A Wedding in December_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [130]
Bridget’s wants were simple now. She wanted to stay alive until Matt entered his senior year in college. After that, she would have to trust that Matt could make it on his own. It was a lot to ask for, Bridget knew. The odds were slim that she’d even make it to her son’s high school graduation.
It wasn’t enough time. Her death would send Matt into a tailspin. She hoped Bill would have the sense to hang on to him for a year after high school and delay his admission to college. Get the boy working, have him come home at night, talk to him incessantly. She would speak to Bill about this when she thought Bill was ready to hear it. In a year, perhaps, if all went well.
Bridget heard the pulley of the dumbwaiter. The blond woman brought Bridget her breakfast. There was cereal on the tray if she wanted it, but there was so much more: eggs with crisp bacon, a delicate brioche with sweet butter, a dish of berries with a pitcher of cream. A silver pot of coffee.
A feast for a bride.
Bridget laughed and asked the woman her name. She did not say to Judy, as she might have, “I’ll never finish this,” because she knew that she would. Bridget would eat every morsel.
A movement at the entrance to the dining room caught Bridget’s eye. The young woman there mirrored her glance and instinctively crossed her arms over her chest. Bridget thought it a testament to Melissa’s character that she did not turn and walk away. She’d come, Bridget guessed, for a meal and a quick getaway, thinking that the bride and groom would be sleeping in.
How lovely she was, even in her embarrassment. She had on a white boatneck T-shirt that hugged her narrow rib cage and waist, her slim jeans breaking just so over the toes of her black boots. There was a thin silver chain at her neck.
Bridget half stood and called the girl’s name.
Reluctantly, Melissa turned in Bridget’s direction.
“Join me?” Bridget asked.
Well mannered, the girl crossed the dining room, but she refused eye contact. Slowly, with some poise, she unfolded her arms and took the chair across from Bridget. “Where’s my dad?” she asked at once.
“He’s sleeping,” Bridget said.
“Oh,” Melissa said. “I’m not really hungry.”
“You have a long drive back,” Bridget pointed out.
Melissa shrugged.
(Old people, of course, always thought drives were too long.)
“There will be a buffet later,” Bridget explained, “but you can order à la carte from the menu. As you can see, they’ve brought me quite a spread.” Bridget glanced at the food in front of her. Melissa would think her gluttonous. “I ordered cereal, and they brought this.”
Melissa nodded.
“Did you sleep okay?” Bridget asked.
The girl fingered the silverware. “I slept okay,” she said.
“How was the pool?”
Melissa seemed not to understand.
“Billiards?” Bridget asked.
“Oh, pool,” Melissa said. “Good. Brian beat us all.”
No more questions, Bridget told herself, until Melissa volunteered a statement or a question of her own.
Judy came to the table to take Melissa’s order. She handed Melissa a menu and positioned herself for a wait, but Bridget doubted the girl read beyond the first item. “Oatmeal,” she said nervously. “And some tea, please.”
“We have Earl Grey and . . .”
“Earl Grey,” Melissa said quickly.
When Judy left them, Melissa sat with her hands in her lap, staring out the window, doubtless grateful for the view.
“I’m glad you came to the wedding,” Bridget said. “It meant a lot to your father.”
Melissa nodded.
“I know it can’t have been easy.”
“Matt was nice,” Melissa said, and Bridget’s heart lifted. The remark was more than just a polite lob back to Bridget. A chink, maybe. Something to work with.
“You have a remarkably high tolerance for fifteen-year-old boys, then,” Bridget said. “They can be . . . well . . . you know. Pretty awful sometimes.”
“No,” Melissa said. “He was nice. We talked a bit.”
Bridget forced herself not to ask, What about? Though she’d have given a lot