“You used to be so close.”
“That was a long time ago. We were girls. Things are different now.”
“What changed?”
She shrugged and mumbled.
“What?”
“I said, ‘I don’t know.’ I think she’s jealous or something. I think she can’t deal with, you know, what’s going on with me.”
“Jealous?”
“Yeah.”
“No, she’s not. She’s proud of you. We all are.”
Mindy smirked. “Not everyone is. Trust me. It kind of started when I got into Princeton, but it’s gotten really bad since I’ve been on the show.”
I shook my head, sighed. I had suspected this for some time. Karen was used to being the center of attention, the star of the show. Mindy’s ascent had upset the natural order of things. “Some sibling rivalry is normal. But you’re still sisters. And I hope you get along with her tomorrow. She needs her family.”
“She’ll be okay. She’s always okay. She’s the amazing, unsinkable Captain McBrag.”
“Could you do me a favor? Could you please stop calling her Captain McBrag? She doesn’t brag anymore, okay? You know she was devastated by that skit. That upset your mother and me too. You shouldn’t have done that. Making fun of your family on TV—that’s not right.”
“It was loosely based. Inspired by.”
“You called it ‘Captain McBrag.’”
“That’s not her legal name or anything. No one knew who it was about.”
“The character was named Captain Karen McBrag.”
“Just drop it, okay? It was a stupid bit; we only did it once. It’s over.” She pulled out her phone. “So, how long are we going to stay there anyway? I’d like to get back.”
“She was always nice to you. She always looked out for you. Always.”
“Right. She’s a bitch, and you know it.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Just drop it. I don’t want to talk about Her Highness.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
We were quiet, then Mindy blurted, “For the record, just so you know, when that writer called her and was looking for some quotes about me, she could have said something more insightful, more supportive, more something, than ‘no comment.’ Do you know how that looked? That’s my career she’s fucking with. My own sister, my only sister, saying, ‘No comment.’ What the fuck was that all about? People think I’m a bitch now. On the show, all I heard was ‘no comment,’ from everyone for, like, six months. It was, like, the big fucking joke!”
“Okay, calm down. Just relax.” I, of course, had read the article in question and had been mortified by Karen’s ‘no comment’ comment. “I’m sorry I brought this whole thing up. I’m sorry. I just want everyone to get along, that’s all. Let’s drop it.”
“You always want everyone to get along.”
“That’s my job. I’m the dad.”
We were quiet again. Ethan yelled something indecipherable to the sky and grinned madly.
“Anyway, switching gears here—we have the rooms until Monday.”
“God. Monday.”
“It’s just a few days.”
“I need to get back home,” she said.
“Home? For the record, Wilton is your home.”
“I’ve lived in New York for almost five years now.”
“Yes, but I’m just saying, technically speaking, Wilton will always be your home.”
“Don’t worry, Dad, if New York City ever declares war on Wilton, I’ll come home to fight.”
“Good. Because we’re counting on you.”
Mindy kicked the ground with her celebrity-red sneakers. “So, what’s the point in staying in Charleston? Do we have to help clean out the pool or something?”
“I don’t know, family time. The Sals are staying. When’s the last time you’ve seen the Sals?”
“I don’t remember.” She put the hood of her sweatshirt up even though it was warm. Across the road, a spotless white truck stopped with a hiss in front of the bakery, and a man in an equally white uniform jumped out.
“How’s Aunt Sally?”
“Better. In remission. Everyone’s optimistic.”
“Is Uncle Sal in the mob?”
“What?”
“Uncle Sal. Is he in the mob?”
“Not this again.”
“I’m about to spend a lot of time with him, and I want to know. Besides, I have a right to know, in case I’m ever subpoenaed.”
“He’s not in the mob. And that’s a stereotype. You’re half Italian, and you’re not in the mob.”
“Dad, no one has ever known what he really does for a living. Every time I ask someone, I get a different answer.”
“He’s an accountant. Among, you know, other things.”
“Other things?”
“Never mind. Drop it.”
“Daddy-o.”
I paused, thought about it, then said, “All right, okay. I guess you’re a big girl now. Your uncle, he’s, or at least was, a bookie. A big-time bookie. I don’t think he does that anymore though. I think he’s out of it.”