A Wedding in December_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [60]
“I read Billy Collins,” Agnes said. “I love him, actually.”
“Who’s Billy Collins?” Jerry asked.
“Your poet laureate,” Harrison said quietly.
“Now Robert Frost,” Jerry announced. “There was a poet who deserved the laureate.”
“I think your husband’s work was magnificent,” Rob said in Nora’s direction, bringing the conversation back to where it belonged.
“Thank you,” Nora said as two waiters began to serve the salads. She examined each plate as it was set down.
“I didn’t even know who he was until I met Rob,” Josh said, “but now I think I’ve read everything Carl Laski ever wrote.” He smiled broadly, seemingly unaware of the backhanded compliment.
“If I could have had anyone on my list,” Harrison said, “it would have been Carl Laski.”
Bridget caught a look that passed between Nora and Harrison. Was this a private joke as well?
“You were always half a poet yourself,” Jerry said, taking a vicious bite out of a piece of crusty French bread.
“How so?” Harrison asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Kind of dreamy. Always going off on walks of your own. Into nature and all that.”
“I suppose I was,” Harrison said, and even Bridget could hear the what of it? that was not spoken. Harrison, too, was drinking rather a lot. He hadn’t yet touched his salad. A sudden feeling of—Bridget couldn’t quite describe it—danger? potential danger? was in the air. She strained to think of something to say to deflect the tension.
“Not Stephen, though,” Jerry said. “You wouldn’t find Stephen reading a poem.”
“No,” Agnes said, “he’d just talk about it.”
Rob gave a kind of snort, and Bill chuckled.
“You wouldn’t find him reading anything,” Harrison said, meaning to keep it light. Bridget noted that Harrison had glasses of both red and white in his forest. A waiter was refilling the white. Bridget wanted to reach across Bill and put a similar restraining hand on Harrison’s arm. Goading Jerry would end in disaster. “He was the only person I ever knew who could intelligently discuss a piece of writing—a story, a poem—without having read it.”
“How did he do that?” Julie asked.
“He’d listen for a minute and pick up on cues, and he had an uncanny knack for capturing the essence or a central theme and discussing that, and somehow it all worked for him. Before you knew it, Stephen was at the center of the debate.”
“But it was false,” Julie said.
“Well, it was and it wasn’t,” Harrison said.
“So tomorrow,” Bill said, “we’ll have a game?”
“A game of what?” Rob asked.
“You can ump,” Bill said, pointing to Rob’s million-dollar fingers. Bridget wondered if he had had them insured. “I brought some balls and gloves and bats,” Bill explained.
“Cool,” Matt said.
“We’ll divide up into two teams. Agnes and Nora”—and here Bill turned to Bridget to include her as well (though he knew as well as anyone that Bridget wouldn’t be able to play; she might lose the wig for one thing)—“you’ll have to play, too. With Matt and Brian here, we ought to be able to get something going.”
“I’m in,” Jerry said. “Branch, you’ll have to play shortstop. You think you can handle it?”
Harrison set down his glass with care. Jerry, chin jutting, glared at Harrison. Agnes studied her plate. Julie gazed off in the distance, doubtless wishing herself back in New York. Only Bill glanced between Jerry and Harrison as if he might, at any minute, have to leap onto the table to referee.
“Leave it,” Rob said under his breath.
“Leave what?” Jerry asked, feigning ignorance.
Nora raised a hand and snapped her fingers, a sharp, skilled summons that cleared the air at once. Two waiters appeared and began to take away the salads and to set down the entrées. Bridget’s salmon was translucent. Bill’s was well-done. Bridget exchanged plates. Jerry had to dismantle his aggressive posture to allow his beef to be set in front of him.
“Times have changed,” Nora said with a brilliant non sequitur.
“They certainly have,” Rob said, arbitrarily ascribing meaning to Nora’s statement. “Unfortunately, Bush is going to use it to every political advantage.”
“Were you there?” Jerry asked.
“I was