Chapter 5: The Good Sheets

Nan's house in Lake Forest has a front hall the size of my old college dorm.

I came through it on Monday night with two suitcases and a box of my own books.

Nan stood at the foot of the stairs with her cane in one hand.

She held a glass of sherry in the other.

"Your room's made up," she said. "I had them put in the good sheets."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I've been waiting eight years to use them."

I laughed, and then I stopped laughing, and she put down the sherry and held me for a long time.

She smelled like lavender and old paper.

"Does he know where you are?" she said into my shoulder.

"I told him I was staying with you to plan the wedding."

"That's nearly true. We'll plan something."

She let go and looked at me over her glasses.

"I never liked him, you know."

"I know, Nan."

"He chews with his mouth open when he thinks nobody's watching."

"I told your grandfather the first week. He said, Estelle, don't interfere."

"So I didn't interfere for eight years, and look where it got us."

Dinner was at eight.

Miles came at seven forty-five, in the same charcoal suit, with a folder under his arm.

Nan had invited him without asking me.

She sat him on her right and gave him the good wine.

He drank half a glass out of politeness and left the rest.

"You eat like a man who's afraid of dessert," she told him.

"I'm not afraid of dessert."

"Then have dessert."

He had dessert.

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