28
“So you’re working on the Fourth of July?”
“I am not working ,” I said again, flipping the pancakes that I was making for the kids. “He didn’t have any place to be, and I thought it was smart for him to come with us from a political standpoint.”
“But why on the Fourth of July? No one wants to talk politics on a holiday.”
I turned around from the stove. “Actually, Mama, considering that the Fourth of July is quite literally America’s first political holiday, I think it makes perfect sense.” She opened her mouth to reply, but I cut her off. “And again, it’s not about politics. It’s about showing up as a person. Remember how much people loved it when Papa would just be a normal dad?”
“Your pancakes are burning,” Mama said mildly. I moved the pan to a cool burner and transferred them to the waiting plate, but it was too late. The kids would never trust my cooking again if I served them burnt pancakes. With a sigh, I dumped them in the trash and started again. “Such a waste,” she murmured.
“Don’t you go starting that Depression-era nonsense,” I warned. “Larry can afford an extra box of pancake mix.”
“And if Larry comes to the club today?”
That hadn’t occurred to me. He wasn’t a fan of the club beyond golf. Though if I’d had any doubts about whether the threat to sell the house held any weight or not, that should have been a clue. Cancelling our membership would have been a logical first step before selling the house.
“He won’t,” I said with a certainty I didn’t feel. “I’m sure he’ll be working. Besides, he always hated going to the club for the Fourth.”
“I’m just not sure that going with another man so soon is in anyone’s best interest.”
I slapped the spatula down on the kitchen counter and turned around again, arms crossed at my waist. “I’m allowed to have friends.”
“Is that what he is now? A friend?”
“No. He’s my boss. Is it so wrong to take pity on someone who had no place to be on a holiday? We’re supposed to invite people in at Passover.”
“This is hardly Passover, and it’s a lot more public.”
“Which is how you know it’s not a date. If we strip naked and go at it on the ninth hole, then I’ll agree with your concern.”
“Beverly!”
“It’s amazing I’m here at all with that reaction.”
“Beverly Ann Gelman, if you—”
“Diamond, Mama. Don’t forget, I am still married. Which is why your concerns are completely unfounded. Even if I were interested—which I’m not—it would be pretty pointless, wouldn’t it? It’s ironic too: people have no problem voting for an adulterer, but they’d think twice about voting for someone who was with an adulterer.”
“Beverly,” she said, starting again. “I know you better than that. I’m talking about how it will look .”
I threw my hands up. “I take it back. I’m working on the Fourth of July. Better?”
“Much,” she said, sipping her coffee. “But you’d better flip those pancakes.”
I swore, then dumped the second batch. “No distracting me this time.”
“Who’s distracting?”
Rolling my eyes as I spooned a third batch of pancakes into the pan, I dropped the argument.
Michael arrived at three sharp with a bouquet of red, white, and blue flowers, complete with two small American flags for the kids.
“I didn’t want to come empty-handed,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t know the etiquette for—whatever this is.”
I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Mama wasn’t standing right there. “I appreciate the sentiment, but give them to my mother.”
“Your mother?”
“Just trust me.”
“I—ah—I didn’t realize your mother would be coming with us.”
I shrugged. “She moved in to help with the kids when Larry moved out.”
“And your father?”
I shook my head. “Don’t ask. Long story for another day. And definitely don’t ask her about him.”
“Mr. Landau,” Mama said warmly from behind me, as if she hadn’t spent the entire morning telling me what a terrible idea this was. “How lovely to see you again.”
“Just Michael, ma’am.”
“Until it’s Senator Landau,” I said.
“So modest,” my mother murmured. “Michael,” she said, holding out her hand for him to shake.
“I brought—I brought you some flowers,” Michael said, glancing at me quickly, which wasn’t lost on her.
“How thoughtful. I can’t remember the last time anyone brought me flowers.”
The last time was her birthday, a month ago. And I knew because I had a longstanding order placed with our florist for them to be delivered from my father. And Mother’s Day a few weeks before that.
A crash sounded from upstairs. “I better go check on the kids,” I said. “Come on in while I finish getting them ready.”
“Hey!” I yelled up the stairs. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” they both called back.
I started up the stairs. “ Nothing always means something expensive got broken,” I muttered. When I reached Debbie’s bedroom, the rocking chair was overturned, and she was trapped inside it. “What on earth?”
“We’re playing jail,” Robbie said. “I’m the sheriff.”
“I a bad guy!” Debbie volunteered.
“Okay, bad guy and sheriff. It’s time to go to the club. Mommy’s friend is here, and he brought you a little present, but only children who are dressed and ready to go get presents.”
“I ready!” Debbie shouted. “I get present!”
“I don’t see shoes on those feet.”
“I get shoes!” Debbie went careening out of the room, and I heard her running toward the stairs.
“You’re up, Sheriff.”
Robbie scowled for a moment at his disrupted game. “Will there be fireworks tonight?”
“There will.”
“And I get to stay up for them?” I assured him that he did, and he made his way downstairs.
Michael was in the living room with my mother, and inexplicably, Debbie was on his lap, waving her American flag enthusiastically in his face. Her shoes were nowhere in sight.
“Deborah Annette Diamond, you get down right now.”
She looked at me, pouting. “It’s okay,” Michael said. “She was excited about the flag.”
“I ’cited,” she confirmed, waving the flag and smacking Michael repeatedly in the head with it.
“You sure about that?” I asked Michael. He laughed.
“I want one,” Robbie said. “She doesn’t even have her shoes on.”
“Robbie, this is Mommy’s friend, Mr. Landau.”
Robbie looked at him dubiously.
“Hi,” Michael said, shifting Debbie off his lap. “You can call me Michael.” He knelt to Robbie’s level and pulled the other flag off the sofa to hand to him.
“Mr. Landau,” I corrected. “We don’t call adults by their first names.”
Robbie looked from Michael to me and back again as if we were playing tennis. “Listen to your mother,” Michael said. “I clearly don’t know the rules yet.”
“There are a lot of rules,” Robbie said.
“I bet,” Michael said conspiratorially. Then he stood up. “So—I hear there’s a barbecue. No one here likes hot dogs, do they?”
“Me! Me!” Debbie shouted.
“Uh-oh. I guess I can’t eat them all, then, can I?”
“You can eat the hamburgers,” Robbie said, still studying him. “And maybe one hot dog.”
“That’s very generous of you, sir,” Michael said.
Robbie put his shoulders back proudly, and I looked away so he wouldn’t see me smile. He always thought I was laughing at him instead of with him.
“Shall we?” Michael asked, and for a moment it looked like he was going to hold out his arm again. My mother was watching with great interest.
“Yes,” I said. “Debbie. Shoes. Now.”