Claire, her face half buried in her hand atop an elbow on the table, listened to their morbid might-have-beens. Mary made another batch of waffles and laid them caressingly on top of the cold ones. No one would eat those, either, but the effort of it soothed her. She didn’t exactly know the parents of the dead girl but she was almost sure she’d seen the mother, the day before Easter it must have been, on line at the butcher.
Stan had a feeling he knew the unfortunate father. He’d come into the store once or twice. For nails. Or linseed oil, he thought it was. He’d know him well enough to nod hello.
Annoyed by this claim, Mary scooped the colder, bottom waffle onto his plate.
“What’s this for?”
“It’s good. Just because you couldn’t make up your mind about it doesn’t make it bad.”
“I don’t want a waffle, Mare!”
“And you who told me to make them!”
Here the Mayor stood and waddled confidently to his empty dish.
“Did I ask for waffles? Did anybody here hear me once ask for waffles?!”
“Gimmie one, Ma. Only gimmie one from the top. I don’t want a cold one.”
Indeed, it was chilly enough in the kitchen to make you want to warm up. Mary had the air conditioner on maximum. She felt safer in the cold, today of all days, barricaded from the murder lurking outside with the doors locked tight. They huddled together as though from a winter’s storm.
Michaelaen came up from the cellar. He put his sneakers on his lap. The first knot was easy. Then you did a loop. That was easy, too. It was that darn second loop that got him. Did it go around the first loop or stay right where it was? The possibilities exploded in the air until he had to close his eyes. Here he would stay until, like any exasperated ostrich, he felt the coast was clear. Something was going on. Everybody was yelling and then whispering. Especially Grandma. You had to be careful when Grandma started whispering. Michaelaen opened his eyes and saw his old friend Miguel’s picture right in the paper. Miguel was probably in jail, he thought morosely. There were some things you just knew you weren’t supposed to ask about.
Stan turned the page. He didn’t want Mary to notice the horoscopes and get started on that. Then the doorbell rang and the dog howled. Michaelaen ran to the front and the Mayor trotted after him. “It’s the back,” said Zinnie. “It’s the back,” hollered Mary. They trotted to the back. Carmela got to the door first. It was Johnny Benedetto. He came into the kitchen ducking, big fellow that he was, one corner of his mouth stuck upward. Claire felt herself blush at the sight of him and the sight she knew she must be, rumpled in her father’s Yankees T-shirt and a red plaid robe she’d discovered behind the bathroom door. She felt his eyes go right through her, and then he acted as if she wasn’t even there.
“It’s crazy out there,” he said. “I can only stay for a minute.”
“Of course, of course,” the family nodded in unison. They knew he was working on the murders. They wouldn’t bring it up unless he did. They were a family on the “in,” a fact that was etched importantly all over their faces. Stan patted him fondly on the back and signaled for coffee. This is wonderful, Mary thought. She had three waffles on his plate before he sat down. A man needed his strength. Good thing she’d had Michaelaen pick those raspberries. She gave the sour cream a fluff up with her spoon and licked it with a smile to demonstrate how mm-mm good it was.
Claire was embarrassed by all of this coddling. Even Michaelaen stood rapt at Johnny’s knee. What would he think, they’d never seen a nice young man? She’d never brought a fellow home? Oblivious to her, Johnny wolfed down a deck of waffles and held out his plate for more.
Carmela had to go to work. She went upstairs to the bathroom and Claire was glad to see her go. Carmela looked so chic. Even Zinnie, whom she loved with all her heart, looked far too cute for so early in the morning.
“You sleep all right?” Johnny asked her.
She almost jumped. His eyes were teasing her.
“Not bad.” She gave him what she hoped was a look of nonchalance.
“I got somethin’ for ya.”