Jill Churchill - Fear of Frying

Jane wandered over to study the buffet table just as a lanky teenaged boy brought out a fresh plate of pastries. The table was arranged with healthy foods at one end and delicious at the other. Jane glanced briefly at the sliced melons, granola bars, oat bran muffins, pitcher of skim milk, and a big bowl of something that looked like the revolting stuff her youngest son, Todd, fed his hamsters.

She passed it all by and concentrated on the bacon, eggs (scrambled or poached), biscuits and gravy,pastries and butter, hash brown potatoes, grilled tomatoes, and waffles with a choice of syrup, powdered sugar, or honey to add a few necessary calories.

“Oh, thank God!" Eileen Claypool said. "I saw all that stuff at the other end and thought I was condemned to starve. This is more like it."

“You and I seem to be the last ones to arrive," Jane said. "What are they going to do with everything that's left?"

“What makes you think I plan to leave anything?" Eileen asked with a hearty laugh. "Sit with me, will you? Those guys are talking about cars," she said, glancing at her husband, brother-in-law, and Bob Rycraft. "Always cars. I get sick of hearing about them. John always has two or three in the driveway that he's trying out. Expects me to drive something different every day. Says it's good advertising.”

Eileen wouldn't have been her first choice of dining companion, but Jane sat with her anyway. She'd have preferred to hear about cars. She was still driving a ratty, rust-ridden station wagon that had hauled around too many car pools. When her oldest son, Mike, had graduated from high school the previous spring, she'd bought him a snazzy black pickup truck to take to college. Having gotten over the first shock of the cost, she'd been giving an obsessive amount of thought to getting a new vehicle for herself.

She was a great believer in making the necessary sacrifices for her children, but had decided it might not be strictly "necessary" for one of them to have transportation that much better than her own.

The minute they, the last guests to eat, sat down, the kitchen staff was allowed to eat. Two teenagers, the resort owner, and a frail-looking woman Jane assumed was Benson's wife, Allison, came out from the kitchen. They all took a table near the doorway. Jane had held herself down to bacon, scrambled eggs, and a Danish. Eileen had piled her plate with some of everything fattening.

“So, Jane, tell me all about yourself," Eileen said through a mouthful of waffle.

“There's not much to tell," Jane said. Not on demand, anyway, she added mentally. "I'm widowed, have three kids. One each in college, high school, and junior high.”

Eileen nodded, swallowed, and asked, "Are you from the Chicago area originally?"

“No, I'm not from anywhere. My parents are with the State Department, and until I was married, I'd never lived anywhere more than about six months. But my mother's people were from Illinois. And I've stayed in the same house almost all my adult life."

“Your parents still living?" Eileen slathered butter on a sweet roll.

“Yes, living and very active. They're in Finland right now.”

Eileen sighed. "God, I wish I could say the same! Well, not about my parents. About John's. The farther away, the better. But it'll never happen."

“They're difficult?"

“Honey, 'difficult' is the mildest word you could use for them. They're horrible beyond imagining."

“In what way?" Jane asked. She wasn't really interested, but she was tired of being questioned and wanted to eat her breakfast.

“They're the stingiest people I've ever known.

Mean stingy and hateful to boot. I don't mean money, I mean they're stingy with compliments and everything. I tried to do up a little family history for John for his fortieth birthday and went to get information from them, and they flat out told me it was none of my business.”

Eating and talking didn't seem to be difficult for Eileen to do at the same time. She was shoveling down her food. "They're both in frail health, live in a terrible house, and need lots of help. But they figure their boys have wives, and what are wives good for except taking care of them? That's why I opened the dress shop, to tell the truth. To have an excuse for not becoming their slave. Now when Mother Claypool calls and wants me to come over and clip her toenails or some damned thing, I can say that I can't leave the shop and I'll hire a new maid. Of course, she finds some excuse to fire her right away."

“What unpleasant people!" Jane said. "How old are they?"

“Both are in their eighties. Sam's the older brother, adopted actually, when they were already too old to be first-time parents. It was just like you hear about — many years of marriage without children, then when they adopted, Mother Claypool got pregnant with John. Do you know, this is the first time ever that all four of us have gotten away from them at once. Somebody always has to stay home to take care of them. Even Sam finally got tired of being their slave."

“Even Sam?" Jane asked, hoping the answer would allow her to finish her eggs.

“Oh, Sam's been the perfect son." Eileen said it flatly, without a hint of sarcasm. "But even he's gotten a little snappish lately, which is weird because he's usually so cool and in control of everything. And Marge is a nervous wreck. You saw that last night. The parents are old and feeble and can't last forever — I hope. I know that sounds cruel, but I've never, in all these years, had a kind word from them. Oh, well, I didn't mean to chew your ear off about this.”

Jane had managed to finish her breakfast.

She smiled and said, "No problem."

Five

When everyone had finished breakfast, the tour of the camp commenced with the kitchens, which were much larger than Jane would have guessed. Given enough staff, a great many people could be fed at once. And there was plenty of room for staff to live along the corridor leading off the kitchen area. Benson explained that, as with most summer resorts, the bulk of the employees were college students.

“It's harder to find a reliable supply of workers during the school year, but we manage," he said. "We usually close the Conference Center and just cater to small groups that occupy the cabins."

“What about our own teachers we'd bring along?" Liz Flowers asked briskly.

“They could stay in the cabins, provided reservations are made well in advance, but you'd probably want them in the Conference Center with the students," Benson replied. "And there would be an extra charge, I'm afraid."

“Oh, yes. They'd definitely want to be with the kids in the Conference Center!" Bob Rycraft said enthusiastically.

Shelley muttered to Jane, "Handsome, but dim. Why would any sane adult want to be locked up with a bunch of teenagers day and night? I had a great-aunt who decided to spend her sunset years as a housemother in a boarding school. She lasted one semester and needed years of psychiatric care to get over it. She tended to drool, and become startled at sudden noises."

“I guess there are people like us who manage, sometimes with considerable effort, to love our own teenagers, and then there are those rare and misguided individuals who love all of them," Jane said, shaking her head. "He appears to be one of those. Just wait until all those little girls of his hit puberty about the same time."

“People like him must have suffered either a great deal more or a lot less of the usual angst when they were teens, I suppose," Shelley said. "I can hardly think about those years without shuddering."

“Ladies?" Liz said sharply.

They hurried along to catch up with the group. They exited from the back door of the staff wing, turned right, and walked down a long, winding incline at the bottom of which was a spectacularly beautiful lake. It was fronted by a beach of sorts — not sand, but shingle. A small dock had a single elderly rowboat tied up, and there was a large swimming dock farther out. A shed contained a great many neon orange life jackets, and an old-fashioned wooden lifeguard tower stood sentry. A list of commonsense rules was posted on the front of the tower.