Mary Alice Monroe - The Four Seasons

“You put me in the guest room?” Birdie asked, her brows raised in obvious pique.

Rose’s toes curled, but she nodded firmly and looked Birdie in the eyes. “Yes. I put Jilly in her old room.” Then to Dennis, “I’ll get your beer.”

Birdie’s lips pursed in annoyance, but she didn’t reply. She tucked her hands in her slacks’ pockets and followed Rose into the kitchen. It was an immense room, old-fashioned, with the same white cabinets and appliances that were there when their mother cooked in the room. Only in the pantry did a large new refrigerator hum. Rose headed straight for it.

“Have you heard from Jilly yet?” Birdie asked.

“No. It’s a good thing you didn’t go to the airport,” Rose replied, pulling ice from the freezer. “You were right, as usual. The news reported delays galore and they might even shut down the airport.”

“I hadn’t heard that. But I’m not surprised. It’s really getting nasty out there.”

“I know and I’m worried. I’ve called the airline a million times but they can’t tell me anything other than that her flight is in a holding pattern. They think it will be allowed to land, which is a relief.” She yanked the cork from the bottle of cabernet she’d chosen while Birdie hunted in the cabinet for a few glasses. “We’re lucky. I gather other flights are being redirected. That would’ve been a disaster. She’d be late for the funeral.”

“Jilly does love to make an exciting entrance….”

Rose filled a glass with wine while her lips curved in a teasing smile. “That’s not fair.”

“I know, I know. I didn’t mean it.” Birdie took a long swallow of her wine. Over the glass her eyes glistened with humor. “Much. Can’t you just imagine her in that plane? She must be beside herself. You know how she hates being trapped. Remember how she was on a Chicago bus in rush hour?”

Rose shared her first laugh in days, remembering. Jilly would leap to her feet, yank the buzzer and demand to be let off the bus. Then she’d march off in a huff, her flame-red hair like ribbons of fire fluttering behind. Birdie and Rose would track her through the bus window till a break came in traffic, then they’d point and laugh at her as they sped past her. But she never looked their way. She kept her glance stubbornly straight ahead.

“Pity the poor stewardess,” Birdie said, rolling her eyes. “But I have to admit, circling up there in a confined space for hours is hell. She’ll be exhausted and cranky when she gets here. I shouldn’t be talking. It was a real push getting out of town by car and I was a total bitch, I admit it. I thought I’d kill my daughter before we arrived here.” She swirled the wine in her glass. “Be forewarned. Hannah is in one of her moods.”

“Poor baby,” replied Rose with sympathy. “She looks unhappy.”

“She is,” she replied, then added flippantly, “perpetually.”

“Is she okay?”

“Oh, yes, she’s fine.” Birdie cut off further inquiry. She didn’t like anyone to think there was any problem with her family.

“This is probably the first death she’s really experiencing. She was so young when Mom died.”

“That’s true. She’s seemed so remote, but I hadn’t thought of it that way.” She rubbed her temple and said in a low voice, “To be honest, I can’t accept it, either. It’s so hard. I keep going over it in my mind, how quickly she went downhill. If only I could have been here…”

“No, Birdie,” Rose said firmly. “Don’t go there. It isn’t healthy. Her doctor was here with her. Really, there was nothing you could have done.”

“You don’t know that!”

Rose grabbed her hand to still it and looked directly into her sister’s eyes. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said in her quiet voice that could be surprisingly firm. “That you could have saved her.”

Rose had nailed it. Birdie squirmed in discomfort and tried to snatch back her hand, but Rose held on tight.

“You couldn’t have done anything to save her, Birdie. Not this time.”

Birdie stared into her hazel eyes, blazing with intent, until the message slowly, reluctantly sunk in. When she indicated her understanding, if not acceptance, with a nod, Rose released her hand then smiled faintly and looked away, a little embarrassed about the intense exchange. Birdie took a long, deep breath and said in a robust manner, “So now we’re planning her funeral.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.” Birdie paused. “I’m sorry you got dumped with checking all the funeral details. I tried to get here early today but the traffic was unbelievable and…”

“Don’t be silly. I needed something to do.”

“I have to tell you, I’m concerned about the luncheon at Alfredo’s. I telephoned them before I left Milwaukee just to check on our reservation and see if there was anything else that needed taking care of. The idiot girl I spoke to said we didn’t have one! Can you believe that? I didn’t have time to talk to the manager, but I told her to look into it and I’d follow up when I got here. She probably just got something mixed up in her book but I worried the whole way down. Do you have the number handy? I’ll give them a quick call. If they’ve screwed up…”

“Birdie,” Rose said hesitatingly. She plucked at the loose threads of the oven mitt, then took a deep breath. She hadn’t meant to get into this before Birdie had a chance to relax, maybe had a second glass of wine. “They didn’t screw up. I…I never made the reservation.”

Birdie’s eyes widened with disbelief. “What?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of everything,” Rose rushed to say.

“What do you mean you didn’t make the reservation? Why? We discussed this in detail. My God, Rose, what were you thinking? Did you forget? Why didn’t you tell me? Damn, I don’t know if we can reserve a room for tomorrow on such short notice.” Her voice was high and she placed her hand to her forehead as she paced across the linoleum.

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d react like this. You’d drive in from Milwaukee and take over like you always do.” At the surprise on Birdie’s face she softened her tone. “I wanted to do something special for Merry. For all of us—you, Jilly and me. We hardly know one another anymore, Birdie. We need to remember Merry and the good times we had together. I didn’t think we could do that in a restaurant.”

Birdie spread out her palms in a futile gesture. “We can spend all the time we want together, just the three of us. Here at home. But we still could have had the funeral lunch at a restaurant. Oh, Rose, what have you done? It would have been so much easier.”

“For whom?” she replied sharply, nettled by the allknowing tone in Birdie’s voice. “I want to do this. And it’s really not so difficult. I’ve planned for a light lunch here in this wonderful home where we all grew up. It’s much more personal, and with all the flowers already here, it will be beautiful. It just didn’t seem right to have the funeral lunch for Merry at a restaurant that she’d never even been to.”

“Oh, come on, Rose, this has nothing to do with Merry,” Birdie fired out. “You’re the one who wants it here. It’s you who can’t stand the idea of leaving the house.”

Rose sucked in her breath, stung by the truth in the comment. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her. “That’s only partly true,” she replied, looking away. “Just because I don’t like leaving the house doesn’t mean I can’t. I truly believe Merry would want it here, too.” Rose raised her eyes and held her sister’s gaze. “And I know—better than you or anyone else—what Merry would want.”

Birdie had the grace to concede. “No one could ever dispute that.”