Saint Maybe - Anne Tyler [143]
On Christmas morning they opened their presents—most of Ian’s and Rita’s relating to babies—and then cleared away the gift wrap and started getting ready for the dinner guests. Rita directed from an armchair Ian had dragged into the dining room, except that she kept jumping up to do things herself. Finally Agatha put Stuart in charge of diverting her. “Show her your card tricks, Stu,” she said. “Oh, please, no,” Rita groaned. Ian and his father fitted all the leaves into the table, and the women added last-minute touches to the dishes Rita had prepared. Everyone was entranced to find nothing but hors d’oeuvres. “Look! Artichokes,” Doug pointed out. “Look at this, kids, my favorite: Chesapeake crab spread. It’s just like the old days.” Rita beamed. Stuart told her, “Pick a card. Any card. Come on, Rita, pay attention.”
The current foreigners’ names were Manny, Mike, and Buck. They were the first to arrive—they always showed up on the dot, not familiar with Baltimore ways—and Mrs. Jordan followed, bearing one of her sumptuous black fruitcakes with the frosting you had to crack through with a chisel. Then Bobbeen appeared with an old-fashioned crank-style ice cream freezer, fully loaded and ready for the ice, and last came Curt, looking as if he’d just that minute rolled out of bed. Those who were guests had to have the hors d’oeuvres explained for them—all but Mrs. Jordan, of course, who’d been through this year after year. Mrs. Jordan said, “Why, you’ve even made Bee’s hearts-of-palm dish!” And later, once they’d taken their seats and Doug had offered the blessing, she said, “Rita, if Ian’s mother could see what you’ve done here she would be so pleased.”
“Remember the first time we tasted hearts of palm?” Agatha asked Thomas.
“Was that when we had the flu?”
“No, no, this was before. You were really little, and Daphne was just a baby. I don’t think she got to try them. But you and I were crazy about them; we polished off the platter. It wasn’t till five or six years later we had that flu.”
“Ugh! Worst flu of my life,” Thomas said.
“Mine too. I couldn’t eat a bite for days. But finally I called out, ‘Ian, I’m hungry!’ Remember, Ian? You were flat on your back—”
“I was sick?” Ian asked.
“Everyone was, even Grandma and Grandpa. You said, ‘Hungry for what?’ And I thought and thought, and the only thing that came to me was hearts of palm.”
“So then we all wanted hearts of palm,” Thomas told him. “They just sounded so good, even though I’d forgotten them and Daphne’d never had them. We said, ‘Please, Ian, won’t you please bring us hearts of—’ ”
“I don’t remember this,” Ian said.
“So you got up and tottered downstairs, holding onto the banister—”
“Put your coat on over your pajamas, stepped into somebody’s boots—”
“Drove all the way to the grocery store and brought back hearts of palm.”
“I don’t remember any of it,” Ian said.
They regarded him fondly—all but the foreigners, who were giving the hors d’oeuvres their single-minded attention. “My hero!” Rita told him.
“I said, ‘Ian, thank you,’ ” Agatha went on, “and you said, ‘Thank you. Until you mentioned them,’ you said, ‘I didn’t realize that’s what I’d been wanting all along myself.’ ”
Stuart said, “Maybe they contained some trace element your bodies knew they needed.”
“Well, whatever,” Curt said, “these here taste mighty good. You should go into the catering business, Rita.”
“Oh, I believe I’ve got enough to do for the next little bit,” she told him. And she patted her abdomen, which Ian’s borrowed shirt could barely cover.
Daphne said, “Have you heard? After this baby’s born, Rita and I are planning to be partners. Half the time I’ll do clutter counseling while she stays home with the baby, half the time I’ll stay with the baby while she does clutter counseling.”
Ian raised his eyebrows. He knew Rita had been considering various strategies, but she hadn’t mentioned Daphne.