The next day was Christmas. Miranda had tried to speak to Annie, to tell her that yes, Annie was right, Miranda was a melodramatic monster who appropriated every emotion she could get her hands on, that she was selfish, that Annie was selfless and good and suffered in silence and could she ever forgive her? But Annie refused to listen.
They both did their best to conceal the estrangement from their mother. Betty, thankfully, seemed more dislocated than usual and noticed nothing. She waited for Roberts with the rest of them in the living room. He was going to take them all, including Amber and Crystal, to a secret place he knew, a cave in a canyon, shady and cool, looking out on cactus and brush, an easy walk from the road. There would be a picnic with cherry pie and apple pie and pumpkin pie. And there would be a turkey and a goose. It was Christmas, after all.
"And every good Jew knows what is required," Rosalyn said.
Annie, ashamed of her outburst the day before and so even angrier at Miranda, thought back to their childhood Christmas trees. There were little wooden Santas on skis, glass balls whirling with color, reindeer, teddy bears in red stocking caps. "Now remember, girls," Josie would say as they danced around the tree, hanging the ornaments from its fragrant branches. The Nutcracker Suite played on the stereo. "Remember. This holiday celebrates the birth of a man in whose name an entire religion has persecuted and murdered our people for thousands of years." He would look at them sternly. "You understand that, don't you?"
"Yes, Josie."
"Good! And knowing that, why should we let them have all the fun, right?" And he would break out into an enormous grin, and the sisters would dance like ballerinas, their arms stretched above them, spinning and spinning until they fell, dizzy and exhilarated, onto the floor.
"Where is Roberts?" Betty asked now. "I feel just like a kid. I want to get on the road!" In fact, she wanted to get on a plane and go home. The memories of so many happy Christmas mornings were unbearable in this strange, empty place with its sunshine and rocks. But she could not spoil Christmas for her daughters. She clapped her hands and smiled at them, remembering the children they had been and would always be to her.
Annie forced herself to smile back at her mother. Betty was still wearing black, today a black sweater with a lavender gray scarf, but lavender was a color the Victorians used for light mourning, right before they reverted back to their normal clothes. Could this be a sign? Was Betty coming out of her distracted depression? Perhaps this trip had at least been good for someone.
Annie sat down on the corner of the couch, brooding. She assiduously avoided eye contact with Miranda. She hated the bright sun, unsparing and ugly. She hated the mountains. Cousin Lou offered her a mimosa. She shook her head. She closed her eyes. She was waiting for Amber to arrive as if anticipating a blow.
Then, a rustling, a shift in the couch cushion. She sensed someone next to her, someone leaning against her, someone so familiar she might just as well have been a part of Annie.
"I miss Josie," Miranda said, her head now heavy on Annie's shoulder.
"'Why should they have all the fun,'" Annie said softly.
The heavy head nodded. The fight had come to an end.
Roberts never did appear. He called on his way to the airport. He had sudden, urgent business in Connecticut. He was sorry. The Christmas outing had to be canceled.
In the general commotion following this announcement, Mr. Shpuntov spilled a glass of water, pointed a crooked finger at Rosalyn, and said, "So, Mr. Plumber! You took your time getting here." He turned his finger to the wet carpet. "Leaky roof, torrential rains. What next?"
"We'll miss our Family Jewish Christmas picnic?" Cousin Lou was saying, dismayed.
"A plumber on Christmas?" Rosalyn said to her father. "Now, that would be a miracle!"
"Come on, mister," he replied brusquely, "get to work, get to work now."
"Oh, what's the big deal?" Miranda said. "It's only a picnic."
"Life is not a picnic." Betty spoke in a dull singsong, as if she were reciting the multiplication table. "Once again."
They spread the picnic food out on the dining room table, then assembled in the living room with their paper plates on their knees. Annie sat on an isolated chair to protect herself from any further intimacies with Amber, but Amber simply sat on the floor at her feet.
"I hope I didn't, you know, upset you," Amber said quietly. "You know, about my secret."
"Upset me?" Annie listened to her voice, relieved that it was level and neutral. "Why would you think that? After all, I'm not your mother. Or Frederick's mother, for that matter." She affected an astonished laugh, but when Amber did not confirm the absurdity of either of those scenarios, she sobered immediately.
"Still," Amber said, "I don't know. You seemed kind of pissed. No, not pissed. But like critical? Or cold? That was the vibe I got, Annie, to be honest. I mean, maybe you guys had a flirtationship or something. Of course, I know there was nothing really going on. But I just wanted to clear the air. Because I felt badly. Like, had I been too personal or whatever."