The day was indeed a total washout. Grumps kept complaining about the smell of incense and saying the whole market was wall-to-wall hippy tat. At the I Scream, their favorite gelateria, he wouldn’t even try a half scoop of anything because there were no ordinary flavors. Sumac wished he’d stayed home on his own, but Sic told her that wouldn’t be safe, because he might burn Camelottery down too. Sumac’s still not sure whether that was a joke.
Then, on Sunday, the Lotterys were going to try out a Bahá’í meeting, but instead they ended up taking Grumps to a really boring Presbyterian church because he’d find it familiar, and afterward he claimed he didn’t recognize any of the hymns anyway. So it seems to Sumac that when they change all their plans for this old man, it doesn’t make anybody happy.
He drifts around Camelottery like a headless ghost. Whenever he comes into a room, one of the Lotterys jumps up to help him find what he’s looking for, but by then he’s already muttered something and gone out again. Sumac has made diagrams of each floor with enormous labels, in thirty-six-point font, and stuck them up on the landings, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference.
Now it’s Monday morning and CardaMom’s opening a week’s worth of mail — standing up at the counter, because she says sitting makes her sluggish. One card has silver feathers embossed on it, like that earring that CardaMom’s only got one of now, since Aspen played Treasure Hunt with the other. It says in old-fashioned script that Mary Johnson (that’s CardaMom) plus one are invited as special guests to a Gala Gathering of Indigenous Women Leading Change.
“Why are you a Woman Leading Change?” asks Sumac.
CardaMom grins. “I’ve just sat on some committees and boards and donated a bunch of our lottery winnings.”
Funny thing, the parents are pretty mean when it comes to spending, but they’re always giving it away. “Who’s the plus one?” asks Sumac.
“Oh, that means a partner or loved one.”
“So, MaxiMum.”
“Don’t you forget it,” says MaxiMum, muffled, as she stands sorting tubs in the freezer.
CardaMom blows a kiss at her. “But really you’re all my loved ones.”
“Your Loved Many,” suggests Sumac.
“Well put,” says CardaMom. “I’ll RSVP to say I’m bringing my plus ten, if they can rustle up enough chairs.”
Sumac giggles at the image of that.
She stops as Grumps comes in. She watches his eighty-two-year-old legs crossing the Mess. They work just fine, so actually he could have stayed in Spare Oom, and Sumac could have kept her beloved bedroom….
Aspen runs in brandishing her cat’s cradle string. “What do you all want to see me do, Lizard Twist or Cheating the Hangman?”
“How about showing us Eat French Toast, and then Put Plate in Dishwasher?” suggests PapaDum, setting a teapot down between Grumps and PopCorn.
Aspen’s face brightens. “I’ll do Two Diamonds but call it Two Plates. Prepare to be amazed, because I can do it in six seconds with my eyes shut!”
As her fingers start working, a low moan emerges from PopCorn and his knee bounces.
MaxiMum pats him on the shoulder. “Let’s remember that cat’s cradle strengthens concentration, memory, and hand-eye coordination.”
“Done,” squeals Aspen, holding up the shape.
“It’s, let’s see, nonelectronic,” adds CardaMom. “An indigenous game that kids have invented everywhere from the Arctic to the equator …”
“Yeah, and one of these days I’m going to strangle her with that string,” mutters PopCorn.
“Hate speech and death threats, you goin’ to jail,” crows Aspen.
Grumps slurps his tea.
“Catalpa, Empress of the Night?” asks PopCorn.
Wandering in like a sleepwalker, Catalpa yawns in his direction.
“What’s your goal, your passion, your quest for today?”
“Waking up.” Lush eyelashes resting on her cheeks.
“How’s your graphic design course coming along?” asks PapaDum.
“Coming along,” she murmurs, taking a piece of French toast and nibbling it.
Thunk, thunk: Sic bounds into the Mess on his pogo stick.
“Get off that thing,” orders Catalpa, covering her ears.
He jumps down. “Up late cyberjamming with Game of Groans, were we?”
“Game of Tones!”
Sniggers around the table.
“I never sleep, hardly,” Aspen boasts. “I always get up in the night and play and try not to wake people.”
Grumps snorts.
“Does she disturb you, Iain?” asks CardaMom.
No answer.
“At least I don’t flush the toilet,” says Aspen, triumphant.
Nobody dares smile.
“Anyway. OK if I go rehearse at someone’s place this afternoon?” asks Catalpa.
“A real-world experience,” marvels PopCorn. “Whose house?”
“Probably Quinn’s.”
“Leave us her parents’ number.”
“So hey, speaking of real-world activities,” says Sic, “would you guys be cool with covering the application fee for my learner’s license?”
“Are you still at this?” asks PapaDum, shaking his head in wonder.
“Do you need a license to drive … your parents mad?” Aspen asks, bouncing up and down on her ball. “Get it? Get it?”
“We get it,” MaxiMum assures her.