caddy?”
“A thing you put TEA leaves in,” said Dorothy, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.
Dave went to the corner store to buy loose tea. Morley went to the basement in search of an old Brown Betty.
“And a tea cozy,” said Dorothy after Morley. “We’ll need a tea cozy.”
“And a cup and saucer,” she added, more to herself than to anyone else.
Then she looked up and smiled at Sam and Stephanie.
“I want to get one of those hats that Canadian snowboarder wore at the Olympics,” she said.
“He was disqualified,” said Sam. “For drugs.”
“For marijuana, ” corrected Dorothy, reaching for a piece of dry toast. “Marijuana would not have helped his performance one bit .”
Stephanie smiled at her aunt for the first time. “I’ll take you shopping,” she said.
When they were on the subway, Stephanie asked, “What is a tea caddy anyway?”
“It’s a metal tin with a hinged lid,” said Dorothy. “And a little silver spoon that says Best Wishes from Skegness.”
An hour later Dorothy and Stephanie were standing in front of a mirror in a downtown clothing store. They each had a Canadian Olympic team hat pulled tightly down on their head. There was a bulge of red skin, like a rim, protruding from under Dorothy’s hat and running across her forehead.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“Great,” said Stephanie.
Dorothy was scowling. She was alternately fiddling with the angle of the hat and the angle of the mirror.
“I never look good in hats,” she said, shaking her head. She pushed Stephanie playfully on the shoulder. “But that snowboarder sure was drop-dead gorgeous.”
That night Dorothy came home from the convention with a Due South poster and a Polaroid snapshot. She passed the photo around at dinner.
In the picture she had her arms around a large husky.
Dave glanced at the picture and handed it to Stephanie. When he looked back at Dorothy he noticed dog hairs on her blouse.
“A nice dog,” she said. “I was thinking I could get one like him back home.”
When they were finished eating, Morley brewed tea. She made a fuss of warming the pot before she added the boiling water. Then she self-consciously counted each teaspoon of tea leaves aloud so Dorothy could see she was doing everything properly.
“. . . three, four and one for the pot.”
After the tea had steeped for four uncomfortable minutes, Morley picked up the pot with a flourish and began to pour the steaming mahogany liquid into the china cup she had borrowed from Gerta Lowbeer.
Dorothy waited until she finished.
“My dear,” she said. “We ALWAYS put the MILK in first.”
Then she looked across the table at Stephanie. “If you don’t put the MILK in FIRST, you could CRACK the cup.”
Dave tried to show her around town.
He suggested a museum of Canadian art. He tried a historical tour. She wasn’t the least interested.
“Do you know where they shot the headquarters?” she asked. “Do you know where his apartment is?”
Every night she had things to show them at dinner, more photos, souvenirs she had bought. And stories of her fellow conventioneers.
“I met a girl from the Philippines,” she said.
Dorothy had spooned a mound of mashed potatoes onto her plate and was using her fork to work a wedge of butter the size of a cookie into the middle of the pile. Sam watched in awe as she turned her potatoes into something that looked more like pudding than vegetable.
“Her mother is dying of cancer,” she said.
She was eating and talking. Loading her fork with potatoes and meat, waving it in the air while she talked and then popping it in her mouth during pauses when she might otherwise have breathed.
“It’s funny,” she said. “I have watched some of the programs fifteen times. I have them on tape. You get to know the dialogue.
“There is a show when Benny, he’s the Mountie, when Benny is shot in the leg. At the end his friend Ray is teasing him. And Benny says,
“A thing you put TEA leaves in,” said Dorothy, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.
Dave went to the corner store to buy loose tea. Morley went to the basement in search of an old Brown Betty.
“And a tea cozy,” said Dorothy after Morley. “We’ll need a tea cozy.”
“And a cup and saucer,” she added, more to herself than to anyone else.
Then she looked up and smiled at Sam and Stephanie.
“I want to get one of those hats that Canadian snowboarder wore at the Olympics,” she said.
“He was disqualified,” said Sam. “For drugs.”
“For marijuana, ” corrected Dorothy, reaching for a piece of dry toast. “Marijuana would not have helped his performance one bit .”
Stephanie smiled at her aunt for the first time. “I’ll take you shopping,” she said.
When they were on the subway, Stephanie asked, “What is a tea caddy anyway?”
“It’s a metal tin with a hinged lid,” said Dorothy. “And a little silver spoon that says Best Wishes from Skegness.”
An hour later Dorothy and Stephanie were standing in front of a mirror in a downtown clothing store. They each had a Canadian Olympic team hat pulled tightly down on their head. There was a bulge of red skin, like a rim, protruding from under Dorothy’s hat and running across her forehead.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“Great,” said Stephanie.
Dorothy was scowling. She was alternately fiddling with the angle of the hat and the angle of the mirror.
“I never look good in hats,” she said, shaking her head. She pushed Stephanie playfully on the shoulder. “But that snowboarder sure was drop-dead gorgeous.”
That night Dorothy came home from the convention with a Due South poster and a Polaroid snapshot. She passed the photo around at dinner.
In the picture she had her arms around a large husky.
Dave glanced at the picture and handed it to Stephanie. When he looked back at Dorothy he noticed dog hairs on her blouse.
“A nice dog,” she said. “I was thinking I could get one like him back home.”
When they were finished eating, Morley brewed tea. She made a fuss of warming the pot before she added the boiling water. Then she self-consciously counted each teaspoon of tea leaves aloud so Dorothy could see she was doing everything properly.
“. . . three, four and one for the pot.”
After the tea had steeped for four uncomfortable minutes, Morley picked up the pot with a flourish and began to pour the steaming mahogany liquid into the china cup she had borrowed from Gerta Lowbeer.
Dorothy waited until she finished.
“My dear,” she said. “We ALWAYS put the MILK in first.”
Then she looked across the table at Stephanie. “If you don’t put the MILK in FIRST, you could CRACK the cup.”
Dave tried to show her around town.
He suggested a museum of Canadian art. He tried a historical tour. She wasn’t the least interested.
“Do you know where they shot the headquarters?” she asked. “Do you know where his apartment is?”
Every night she had things to show them at dinner, more photos, souvenirs she had bought. And stories of her fellow conventioneers.
“I met a girl from the Philippines,” she said.
Dorothy had spooned a mound of mashed potatoes onto her plate and was using her fork to work a wedge of butter the size of a cookie into the middle of the pile. Sam watched in awe as she turned her potatoes into something that looked more like pudding than vegetable.
“Her mother is dying of cancer,” she said.
She was eating and talking. Loading her fork with potatoes and meat, waving it in the air while she talked and then popping it in her mouth during pauses when she might otherwise have breathed.
“It’s funny,” she said. “I have watched some of the programs fifteen times. I have them on tape. You get to know the dialogue.
“There is a show when Benny, he’s the Mountie, when Benny is shot in the leg. At the end his friend Ray is teasing him. And Benny says,
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