looked up. There was Scott, his hand on Liz’s shoulder, smiling around, at her mother, at her. She hadn’t even seen him approach. He wore a light blue shirt, blue and gray striped tie. Karen stared at him, stunned, half of her still in that big white loft with the skylight.
“Hello, Mrs. Freed. Happy anniversary,” Scott said. He sat down next to Liz.
A few minutes later her father and grandmother showed up. Her father a little rumpled, his shirt creased, his tie loosened, but her grandmother, as usual, elegant in a soft brimmed hat, a velvet dress with a jeweled flower spray brooch at her neck.
“Grandma, you look beautiful. You could be a model,” Liz said.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
“You all look beautiful,” her father said.
“Daddy, how courtly.”
Her father looked around the table, humming and polishing the top of his head, that little bald patchno wonder it was so shiny. “So we’re gathered here to celebrate our anniversary. Imagine that. Twenty-three years.”
“And your birthday, Arnold,” Grandma said. “A
“Oh, good, here it is,” Liz said.
The New India Restaurant was a plain white building, set in the middle of a field like a barn. Beyond it, a line of yellow willow trees. A cow bellowed. Another car turned into the lot behind them. “There’s Mom.”
“I knew she’d be on time.” Liz locked the car. “Scott should show up any moment.”
“What about Jason? Is he coming?”
“I don’t think Mom invited him.”
“Oh! Tobi’s not going to like that.”
Their mother came up, combing her hair. Her blouse had pulled out of her skirt. “Hi! Am I late?”
“You can’t be late, you’re the guest of honor.” Liz tucked her blouse for her.
“Where’s Tobi?” Their mother peered into the VW. “She didn’t come with you? She didn’t come home from school?”
“Mom, let’s go in,” Liz said. “Maybe she’s here already.”
She wasn’t. The restaurant was cool, dim, and nearly empty. Pink tablecloths, the gleam of silver, bud vases, each one with a single pink carnation. A man with dark, smooth black hair bowed. “Follow me, please.” Refined English accent. They sat down and another man poured water.
“We’ll have a bottle of the house white wine,” her mother said. She glanced at her watch. “Grandma’s coming with Daddy. He could have picked Tobi up, too. What is she up to? In some ways, she’s so scatterbrained
“Tobi?” Karen said. “Mom, she’s not-”
“Well, not scatterbrained, but you know what I
mean,” she said, turning up her hands in appeal to Liz. “Just sort ofhectic?” Liz laughed. “Yeah, Tobi’s hectic, all right.” Karen drew patterns in the tablecloth with a fork. Maybe Tobi was with Jason. In his studio? She imagined it big and bare, white walls and lots of windows on the north side. Artists liked northern light. She’d always wondered why. There’d be a skylight, too, and a bed right under it so he could look up at night and see the stars. Besides the bed, maybe just a few chairs. And his easel, of course. No, not an easel; he wasn’t a painter. What did sculptors work with? Clay? Patting little balls of clay the way they used to when they were kids? Karen had never been any good at that; the only thing she could make were snakes. Maybe he was working in marble. She could imagine him in his jeans and desert boots climbing up the side of a hunk of marble, chipping away at it with a hammer. And Tobi? Where was she in this picture? Sitting on a chair, gazing up at Jason admiringly? Uh-uh! That wasn’t Tobi’s style. Washing his dirty dishes at the sink? Scratch that one, too. Try again. This time, the picture that popped into Karen’s head was of Tobi and Jason together on the bed beneath the skylight.
“Hello,” her mother said. “You found it all right.” Karen looked up. There was Scott, his hand on Liz’s shoulder, smiling around, at her mother, at her. She hadn’t even seen him approach. He wore a light blue shirt, blue and gray striped tie. Karen stared at him, stunned, half of her still in that big white loft with the skylight.
“Hello, Mrs. Freed. Happy anniversary,” Scott said. He sat down next to Liz.
A few minutes later her father and grandmother showed up. Her father a little rumpled, his shirt creased, his tie loosened, but her grandmother, as usual, elegant in a soft brimmed hat, a velvet dress with a jeweled flower spray brooch at her neck.
“Grandma, you look beautiful. You could be a model,” Liz said.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
“You all look beautiful,” her father said.
“Daddy, how courtly.”
Her father looked around the table, humming and polishing the top of his head, that little bald patchno wonder it was so shiny. “So we’re gathered here to celebrate our anniversary. Imagine that. Twenty-three years.”
“And your birthday, Arnold,” Grandma said. “A
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