The Party #2
Lydia was afraid she was going to cry. That would be the ultimate carelessness, weeping and sobbing away at the Stroll party. Pull up your big girl panties, she told herself, and sniffed back her tears, tossed her head, and returned to the party.
—
Brick Three scanned the room. Lots of people, but not his father and Beatrice. He remembered that in past years the guests knew they could simply open the door and enter. But Brick Jr. never did that. He always remained at the front door, knocking stubbornly until Brick Three opened it.
He went into the front hall. Isadora Stanley, the Congregational church minister, was there, talking with Father Ramirez, the pastor of the Catholic church. They were huddled in a corner, speaking in low tones.
“What are you two up to now?” Brick Three joked.
“The Christmas pageant,” Father Ramirez answered.
“Heaven help you,” Brick Three said.
“Somebody has to,” Isadora Stanley said. Isadora and Father Ramirez laughed more than seemed appropriate.
Brick Three glanced at their hands. Punch cups. Empty. That explained a lot.
Someone knocked on the front door. Brick opened it, and there were Brick Jr. and Beatrice.
“Come in, come in.” Brick Three held the door wide.
The couple came in. With Brick Three’s help, they removed their coats. They were dolled up in matching red wool sweaters and Beatrice had glass snowflakes hanging from her ears. She was clutching a glass pan covered with aluminum foil.
“Let me take that from you,” Brick Three offered.
Beatrice drew backward, as if Brick Three wanted to steal it.
She said, “I need it. It’s cinnamon polka-dot vanilla bars with snow on top. Well, not real snow, of course. Confectioner’s sugar snow. I made them for tonight. I’ll take them into the kitchen. I need a platter to put them on.”
“That’s great, Beatrice. I’ll plow a path through the crowd for you.”
“I’ll be in the living room,” Brick Jr. said.
Jane and Lucas were in the kitchen, carefully mixing more punch.
“The peaches are almost gone,” Jane told Brick Three. “Hi, Beatrice, what did you bring?”
“I’ll check the food.” Brick Three went to the dining room to see if any plates needed refilling.
Salty Weber, wearing his yacht club blazer and starched white shirt, stood at the table, looking confused.
“Brick Three! Where’s the punch?” Salty yelled.
“They’re bringing it in from the—”
Someone screamed. A sharp, authentic scream.
“Excuse me, Salty. Something’s gone wrong in the kitchen.”
Brick Three hurried away, almost colliding with Lucas, who was carrying the heavy glass punch bowl.
“What’s going on in—” Brick Three began.
“I’m bleeding!” a woman cried and it sounded like Beatrice.
“Dad. Take this.” Lucas shoved the bowl into Brick Three’s arms.
Brick Three stood helplessly in the kitchen doorway, trying to understand what was happening.
Beatrice stood near the kitchen counter, swaying, nearly fainting, and spewing blood. A long cut sliced her arm just above the wrist.
Lucas said calmly, “Mom. Call 911. Beatrice, you’re okay.”
Beatrice dropped to the floor, sitting with her legs straight out in front of her.
At the doorway into the kitchen from the living room, Brick Jr. was trying to shove his way through the crowd of curious guests.
“Let me through!” Brick Jr. yelled.
Lucas grabbed a dish towel from the counter, knelt on the floor and quickly wrapped the towel around Beatrice’s arm just above the cut. He twisted it tight. He grabbed a pile of paper napkins and pressed them against the cut running horizontally through her inner arm.
He gently pulled Beatrice’s arm up in the air, as if she was waving.
Beatrice said, “That hurts! What are you doing? Why is my arm in the air?” She was crying and laughing at the same time.
Brick Three set the punch bowl on the kitchen table. Jane turned to him, holding out her hands in an I don’t know gesture.
Brick Jr. burst into the kitchen, yelling. “I’m here, Beatrice!” He tried to kneel next to her but froze partway down. “My knee!”
Beatrice twisted toward Brick Jr., nearly pulling her arm out of Lucas’s grasp. “Oh, sweetie, be careful.”
Brick Three crossed the kitchen, squatted next to his father, and helped him to a sitting position on the floor next to Beatrice.
Brick Jr. put a consoling hand on Beatrice’s shoulder. “What happened, baby?”
Lydia and her mother locked eyes. Lydia mouthed, “Baby?”
“I was cutting the cinnamon polka-dot vanilla bars out of the pan and I don’t know how, but the knife slipped.” Beatrice pointed to the long knife lying on the floor, sheathed with wet blood.
Lucas handed Brick Jr. a pile of paper napkins. “Grandad. Take these napkins. When I take my pile away, you put your pile on the cut. Press hard.”
Brick Jr. did as Lucas instructed. Frowning, he grumbled, “That cut’s got to be three inches long.”
Lucas nodded and stood, still holding Beatrice’s arm. “Right. But it’s not super deep. A few stitches, and she’ll be good as new.”
