Their usual table along the far wall was waiting for them. As Jenny took her seat, she didn’t bother to ask for a menu; she knew it wouldn’t do any good.
As if reading her mind, her mother said, “André has outdone himself today. Salade Niçoise. The tuna is lovely.”
Jenny gave the required: “It sounds perfect.”
“André is a master in the kitchen. I don’t know how the bistro would survive without him.”
Jenny did. While it was true that the French chef her mother had charmed and wooed away from an exclusive restaurant in the heart of Seattle was a magician when it came to cuisine, Jenny knew that even if her mother lost André, her business would continue to flourish.
“Unfortunately, we’ll have to hurry through lunch,” her mother said. “A party of eight has reservations for noon. We would have had plenty of time if . . .”
If you’d been on time. The words were in the air as clear as if they’d been spoken.
“Well, no matter. You’re here now.” Her mother unfolded the pressed linen napkin and placed it on her lap. “Was there traffic?”
“The roads were fine.” As they both knew.
Rush hour in Hidden Lake consisted of two cars going in opposite directions. It was just one of the many things Jenny loved about the small lakeside town. The only time there was ever a backup was when Mr. Wilson made his bimonthly run into town for staples: bread, milk, cheese, eggs, and a bottle of rum (for medicinal purposes, of course). And the only reason that caused a slight hiccup was because Mr. Wilson insisted on driving his tractor.
Thankfully, the waitress arrived with their lunch, stalling her mother from making any further comments on Jenny’s tardiness. Jenny picked up her fork, but before she dug in, she paused in admiration. Not only did André’s food taste out of this world, he managed to make a few bits of potato, a couple of olives, and some fresh fish look like art.
Spending an hour alone with her mother once a week might not be on Jenny’s top one hundred list, but the food always softened the blow.
“How have you been?” Jenny asked in between bites.
“Frantic.” Her mother said with a serene smile. “Business is up nineteen percent from this time last year, there’s your father’s birthday on Friday, our trip to Alaska, and the annual Seattle Art Museum charity ball is less than a month away.” She laughed softly. “Remind me to say no next year when they ask me to chair again.”
Jenny stabbed at a piece of hard-boiled egg. “You say that every year.”
Her mother smiled again. “You’re right, I do. But it’s for charity, and as long as I organize my time accordingly, I’ll be able to accomplish everything.”
Criticism duly noted. Jenny pushed at a piece of seared tuna on her plate.
“I spoke with your brother this morning.”
“How is Perfect Paul?”
“Jennifer, really.”
“Sorry.” But she wasn’t. Living in the shadow of her “gifted brother” and “brilliant sister” had left her . . . faded. It was as if by the time the sun shone upon them, it lost all of its warmth when it finally reached her. She knew her parents loved her, but she often wondered how many nights they went to bed scratching their genius heads and wondering how they’d ever ended up with such a daughter.
“He’s narrowed the candidates to two and believes he’ll have made a decision by the end of the week,” her mother said.
“How nice.”
“His law practice is expanding so quickly, he can’t keep up.”
“Lucky for him.” Jenny tried to sound sincere, but she could tell she’d failed when her mother arched one perfectly sculpted eyebrow in her direction.
“Really, Jennifer. You could at least try to show some interest.”
Jenny stuffed a forkful of salad into her mouth to save herself from having to make any further comment. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her brother and sister; she did. It was just hard to keep up an enthusiastic front year after year when all their triumphs were put on display, and she had nothing to add to the ever-increasing collection.
“I told Paul I would help him with the welcome reception he’s planning for the new attorney. André’s already working on the menu.”
Jenny took a large gulp of water.
“I heard from Anna on Sunday.”
On to sibling number two: the brilliant obstetrician.
Perfect Paul. Amazing Anna.
And Jinxed Jenny.
“Anna was the head doctor on a delivery of quintuplets. Can you imagine? Your sister said it