Tidings. William Wharton

      3

      Three French Hens

      I’m just finishing my second pancake when I hear the unmistakable front left brake squeal of the Capri. I stand up, straddling my chair and it’s them all right.

      ‘Here they are, Lor, safe and sound.’

      We both move to the west window, Ben leaning over behind us. Nicole’s out first from the passenger side. She’s wearing a padded eiderdown vest and a long, wraparound red wool scarf. I have unwelcome thoughts of Isadora Duncan, one of Nicole’s all-around favorite people. Nicole has a wool hat pulled down low over her forehead and ears, the jacket and scarf across her mouth. She’s waving her arms wildly, although she probably can’t see us through the curtained narrow window. The boyfriend climbs out the other side. He shocks me. He looks like an older, balding, bearded version of Mike. I never thought this was the kind of man Nicole would hook up with. Her other men have tended either toward the emaciated-kook-musician, dirty, smelly type or the unbelievably handsome aspiring moviestar variety; nothing in the middle.

      ‘Geez, Lor. That guy sure looks a lot like Mike.’

      Loretta’s dashing past me pulling at the trap door.

      ‘Who else do you think it is, dummy? Of course it’s Mike. What a wonderful surprise; we’ll all have Christmas together after all.’

      I can see now she’s right. It’s so wonderful to hear the excitement in her voice. Mike’s doing his after-a-long-drive stretch, very similar to my morning sunlight reach. Then he slightly cocks his left leg to let off a Jack-Kerouac-on-the-road fart. I wonder where Geneviève is. Maybe they got their signals crossed and she’s in California waiting to be picked up at LAX.

      I hurry down the cellar steps behind Loretta. Madame Le Moine has opened her door and stands with hands clasped, radiating pure joy at our joy. Mike has Loretta in a big bear hug. I go over and hug Nicole. We exchange French style cheek-to-cheek kissing. She feels, looks heavy even discounting the padded jacket. But she looks healthy, bright-eyed, good color, better than I remember her two years ago.

      ‘Did we surprise you?’

      ‘You sure did. What happened? Where’s Geneviève?’

      ‘Mike will tell you. It’s his story. Let me get inside, I’m freezing.’

      Now Maggie is working her way out from the back seat. She’s even more bundled up than Nicole and looks truly miserably cold. She’s been covered by all kinds of packages and luggage. I give her a hand to help her out over the lowered back of the front passenger seat. We share a good, hard hug. She’s exactly the same height as Loretta but thinner. She’s been working at keeping slim and looks wonderful. After Seth was born she took on weight, but now she looks like a girl again, younger than Nicole, although she’s five years older. She’s wearing the afghan alpaca-type coat she left with us in Paris.

      ‘Hi, Dad. Holy mackerel, your hair is practically pure white and are your eyebrows naturally that dark, or do you dye them?’

      ‘White in the head only, Maggie. Getting older’s just as bad as I thought it would be.’

      She hugs herself, tucks her mouth under the neck of her sweater.

      ‘God, I’m freezing. Mike had to keep the window open so he could signal. The left turning signal wouldn’t work.’

      ‘I know.’

      Mike shouts over the car.

      ‘Really, Dad, you ought to get a real car for a change; this thing’s a menace; it starts shimmying at eighty kilometers an hour so it almost shakes your teeth out. My arms are still vibrating.’

      ‘I know. The frame’s bent; was that way when I bought it, makes a good automatic governor, but it wears out tires. How are you, Mike, other than being tired?’

      ‘I’m pooped. I’d like to sleep for about three days.’

      Maggie reaches in to get her stuff from the back. Lor is hugging Nicole. Mike comes around front of the car through the bumpy, frozen mud to me. His eyes look red-rimmed as if he’s been smoking pot for three days. Probably it’s all the sleep loss flying over, then driving down. Coming this direction is deadly. Mike’s shaking my hand, has his other hand on my shoulder.

      ‘Did we surprise you?’

      ‘Sure did. With your new beard, and not expecting you, I thought you were Nicole’s boyfriend. By the way, where is he?’

      ‘He decided not to come after all. We finally convinced Nickie the mill isn’t big enough for six people in the winter time, especially if one of them’s a complete stranger. Remember, I lived down here through one winter. Boy, am I ever strung out; driving that car wore me right down; you know the left front brake is grabbing.’

      ‘I know. Where’s Geneviève?’

      Do I imagine it, or does he give me one of those quick looks; the look I’ve learned to live with, when quite by accident, I start mucking too much in my kids’ lives.

      ‘She decided she had to stay here, couldn’t come to the good old U.S. of A. after all. Her mom would be down for Christmas by herself most of the time. Her dad’s coming down too, for a few days, so they can divide things up. It’ll be tough for both of them and Geneviève felt she couldn’t leave now. Besides I didn’t want to pass up the chance for a Christmas with us all together at the mill, like old times.’

      He stares at me closely again, almost as if he’s looking to see if I believe him. It’s uncomfortable and I can’t figure it. Mike’s one of those people who give off vibrations. I can usually feel them but I’ll be damned if I can interpret them. He leans close.

      ‘I had to spend my school tuition money on a plane ticket. Is that okay?’

      ‘Sure, no problem. I’ll write a new check and we’ll get it right off. The deadline is January fourth, isn’t it?’

      ‘Don’t worry about that, Dad. I’ll work it out.’

      How’s he going to work it out? Does he have a job? Hidden resources, computer access? Maybe he’ll explain later.

      I wish either I didn’t have antennae or I had better ones. Mine work just well enough to let me know when something is wrong, but not what’s wrong. I spend too much time in an emotional dusk. With Christmas mail and all; with the holidays, January fourth seems like cutting things close.

      ‘Is it okay if I borrow your one-twenty-five, Dad? Geneviève’s over there now and I want her to know I’m here. First we can unpack all this crap, then I’ll buzz over.’

      ‘Sure. Does she know you’re coming?’

      ‘No. It’ll be a surprise for her, too. To be honest, I didn’t know I was coming till just the day Peg and Nickie were leaving. It was only luck I had that blank signed check for the tuition. I packed my stuff in about half an hour.’

      ‘Well, whatever the reason, it’s great you’re here. This might be our last chance for a big Christmas get-together.’

      I know I’m not with it somehow. But then I never am. I also know better than to ask why he just doesn’t drive over in the Capri. I’ll wait till Lor can do some investigation and translating.

      Lor’s still on the other side of the car gabbing with Nicole and Maggie. Maggie’s definitely jumpy; I can feel it right over the car roof. She’s probably expecting me to talk about her leaving George and Seth. Not me; what good does it do? Besides, I have to live with my wife. There’s no use explaining those things; Kelly’s first law: when it comes to emotions, everybody’s wrong.