she heals them,” croaked Sal, head rocking, “By sending them to Hell . . .”
She would report to Casey: the possible benefits of wheelchairs were outweighed by the costs.
“Let me get you some drinks,” she persevered, and went toward the cousins, leaving Sal and the others behind.
“This place is like that Haunted House ride at Disneyland,” said Tommy. “Do you have one of those elevators where the pictures on the walls stretch out?”
She realized suddenly that she must not have seen him in years. He had thick eyebrows that met in the middle and cheekbones with a spray of acne. A show of affection was clearly called for, so she held out her arms and smiled.
“Tommy,” she said, and embraced him, remembering as she drew close and smelled his strong deodorant that he was the one his father was proud of. Unlike the unfortunate art student, or whatever the other kid was. “The prodigal engineer.”
He let himself be embraced but barely participated. She pulled back and noticed he was unsmiling.
The father, at least, could be plied with spirits.
“Would you like a cocktail? A beer? Please, follow me.”
She kept up a patter as they headed down the hallway toward the room with the bar.
“What kind of engineering program are you in? Civil?”
“Chemical,” he said. “Going into cement.”
“Oh,” she said, nodding, but despite casting around desperately could find nothing to say about this. Doubtless there were many people qualified to speak on the cement subject, but she was not among them. “Oh, I thought you were still a student.”
“Graduating in May. Early recruitment. Already got my first job lined up.”
“Congratulations!”
“Focus on GGBS.”
“GGBS?”
“Ground granulated blast-furnace slag.”
“Right outta college,” said Steven. “Six figures.”
“Wow,” she said.
At the end of the hall, in the darkness under a rhino head, Reg and Tony were kissing.
“Are those two guys?” asked Steven. “Making out?”
“It’s two old guys,” said Tommy. “Whoa.”
She checked her impulse to comment and went through the dining room door ahead of them.
“So what can I get you, Tommy?”
“I need a strong one after that,” he said. “Gimme a vodka. Man. You got any Absolut Citron?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “We do have some mixers.”
“I’ll take a Bud,” said the father.
From behind the bar she could see Casey and Jim and some of her former neighbors outside. She missed them.
“Let’s get some fresh air, shall we?” she said, once both of them had their drinks in hand, and led them through the French doors.
“Hah-ey,” said Dewanne, smiling widely as they approached. She was a thrice-divorced Southern belle and more times than that cosmetically enhanced; she’d lived two houses down. She was also an avid catalog shopper, in a constant state of indignation at the perceived abuses of mail-order apparel companies. The indignation was a hobby. When they both had teenagers in high school—she was a housewife and Susan was substitute teaching—she would come over to the house in the late afternoon, a glass of white wine with ice cubes in her hand, and call 800 numbers to harangue operators about merchandise quality.
Susan had always liked her.
“Hi, Dewanne,” she said, and reached out to grab her hand.
“So who have we here? Introduce me to your cute friends, Susan.”
“My cousin Steven,” she said. “His son, Tommy.”
“Hey, Tommy,” said Casey. “Last time I saw you we hadn’t even hit puberty.”
“Hey, Casey,” said Tommy stiffly, but made no move in her direction.
“You were into Star Trek,” said Casey.
“I don’t remember that.”
“Denial is common. But I remember all too well. You always tried to give me a Vulcan nerve pinch.”
Tommy lifted his vodka and drank, projecting an aura of distrust.
“That was his geek period,” said Steven, and elbowed his son in the ribs.
“All in the distant past now,” said Casey, and grinned.
“He’s got a job in Portland cement!” said Susan.
“Ground granulated blast-furnace slag,” corrected Tommy.
“So, Tommy,” said Casey brightly. “Let’s catch up then, shall we? Come tell me all about that slag.”
She inclined her head toward a nearby table, and Tommy shuffled off after her with some reluctance.
“Hey, name’s Jim,” said Jim, and held out his hand to Steven.
“Sorry, how rude of me,” said Susan, and finished the round of introductions.
When Susan paid attention next Steven was saying to Dewanne, “So what are you, one of her teacher friends?”
“Just a neighbor,” said Dewanne. “From the old neighborhood. And what do you do, honey?”
“I run my own business. In programming.”
“Oh my,” said Dewanne.
She would leave the two of them alone, thought Susan, and Dewanne might win him over. Dewanne graciously liked everyone,