For the next few minutes, Jane helped Lucas replace the sodden paper napkins on Beatrice’s arm while Brick Jr. scooted close to Beatrice, assuring her she’d be fine, and Brick Three stood at the entrance into the living room, telling everyone that Beatrice had an accident, everything was okay, please enjoy the party.
Brick Jr. tried to put his arm around Beatrice, and because her arm was being held up in the air, his hand landed on his wife’s breast, and Beatrice whispered, “Brick Jr.!” and Brick Jr. went red and the two sat on the floor snorting with laughter.
Lydia rolled her eyes.
“I hear sirens,” Lucas announced.
“I’ll get the door.” Jane hurried away.
A new sort of commotion sounded from the living room as the EMTs came through the crowd.
“What have we got here?” the female EMT asked.
Before anyone could answer, she knelt next to Beatrice.
“Hi there, I’m Sonja Singleton. I’m a paramedic EMT.
Hey, Lucas.” She gently lifted Lucas’s hand and the bloody napkins and scanned the cut, which was oozing blood but no longer spewing. “How did this happen?”
Beatrice took a deep breath. “I was cutting my cinnamon polka-dot vanilla bars and the knife slipped.” She burst into a fountain of tears.
“I’m so sorry. I’m old. My hands aren’t as strong as they used to be.
I didn’t mean to make a mess. And I hate having my arm stuck up like I’m trying to get attention. ”
“Lucas is doing the right thing,” Sonja assured her. Glancing up, she said, “Nice job, Lucas.”
Beatrice smiled. “Yes, Lucas, thank you. You saved my life.”
Lucas was trying to lift Brick Jr. up off the floor. “Oh, I’m not sure that’s true, but I was glad to help.”
The other EMT approached. He was big-boned and brawny, with a thatch of silky light brown hair.
“Hi, Mr. Parsons. Hi, Lucas. Mr. Parsons, I’m Jim O’Connor. Let me help you up.” Without needing an extra breath, he gently hauled Brick Jr. to his feet.
“Hi, Jim.” Lydia couldn’t stop staring at the man she had called Jimmy when he was her high school boyfriend. When she had slid her hands through that thick hair as he kissed her.
“Lydia. Hey.”
Lydia wondered how a man could put so much seduction into one syllable. She just smiled.
“How are you, babe? I heard you were back,” Jim said.
“Jim. Focus,” Sonja Singleton snapped.
Jim focused. “Beatrice, we’re going to take you to the hospital and get a few stitches in your arm. You’ll be back to the party before you know it.” He applied a fresh bandage.
“Thank you.” Beatrice smiled bravely. “I hope it doesn’t scar. I like to keep my skin in perfect shape.”
No one responded. Brick Three raised an eyebrow at Jane.
“That was a joke!” Beatrice said quickly.
“Sorry, sorry, I was trying to be funny. I’m old, people, I’m so old I’m lucky to have skin.
That’s a joke, too. Jane, I’m sorry I bled all over your beautiful kitchen.
Lucas, thank you for saving my life. Brick Jr., please get me out of here before I die of embarrassment. ”
Brick Jr. glanced around the room. “Bea’s funny when you get to know her. She makes me laugh a lot.”
“You make me laugh a lot,” Beatrice said.
Everyone in the room saw love flash between the two oldest people there.
Sonja Singleton said, “We’re going to strap you on our stretcher and carry you to the ambulance now.”
“Why does she need a stretcher?” Jane asked.
“Because she might faint from blood loss,” Lucas replied, adding, “At least that’s what I think.”
Sonja Singleton said, “Hospital policy.”
The EMTs lifted Beatrice onto it and strapped her in.
“I’m going with her.” Brick Jr. strode to the gathering of onlookers peering in from the living room. “Stand back, everyone. Make room for the stretcher.”
“I’ll get the door,” Lydia said.
The crowd parted. The small procession passed through the room. People smiled bravely at Beatrice.
Beatrice waved with her good hand. “I’ve always wanted to be carried away!”
Lydia held the door open as Beatrice, Brick Jr., and the EMTs walked outside and settled Beatrice and Brick Jr. in the ambulance.
Jim didn’t get in the cab. He walked up to Lydia.
“You look good. How long are you here for?”
He was standing inappropriately close to her. Lydia inhaled his scent—antiseptic and irrepressible male.
She could scarcely speak. “Just through tomorrow.”
“Can we get together? Breakfast, a drink, a walk, anything?”
“Jimmy, aren’t you with someone?”
“You know I’m not.”
Lydia grinned. “Jimmy. Come on.”
“Okay, I’m with someone, but not seriously. You know I’m still waiting for you.”
“Jimmy, you’re such a fraud.”
“Not with you I’m not.”
He was leaning in to kiss her when Sonja Singleton stuck her head out of the ambulance cab. “Romeo! Now!”
Jimmy jumped into the ambulance and pulled the doors shut. Lydia went into the house, closed the door, and leaned against it, trying to interpret what her body was trying to tell her.
Brick Three arrived in the hall, frowning. “Is something wrong?”
“No. I was just chatting with Jimmy.”
“That guy.” Brick Three shook his head and headed into the party.