Too many years? It’s barely been one. And tea—where I do I start?
“Thank you, Aunt Catherine. How is Uncle Cliff?”
I’m too busy calculating how long until Parker’s arrival to listen to her, but I nod attentively. Fifteen minutes and I can beg off, hopefully before tea is served.
“And your daughter, Dorcas?”
“Weren’t you listening, dear? I said Dorcas went off fishing with your uncle. They’ll be gone till half seven.”
Drat! Caught out. “Oh, Dorcas. I thought you said Doris.”
“Doris who? I don’t know any Doris. I’m sure Clifford doesn’t either.”
Stall, stall, stall. “And, you, Aunt Catherine. You’ve been well?”
“Oh, look! Janie has tea laid out in the folly. Come along.”
Oh, well. Maybe it will just be biscuits....
No such luck. “Oh, you must try the sandwiches, they’re Janie’s speciality.”
She pronounces it speh-cee-AL-i-tee. Five syllables instead of the necessary three. But that’s not why I hate the concoction of cream cheese, pistachios, pickles, and lime zest. And it’s not the flavor, either, which is surprisingly tolerable. I hate the texture of cream cheese. Gritting it up with nut and pickle doesn’t change its underlying smooth thickness.
“Mmm...so good,” I lie. My cellphone rings. My Parker. My savior.
“Sorry, darling,” he says. “Hung up in town for an hour. Give Aunt Kate my love.”
“But—”
“I owe you one.” Click.
You owe me so many.
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