Family Affair (41 page)

"If they're really bad, they will go to the kennel," Chase said firmly.

"Let's give them the benefit of the doubt for now."

Chase studied her. It was if aliens had abducted her mother and replaced her with someone really nice.

"Thanks, Mom."

"You're welcome. Shall we shoot for this weekend?"

"That'll work."

Stella glanced out the window at the falling snow. "It's so beautiful."

"And dangerous. I better get going." She got up to leave. "I promise to behave."

"So do I," Stella said.

The lightly falling snow had become a blizzard by the time Chase picked up Gitana. Chase helped her into the Hummer.

"I take back everything I ever said about the Hummer." Gitana pulled on her seat belt and brushed off her coat.

"She was absolutely amazing coming up the canyon. There were cars off the road everywhere. I bet money they close the canyon by tonight." Chase pulled out of the parking lot observing that indeed Nora's truck was still there.

"Maybe we should have planned for a spring baby," Gitana said, rubbing her protruding stomach.

"We didn't exactly have a choice, but I don't regret a single thing." Chase made the first tracks out to the county road. All traces of their previous journey on the road had been erased by the insistently productive snowfall.

"Nora is leaving soon, right?" Chase said as snow plopped down on the windshield like mud patties from on high.

"Yes. She was waiting for you. I can't believe this weather."

They were both quiet for a moment, the only sound being the wipers slapping the snow away.

"Chase, I'm a little worried."

"About what?" Chase turned onto the 441 and made for home.

The state road had been plowed, but the snow was accumulating so quickly that it was almost a moot point.

"The delivery and..."

"The weather," Chase added.

"I mean, it probably won't snow." Gitana stared out the window.

"But what if it does?" Chase glanced at her.

They watched as a Ford Focus in front of them fishtailed out onto the highway.

"I talked to my mom. We can stay there. In fact, she insists."

"What about the dogs?" Gitana said morosely.

"They can come too."

The Ford Focus had gained control and sped off. Chase wondered how long the small car would stay on the road.

"Has she lost her mind?"

"No, but I think aliens abducted my real mother and lent us a better one." Chase saw the sign for Cedar Meadows indicating one mile and eased her knuckles off the steering wheel.

"Are you okay with this?" Gitana asked.

"It's only a month. I can be good for a month—for Bud."

"Maybe Jacinda can give us some holy water," Gitana suggested.

"For me and the dogs?" Chase inquired.

"Blessings from above can't hurt."

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"You're doing what?" Lacey asked.

"Look, are you coming to Thanksgiving dinner or not?" Chase said. She had somewhat expected this response from Lacey, but this was nothing compared to the next bombshell she was going to drop, the emotional equivalent of the bombing of Dresden.

She'd been forced to have an emergency session with Dr. Robicheck who kindly pointed out that what Chase viewed as drastic was a progression that had been steadily plodding along since she'd been aware of the pregnancy. She was changing so she could be a decent parent. Chase figured the doctor was right. Most of her swearing had stopped. She was more tolerant and she shopped at Costco. Perhaps, the biggest change was reconciling herself with her mother followed by her close ties with Addison. It was all so unlike her, she often didn't recognize her own thoughts. She approached her life now in an almost benevolent fashion. It was positively frightening.

"We're staying here until the delivery."

"You're staying here?" Lacey's tone shrieked of incredulity.

"Yes, what's wrong with that?" Chase rearranged her pencils in the desk drawer. Her makeshift office still needed some fine-tuning. She was going through Ariana's notes on her mystery novel. She found them quite helpful. Her animosity toward her editor had lessened. This was another oddity.

"You despise your mother and where'd you put the dogs?"

Chase whirled a perfect three-sixty in the expensive office chair her mother had purchased. She relished her next statement. "They're here."

"What!"

This was good. Rich like the espresso pie at The Flying J Cafe. She should really take Gitana there for lunch. Temporarily living in town had its benefits. She'd been to the library several times getting books, CDs and movies. They were listening to Bach, Vivaldi and Mozart so Bud could bone up on classical music in the womb. Gitana was reading Garrison Keillor's Lake Wobegon Days so she'd have an idea of small-town life with its glories and travails. All this was done in an effort to keep Gitana entertained.

