Shadow can play. He’ll never be a football player either, although he might make a good tackle. Let’s play three-cornered Frisbee.”
“You know the weakness of that idea,” Bob said, fishing the Frisbee out of the bag.
“Yeah, I know. Shadow can’t throw,” Bren said, “but he deserves a break. Come on.”
They spent the rest of the morning throwing and catching things. Bren thought it was one of the better mornings of his life.
In the early afternoon they wandered south to the shores of another lake in a part of the park where there was more to eat and drink. It had grown quite hot. Bob bought hot dogs and Cokes, and they flopped in the shade by the water.
“So how’s your mother and all the other strange ladies?” Bob asked, after a period of peaceful munching.
“Mom’s fine,” Bren said, and paused. He really didn’t want the conversation that now seemed inevitable. “They’re all fine,” he added reluctantly. “They’re a lot like they were when you saw them last except Madame Lavatky, who is happier, I think. She reached high C, or so she says. Nice for her, but a bit hard on the rest of us.”
“Your mother is a saint to put up with that screeching,” Bob said, and then laughed. “That’s a good one. Miranda the saint. I never thought of her in quite that way before.”
“She may not be a saint,” Bren said. “Who wants a saint for a mother anyway? But she does put up with a lot, and it’s a big house. Full of women,” he added bitterly.
“That’s subtle, Bren,” his father said.
“It wasn’t meant to be. Come on, Dad. I can’t believe you really like living in that beehive all by yourself.”
“When I could have such stimulating company in the House of Usher?” Bob asked. “You’d better believe I do.”
Bren was silent, staring out across the lake, thinking that his perfect day was taking a turn for the worse. Finally he muttered, “Well, I want you to come back, and so does Mom, in case you hadn’t noticed, but I guess you couldn’t care less.”
“Look, Bren,” his father said, “I love your mother, okay? Got that?” Bren nodded gloomily. “But she just doesn’t keep a tight enough ship for me. I can’t get up in the morning and find a baby bat in my shoe—one of my Gucci shoes—and then find that someone’s been monkeying with my shaving cream. My whole face turned green, for Christ’s sake, at seven o’clock in the morning.” The ghost of a smile appeared on Bren’s face and was quickly suppressed. “You think that’s funny. You should try it sometime when you’re going to breakfast with four top executives.”
“It must have been awful,” Bren said.
“Awful doesn’t begin to describe it. Childish. Maddening. But if that kind of thing only happened once in a while, I could put up with it. I
have
put up with it. Sixteen years I put up with a house full of weird smells and weird sounds and creepy animals turning up in unexpected places. Do you know what I found in my shirt drawer the day I left my hearth and home for good?” Bren nodded, but Bob paid no attention. “A goddamned python,” he said. “That’s what I found. It makes for marital wear and tear, Bren. I can’t put it any more plainly than that.”
“I think she might try to be more considerate,” Bren said, “if—you know…” He let the sentence trail away.
“She might,” Bob conceded. “But even if she reformed, there’d still be the grim old lady with the crystal ball, the squalling of the mad Bulgarian, lovely Louise, and loathsome Luna.”
Bren took the last swallow of his Coke and tossed the can into the trash basket. “I guess I understand,” he said. “At least a bit better than I used to. I’m looking forward to some similar troubles myself, as a matter of fact.”
“You are? How come? I thought you were all adjusted to the madhouse. You ought to be by now.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a question of having friends to the house,” Bren said. “You
“You know the weakness of that idea,” Bob said, fishing the Frisbee out of the bag.
“Yeah, I know. Shadow can’t throw,” Bren said, “but he deserves a break. Come on.”
They spent the rest of the morning throwing and catching things. Bren thought it was one of the better mornings of his life.
In the early afternoon they wandered south to the shores of another lake in a part of the park where there was more to eat and drink. It had grown quite hot. Bob bought hot dogs and Cokes, and they flopped in the shade by the water.
“So how’s your mother and all the other strange ladies?” Bob asked, after a period of peaceful munching.
“Mom’s fine,” Bren said, and paused. He really didn’t want the conversation that now seemed inevitable. “They’re all fine,” he added reluctantly. “They’re a lot like they were when you saw them last except Madame Lavatky, who is happier, I think. She reached high C, or so she says. Nice for her, but a bit hard on the rest of us.”
“Your mother is a saint to put up with that screeching,” Bob said, and then laughed. “That’s a good one. Miranda the saint. I never thought of her in quite that way before.”
“She may not be a saint,” Bren said. “Who wants a saint for a mother anyway? But she does put up with a lot, and it’s a big house. Full of women,” he added bitterly.
“That’s subtle, Bren,” his father said.
“It wasn’t meant to be. Come on, Dad. I can’t believe you really like living in that beehive all by yourself.”
“When I could have such stimulating company in the House of Usher?” Bob asked. “You’d better believe I do.”
Bren was silent, staring out across the lake, thinking that his perfect day was taking a turn for the worse. Finally he muttered, “Well, I want you to come back, and so does Mom, in case you hadn’t noticed, but I guess you couldn’t care less.”
“Look, Bren,” his father said, “I love your mother, okay? Got that?” Bren nodded gloomily. “But she just doesn’t keep a tight enough ship for me. I can’t get up in the morning and find a baby bat in my shoe—one of my Gucci shoes—and then find that someone’s been monkeying with my shaving cream. My whole face turned green, for Christ’s sake, at seven o’clock in the morning.” The ghost of a smile appeared on Bren’s face and was quickly suppressed. “You think that’s funny. You should try it sometime when you’re going to breakfast with four top executives.”
“It must have been awful,” Bren said.
“Awful doesn’t begin to describe it. Childish. Maddening. But if that kind of thing only happened once in a while, I could put up with it. I
have
put up with it. Sixteen years I put up with a house full of weird smells and weird sounds and creepy animals turning up in unexpected places. Do you know what I found in my shirt drawer the day I left my hearth and home for good?” Bren nodded, but Bob paid no attention. “A goddamned python,” he said. “That’s what I found. It makes for marital wear and tear, Bren. I can’t put it any more plainly than that.”
“I think she might try to be more considerate,” Bren said, “if—you know…” He let the sentence trail away.
“She might,” Bob conceded. “But even if she reformed, there’d still be the grim old lady with the crystal ball, the squalling of the mad Bulgarian, lovely Louise, and loathsome Luna.”
Bren took the last swallow of his Coke and tossed the can into the trash basket. “I guess I understand,” he said. “At least a bit better than I used to. I’m looking forward to some similar troubles myself, as a matter of fact.”
“You are? How come? I thought you were all adjusted to the madhouse. You ought to be by now.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a question of having friends to the house,” Bren said. “You
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