Sue Grafton - U Is For Undertow

Annabelle said, “More than I’d be willing to expend. I guess you have to give her credit. I couldn’t manage it.”

“Oh, please. You think Shelly cooks? No, ma’am. She refuses to subordinate herself. Deborah’s the one saddled with all the meals. You ask me, it’s just one more form of narcissism, making everybody jump to their tune while they sit there thinking they’re above it all.”

Annabelle said, “That’s ridiculous. Why don’t you make them fix their own meals?”

“My point exactly. Ask her,” he said, hooking a thumb in Deborah’s direction.

“You know what she eats, Patrick. If it were up to her, every meal would be soy cakes, sprouts, and brown rice. Shawn would starve to death if I didn’t give him peanut butter sandwiches behind her back. You should see him wolf down his food. He’s like a little animal.”

The waitress set down two fresh drinks along with a basket of Parker House rolls and a plate of individual butter pats. Kip turned to Annabelle. “Sorry, I should have asked. You want another martini or you want to switch to wine?”

“I better lay off. I’m embarking on a new exercise program-a half-mile ocean swim three mornings a week.”

“Starting on a Saturday? You’re not serious!”

“I am. I leave the kids with a sitter. It’s the only time I have for myself.”

“Must be freezing.”

“You get used to it.”

Deborah said, “I’ll make the sacrifice and drink her wine as long as you’re ordering. It’s the least I can do.”

Kip asked the waitress for a bottle of Merlot, pointing to his selection on the wine list before he surrendered it.

Deborah raised her hand. “Here’s one I almost forgot. Yesterday, I found Shelly sobbing her heart out. It was the first emotion I’d seen that wasn’t anger, petulance, or disdain. I thought maybe she missed her mother, but when I asked, she said she was still in mourning because Sylvia Plath had killed herself.”

Annabelle said, “Who?”

“A poet,” Patrick said. “She was mentally ill.”

Annabelle shrugged and chose a roll from the basket. She pulled off one segment and buttered it. She took a bite and tucked the nugget of bread into one side of her cheek, a move that slightly muffled her speech. “We know a couple who claim to be vegetarians. Talk about tedious. We had ’em over for dinner once and I served macaroni and cheese. After that I was stumped. They invited us back for a sumptuous bowl of vegetarian chili. The worst. Inedible. Not even close. What got me was they were wearing leather shoes. I voted to drop them and Kip was opposed until I told him he’d have to cook for them if they ever came back.”

That set Patrick off again. “Here’s the kicker as far as I’m concerned. Shelly doesn’t like vegetables. The only vegetable she’ll eat is beans. She doesn’t like fruit either. She says bananas are disgusting and apples make her teeth hurt. She’s got a list of food no-no’s that includes just about everything known to man. Except quinoa, whatever the hell that is.”

Kip was shaking his head. “Why do you put up with her?” Deborah said, “She’s carrying our grandchild. How can we turn our backs on her without rejecting an innocent child? Would you do that?”

“I guess not,” he said. “Well, I might, but Annabelle would have my hide.”

There was a pause while they studied their menus and decided what to have. Salads, rare New York strips, and baked potatoes with sour cream, green onion, and grated cheese.

Once the waitress took their order, Patrick returned to the subject. “It wouldn’t be so bad if she weren’t so opinionated and superior. She looks down her nose at us. We’re materialistic and shallow. Everything we do is ‘bourgeois.’ She talks about the proletariat. God save the Queen.”

Annabelle made a face. “And Greg goes along with it?”

“She’s got him under her thumb. He sits there with his mouth hanging open, acting like she’s reciting from the gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,” Patrick said. “And you know what else? She smells. She doesn’t brush her teeth. She doesn’t believe in shaving under her arms, or anywhere else. She’s got leg hair that looks like beaver pelts. I don’t see how he can stand being in the bus with her. Every time she leaves the room, we have to spray.”

Kip and Annabelle were both laughing by then. She said, “Oh, Patrick. You’re terrible.”

“I kid you not. Ask Deborah if you don’t believe me.”

Kip lifted an eyebrow, his tone skeptical. “I hate to say this, kids, but I think your mistake was giving Greg too much. How else did he come up with this attitude of entitlement?”

Patrick held a hand up. “You’re right. You’re right. Deborah and I have talked about that.”

He paused, looking up, as the waitress arrived at the table with the wine. She turned the bottle so Kip could read the label, and once he approved, she proceeded to open it. Kip sampled it, nodded, and said, “Very nice.”

Annabelle covered her glass and once the other three were filled, Patrick picked up where he’d left off. “We both worked our way through college. Deborah’s family didn’t have the money and mine thought I wouldn’t appreciate the value of an education unless I’d earned it myself. Frankly, the whole thing was a grind. I carried a full load, plus working twenty hours a week. We wanted Greg to focus on his classes so we told him we’d pick up the tab as long as he kept his grades up. So much for that. Two years of college and now he’s a dropout and a bum.”

Annabelle said, “What are they living on? I hope you’re not giving them money along with everything else.”

“Not so far, though I wouldn’t put it past Greg to expect financial support.”

Deborah said, “Which they get in any event. They don’t pay rent and we’re providing food and all utilities. They don’t drive the bus because they can’t afford the gas.”

“Dollars to doughnuts, he’s selling grass,” Kip said.

Patrick looked at him. “You think? Well, that’s worrisome.”

Deborah said, “They’re certainly smoking it. I can smell it halfway across the yard.”

Annabelle made a face. “They smoke dope in front of the little boy?”

“Why not? They do everything else in front of him,” Deborah said. “Shelly wants him in the delivery room with her so he can experience the miracle of childbirth.”

“That’ll be a cheery scene.”

“What if they’re busted selling pot?” Kip asked, harking back to his point.

Deborah smacked at Kip’s hand. “Would you stop that?”

“No, I’m serious,” he said. “Suppose the cops get wind of it? I’m just pointing out the kind of trouble you’d be in. For one thing, Child Protective Services would step in and yank that little kid right out of there.”

“He’s not Greg’s. Shelly made that clear,” Patrick said.

Deborah said, “None of this is his fault. He can be a pill, but it still breaks my heart watching the neglect. She has no concept of parenting.”

“Isn’t he in school?” Annabelle asked.

“She doesn’t believe in the public school system. She feels that’s just one more form of government propaganda so she’s teaching him herself.”

Patrick said, “Jesus. We can’t keep talking about this. It’s ruining my appetite.”

Annabelle held up her water glass. “Let’s look at the bright side. I propose a toast to the baby.”

“Hear, hear,” Patrick said. The four clinked their glasses together.

“May all your surprises be little ones,” Kip added.

But the surprise was Shelly’s. The baby was born two weeks before her due date. Neither Greg nor Shelly told his parents she’d gone into labor. When her water broke, he took her to the emergency room at Santa Teresa Hospital and settled Shawn in the waiting room with a pad of paper and a box of crayons. Initially, there was some confusion because Shelly didn’t have an attending physician, medical records, or health insurance. The nurse asked Greg a series of questions, including his occupation, employer, and work address. Once she found out he was unemployed, she pressed him on the issue of who would be responsible for the hospital charges. Shelly was incensed and kicked up such a fuss that the nurse threatened to call security.