"So are you coming for turkey or what?"

"Can I bring Jasmine?"

"Of course. 'You' now includes your partner," Chase informed her.

Chase could almost see the beaming look on Lacey's face.

"We'd love to."

Later that day, Chase availed herself of her mother's library. She pulled out Baudelaire, D.H. Lawrence, Vonnegut, Norman Mailer and J.D. Salinger. Her mother walked in. Chase looked up. "I didn't know you had such a library. Where have all these books been?"

"In the attic. Your father thought books were tedious and a waste of space."

Chase was mortified. It was absolutely scandalous.

Her mother nodded. "You know," she said, sitting on the edge of what could only be called the reading table—a long narrow table with two straightback chairs, two bookstands and green shaded reading lamps so that Chase imagined being in an Oxford or Cambridge library. "We've never really had a talk about your father."

Chase didn't immediately know where this was going—then, she got it. In the figurative sense she was going to be a father. "Yes."

"What do you remember of him?"

She dutifully thought back. She'd been eight when he died. Leaning back in her chair, she decided he was a shadowy figure—a coming and going blur. He was never present in her mind at the breakfast table like fathers in the movies or TV. There was the occasional, mostly silent, family dinner. She remembered her mother at one end her father at the other of the ornate dining room table and that she couldn't wait for dinner to be over. She didn't remember watching him shave, the smell of his cologne, bedtime stories, being hiked up in the air—he was nothing but a cipher in her child's mind.

"Truthfully, not much. I'd have to see a photo to recognize him."

Her mother smiled. "Good."

Chase wasn't certain if her mother said this out of conviction or spite. "I won't be like that."

"I know you won't." She touched Chase's shoulder.

Chase felt herself blush so she changed the subject before things got mushy. "Why are so many novels written by men obsessed with genitalia?" She'd just finished Villages by John Updike and another book by Philip Roth. She'd learned more about penises and what they did than she ever cared to know.

Stella laughed. "Now that you mention it—you're right, at least in twentieth century literature."

"That's why I'm a fan of the nineteenth," Chase said.

"I as well. I imagine that their perspective on the world is primarily viewed from behind a pair of furry golf balls and a bratwurst." She laughed.

Chase didn't laugh. She was worried. "What if Bud has a penis?"

"There's a fifty-fifty chance. You'd better bone up on your ball skills." This started a whole new rash of laughter.

Chase buried her head in her hands and moaned.

When her mother had regained her composure, she patted Chase on the back. "Don't worry. We'll make him into a multicultural, gender-informed, strong yet sensitive man. He'll see through the veil of his little head and steer on without further thought to his nether regions." Stella burst into apoplectic spasms of laughter.

Chase wondered if her mother had lost her senses.

"My, we're having a good time in here," Peggy said as she stood in doorway.

"She is," Chase said disgustedly as she looked around Peggy for a sighting of Addison.

"She's in the kitchen with Rosarita. She wants to make this smores pie thing for Thanksgiving so she's getting pointers from Rosarita," Peggy informed her.

"You're still coming to dinner?" Chase asked.

"Of course. The pie is Addison's personal contribution."

Stella wiped her eyes. "I haven't laughed like that in years."

"I'm glad I could be of service," Chase said, getting up.

"But seriously, Chase, if Bud is a boy we'll make him a good one—so don't worry."

"Oh, honey, you and Gitana are going to be the best parents on the planet. Don't give it a second thought. Besides, Addison is chomping at the bit to give you all a hand." Peggy took off her blue blazer with gold buttons and draped it over a chair. She looked dressed for the club with her khaki trousers and penny loafers.

"Thank you, Peggy." As Chase left she overheard Peggy tell her mother "I was at the club and met with Evelyn Myers. She wants us to tail her cheating no-good husband. According to her he's worth a lot."

Their voices trailed off. It seemed the detective agency was never short of cheating spouses. Those two will be making a fortune, Chase thought.

In the kitchen, Addison and Rosarita were going over the cutout recipe from the food section of the newspaper and adding its required ingredients to the already daunting grocery list. The three of them were doing the shopping.

Addison lit up when she saw Chase. "Look at this. Isn't it fabulous," she said, giving Chase the recipe.