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“Pretty good crowd,” Harrison remarked as Ronald Miller and his wife entered the room. I watched as my father introduced them to Elyse and she, in turn, introduced them to the other guests.
“Oh, God,” I whispered as they approached.
“Jodi,” Elyse said. “I believe you’ve met Ronald Miller.”
“Yes. Nice to see you again,” Ronald Miller replied stiffly. “This is my wife, Rachael.”
“My husband, Harrison.”
“Harrison is a famous writer,” Elyse said.
“Oh?”
“Surely you’ve heard of Harrison Bishop. He wroteComes the Dreamer.Wonderful, wonderful book.”
“Really? I’ll have to read it. Perhaps you could send me a copy.”
“Perhaps you could buy one,” I said pointedly.
Ronald and Rachael Miller smiled and promptly moved on.
“What a nerve!” Elyse exclaimed. “Do you get that often?”
“Often enough,” Harrison said. “You’d be surprised at the things people say to writers. There’s this apocryphal story about the writer W. O. Mitchell,” he continued without prompting.“He was apparently cornered at a party by a surgeon who informed him that when he retired, he was going to become a writer, to which Mitchell replied, ‘Isn’t that interesting? WhenIretire, I’m going to become a surgeon.’ ”
Elyse laughed, long and loud. “What a wonderful story! You must tell it to everyone.” She looked around. “I think we’re all here.”
“What aboutyourfriends?” I asked.
“Your father is all the friend I need. Although I do have a surprise for you later.” She made a point of checking her watch—a new gold Cartier. “Where’s Tracy? Is she not coming?”
As if on cue, the doorbell rang, and seconds later, Tracy swept into the room, wearing jeans, shiny knee-high black vinyl boots, and a red sweatshirt that readUnderestimate Me. That’ll Be Fun.
“Oh, my God,” Elyse exclaimed, arms extended toward my sister. “Aren’t you the most adorable thing!”
“Not exactly the response I was going for,” Tracy muttered when she reached my side.
“This house is spectacular, Vic,” I heard Stephanie Pickering tell my father. “You know you’re sitting on a gold mine here, don’t you?”
“Would you like Jodi to show you around?” my father said, offering up my services without so much as a nod in my direction.
“I would love that,” Stephanie said. “You don’t mind, do you, Jodi?”
“Not at all,” I said. Truthfully, I was more than happy to get away from all the good cheer. Did nobody remember that my mother had been dead only a few months? Was I the only one who thought it was a little early to be celebrating my father’s hasty remarriage?
“What a magnificent staircase,” Stephanie proclaimed as we reentered the front hall.
I pictured my mother lying at the bottom of it.
Is it possible that she’d had a little help getting there?I found myself wondering as I led Stephanie through the house.
“Elyse seems like such a lovely woman,” Stephanie ventured at one point.
“Yes, she does.”
“She seems to genuinely adore your father.”
“Yes, she does,” I said again.
