is, I never sent Dad any steaks. I wouldn’t, you know that.” Quite apart from respecting her wishes, at least when it came to Dad’s health, I’m not the steak-sending sort. She knew that as well.
“Well, the package had one of those preprinted labels, you know, the kind with the printed note from the sender. It said, ‘Dad, have a blast. E. Fielding.’ What am I supposed to think?”
“Beebee, this is important. Did Dad eat any of them?”
A delicate, frustrated sigh. “I told you in my message. The delivery truck no sooner left the driveway than he had the grill fired up and all six of them on the fire. I caught him, but he pleaded, and so we had our neighbors over.”
“Is he…was everyone all right, after?” I couldn’t believe how stupid I felt, or how shaky my voice sounded even to myself.
“Yes, of course. They were very good steaks,” she said grudgingly. “He had a little bellyache, after, but that was simply because he’d eaten too much, too fast. And he can never stop with just one treat, he had to have blue cheese dressing on his salad, and potato salad from the deli, and too much whiskey after his beer—”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good. Not the stomachache, but that there was nothing worse.”
“Emma, what is all this about?”
“I think someone is playing practical jokes on me. I’m afraid that they might turn nasty.”
There was silence from the other end. “So why would they send very expensive presents to us?”
To show me just how closely I’m being watched, I thought. To show that whoever it was knew me, knows my family. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just to embarrass me, when I have to confess that I’m not that thoughtful. When was all this?”
“The day before yesterday. I waited to call because I wanted to calm myself. I was very upset that you might have…even though he loved the idea that you…”
While Beebee tried not to offend me, while trying to correct me, while telling me how much Dad had enjoyed the treat that I hadn’t sent, I recalled what I knew about food poisoning. If the meat had been tampered with, it would have shown by now, I figured. “And it came straight from the source? Not a private home?”
“No, it looked as though it had been sent straight from the company in Omaha. What am I going to tell your father?”
“I…don’t know. You can tell him the truth, I guess. Just do me a favor?”
There was a guarded pause before she answered. “Yes?”
“Give me the name of the company that sent it? And if you get any other packages that look like they’re from me, give me a call, would you? Like I said, I’m just worried that this joker might turn nasty.”
Beebee met my father through their mutual dealings in real estate, in the upper-end market in Connecticut. She knew something about competition and nasty tricks. “Of course. Thanks for calling.”
“Yeah, you, too.” I hung up, then glared at the answering machine. There was one message left, and I almost didn’t dare to listen to it again.
“Emma, it’s your mother.”
Oh, hell.
“You know I hate this machine.”
So I’ve heard. Repeatedly. Never stops you, though.
“In any case, thank you so, so much for the yummy, yummy chocolates. You shouldn’t have. I mean, you know I’m watching my figure—”
A refrain as oft-spoke as it was false.
“—but it was too, too thoughtful of you. You know I love these little surprises, though it would have been even a nicer treat if you’d brought them yourself.”
She giveth with one hand, and with the other, taketh away.
“I’m saving a few to share together. I know you’re awfully busy with…whatever you’re doing this summer. I haven’t heard from you since the postcard you sent from Hawaii; lucky Mrs. Chang, she gets to see you.”
Lucky Mrs. Chang.
“Well, give me a call. Or you could visit. You know I live on your visits. Bye.”
Live for my calls, my pale pink butt. Ma was never in the country long enough to sit around and pine for me. If I called, I was being needy; if I didn’t call, I was being thoughtless. And I recalled that the whole “I live on your visits” thing started just after she’d read Dorothy Parker in one of her many literature courses.
I had to call now, though. Had to find out about the chocolates.
But, as usual, Ma had called and gone, and who knew when she’d