The last of her words are covered by Gretchen, who exclaims when Howie knocks over his glass of milk onto his food.
As the spill is being cleaned and Howie is being calmed, Alana’s fingers feather against my arm. “Piper.” Her voice is low in my ear. “I know we got off to a rough start, but now that I’m seeing your brother, I hope we can get along.”
She’s trying to be kind. I have to remind myself of that so I don’t snatch my arm away from her touch. “Thank you,” I murmur. Without Lydia’s voice whispering to me, I have to tell myself to be politely appreciative. “I would like that too.”
“I was wondering if you might be willing to talk about—”
But from my other side, Tim nudges me. He holds out the fresh plate that Joyce brought for Howie. “Could you spoon some mashed potatoes on here for me?”
“Sure.”
Tim’s eyes hold their characteristic tenderness. “How are you doing tonight, little sister?”
I angle toward him, thankful for the rescue from Alana’s pestering. “I don’t know.”
He flicks his gaze toward Jane. “Same here.”
I glance around the table. Father and Nick are discussing something baseball related, while Alana listens with either interest or a good imitation of it. Jane and Gretchen are commiserating about the stress of being a bride. Jane watches Howie with a look of obvious longing, and I’m struck with a new fear—will she and Father have children? I can’t imagine Father wanting that, not now that he’s already a grandfather, but Jane is so young . . .
“You know”—Tim’s voice reaches out for me—“you’re always welcome at our place. Gretchen would love it.”
“Thank you, Tim. That’s very kind of you.”
Tim’s smile says I know you, sister. “Howie no longer cries like he used to. Most of his teeth are in now. And”—he drops his volume even lower—“Gretchen has really relaxed. We had tried so long to have a baby, that . . . Well, I know her enthusiasm for motherhood grated on you.”
As did her excessive enthusiasm for being a wife. And before that, for being a bride. And before that . . .
I glance at Jane and Gretchen, bonding over ballroom sizes and flowers. Things I can’t imagine caring about. Despite Gretchen’s obnoxious enthusiasm for all things feminine, she is kind. And thoughtful. I can’t imagine her marrying a man solely for money.
Or is Jane? I touch my locket and think of Father crediting her with the idea to put Lydia’s photograph in Mother’s present. I push the thought away.
“Once they’re back from their honeymoon, I imagine I’ll be ready to get away for a few days.” I wink at him. “Or years.”
“Oh, Pippy. You’ll be married and establishing your own house before too long, I imagine.”
I snort and take a large bite of buttery mashed potatoes.
“You can’t fool me. Do you think I’m unaware that you’ve been receiving attention from a certain detective?”
I’m glad I took such a large bite and can’t be expected to immediately respond.
“You realize, don’t you, that if Father wasn’t otherwise occupied”—Tim nods to Jane—“you probably wouldn’t be getting away with staying out until midnight with a man.”
I roll my eyes even as my heart pounds in my chest. “What, are you spying on the place?”
Tim grins. “I have my sources.”
“Nick should really keep his mouth shut.”
Tim laughs as he forks a bite of pot roast. “So, has Father talked to you at all about Mariano, or is he counting on Joyce to rein you in?”
“Rein me in? Like I’m some wayward adolescent.”
“Not wayward.” Tim’s smile is kind. “Just an adolescent. With her first boyfriend.”
My stomach knots at the word. “If Father and I aren’t arguing from time to time, then clearly I’m doing this whole thing incorrectly. Our generation is so vastly different than our parents’, more so than any generation before, that some clash is inevitable.”
Tim’s eyebrows arch.
“I read that in a column,” I admit with a laugh. “It was advice on wild young people, or something.”
“On one hand, it sounded far too adult for my kid sister. On the other . . .” Tim takes me in with a serious gaze. “You’ve grown up a lot this last month, Pippy. You’ve been forced to.”
A lump rises in my throat as Lydia’s ghost settles between us.
Joyce bustles into the room and whispers something in my father’s ear. His gaze travels across the table to me. “Piper, it seems there’s a young man at the door for you.”
I glance at the grandfather clock. But they weren’t supposed to be here for another . . . Oh, wait. If the movie starts at seven, then of course they would need to pick me up now.
I lay my napkin beside my plate. “Jeremiah and Emma Crane have invited me to see a movie tonight. I didn’t mean to surprise you with it, but I didn’t think you would be upset.”