“No,” Mary said irritably. Her face burned, as if she’d been caught in some selfish indiscretion. “No, I’m not the least bit tired. I’m just, well, it’s the holidays. You know.”
“I know,” her mother said. Mary’s father sat beside her mother in his profound, submerged silence. Eddie’s wife, Sophia, rose to help Mary clear the table. She took Constantine’s plate, and he smiled with the frozen cordiality of a foreign prince. Throughout the dinner he’d been cautious and jovial, laughing sometimes before the jokes were finished. He wore his navy blazer and the striped tie Mary had given him for his birthday.
“Everything was perfect, honey,” he said. “The best.”
She smiled, and struggled for a full breath. “Thanks, sweetheart,” she said.
In the living room, Billy and Susan were playing with Joey and Eleanor’s sons. “—so give it here,” she heard one of them say. Chuck, the older one. Thinking of the dinner’s little failures, she listened for Billy.
“Don’t,” she heard Susan say. “Don’t give it to him, he’ll eat it.”
“Kids?” Mary called. “Everything okay in there?”
A silence fell. She called, “Billy? Can you hear me?”
He appeared immediately in the doorway, his face red. “Chucky wants my Easter chick,” he said.
Mary glanced at Eleanor. Eleanor called out, “Chuck, what are you doing in there?”
“Nothing,” Chuck answered peevishly. “Playing.”
Billy looked at the floor as if something enigmatic was stitched into the carpet. “He put my lamb in his mouth,” he said.
“You can share with your cousin, can’t you?” she said.
“Chuck,” Eleanor said. “Are you behaving yourself?”
“Yeah, Ma,” he answered.
Billy raised his eyes from the carpet and looked at Mary with an expression of mingled hope and terror. He wore the litle yellow jacket she’d saved for, the paisley bow tie. “Come here, honey,” she said. Her voice was louder than she’d meant it to be. “I want you to help me with the dessert.”
He trotted to her side. “He was going to eat it,” he said.
“Well, you have to share your things,” Mary told him. “Come on, I need you to help me get out the ice cream.” She touched his hair. It put out a faint electrical crackle, the tiny hum of his being.
“Mary, you spoil that kid,” Joey said.
She shrugged. She remembered to smile.
Her little brother, Eddie, said, “Bill, why don’t you go back out there and tell Chuck what you’ll do to him if he eats your candy?”
Billy’s eyes filled. Constantine smiled, and Mary kept her hand on top of Billy’s head. She suffered an urge to take his hair in her fingers and yank on it.
“I need his help,” she told Eddie sharply. “Come on, honey. We’ve got troops to feed.”
She herded him into the kitchen, where Sophia was running dishwater. “Oh, leave everything,” Mary told her. Sophia and Eddie had been trying for years to have children. Sophia was a hefty, sweet-natured woman who walked through her life in an attitude of hearty, optimistic defeat. The babies would grow to a certain point, then dissolve in her womb.
“I just thought I’d get things started,” Sophia said.
“You know what you could do?” Mary said. “You could take out the dessert forks and plates. They’re right over there, see?”
“Yes. Sure. I’d be happy to.”
Mary went into the pantry for the cake. Billy followed her, his miniature black shoes making their clean rubber sounds on the floor. Her heart ached.
“Here it is,” she said. “My masterpiece.”
“Momma, I’m tired,” Billy said.
“I know, honey.” She lifted the cake platter. Her chest felt as if it was tied with iron bands.
“I hate Chucky,” Billy said.
“They’ll all be gone soon,” Mary said. Billy looked at her with an expression of mute fear that was like a fist in her belly. She stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding the cake. Its icing was flawless as new snow. She felt the windy chaos of the world, its endless dangers, and she wanted to tell her son, ‘I’m tired, too. I hate Chucky, too.’ She wanted to give the cake only to Billy and, at the same time, she wanted to hold it out of his reach.
“When is he going?” Billy asked.
“Soon, honey,” she said. “After we’ve had our cake. Come on now.”
She took the cake into the dining room. Billy followed her. “Tadaaa,” she said, flourishing the plate. Constantine said, “Wait till you see this. She coulda been a baker, my wife.”
Mary set the cake in the middle of the table, and modesdy received her praise. The cake did