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“Marisa!” my sister snapped.
“A human being emerging from the dragon’s mouth doesn’t resemble vomit,” I corrected her. “And, as clearly my sister has told you, I would know.”
“Can I see your teeth?”
I smiled for her. I’d recently had my teeth whitened. They looked grand.
“I always thought bulimics had meth teeth.”
“I do not have meth teeth. Also, I’m not bulimic. Long ago, I had some issues with bulimia. There’s a difference. Finally, I thought we’d agreed that you needn’t call me Aunt.”
“Marisa, do you want us to order you something to eat or drink?” Nigel asked.
“Sure. But none of you answered my question: why are you meeting?”
“Well, since it seems you have to know,” I said, “I want to talk to Betsy about whether she needs anything as you two settle in here in Las Vegas.”
“God, you must think I still believe in Santa Claus and the tooth fairy.”
“You don’t?”
She shook her head, exasperated with me. “Fine. I give up. I’ll go swim with the toddlers and get upchucked by a dragon. If anyone decides to get food, I’ll take a cheeseburger. And a Mountain Dew. Please.”
“I could go,” said Nigel, a little nonplussed.
“Cool,” murmured my niece, and then she sauntered over to the steps that led into the pool, and stood there for a moment surveying the wee ones and their parents in and out of the water.
“She can swim, right?” I asked.
“Yes, of course she can,” my sister said, but I noticed her eyes instantly went to the two lifeguards in their high white chairs.
“Will she mind if I don’t get the cheeseburger right away?” Nigel wondered.
“You sound scared of her,” Betsy said to him.
“I am.”
“Don’t be. She’s thirteen.”
“Going on twenty-five.”
“Just thirteen,” she reiterated. Then she looked me dead in the eye, and said, “So, Sis, let’s begin with this: why did you two bolt out of the parking lot the other day?”
“Because your two friends had guns.”
“Why do you care? Do you believe they represent any danger to either of you?”
I could tell from her tone that she wasn’t being naive or deluding herself. She knew more than she was letting on, and had framed her question to suggest that whatever her new friends were up to, Nigel and I were fish too small to matter.
“We don’t get in cars with strange men who carry pistols,” I said.
“You’re being ridiculous. You both are. When you left, we split up and Frankie took me to Caesar’s and we ate oysters. It was heavenly. We had oysters and then lobster risotto.”
“You had lobster risotto for lunch?” I asked. It was a knee-jerk question and instantly I regretted it. Both Nigel and Betsy looked at me, their eyes anxious. I put up my hands. “I’m sorry. I only meant it sounded heavy for lunch.”
“We split the risotto, Crissy. Not that it matters.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
