Early Warning

“My psychiatrist knows A. S. Neill and respects him. He’s withstood lots of unfair criticism. Frank wouldn’t hear of it, though.”

Minnie was glad of that.

Now Frank came in from the back of the house, just as the door opened to reveal Tina and, behind her, Janet. Tina was wearing black trousers and a shirt dyed black with woodcut flowers in blue and green. Over this, a cape, also in black, that fell to her knees. She was a petite version of Arthur — brown hair, brown eyes — but serious, not playful. Janet had all of a sudden matured. She was Joe as a girl — blue eyes, serious face, full lips, gentle mouth. She was wearing navy-surplus pants with bell bottoms and thirteen buttons, a black turtleneck sweater, and a navy-surplus peacoat. Her hair was nearly to her waist, dark blond now. Janet glanced around, and the look on her face said, as clear as a shout, “Oh, this place again. What a dump.” It was the most beautiful house Minnie had ever seen.

Lillian bustled in, her hand on Arthur’s arm, then came right over and put her arms around Minnie as if Minnie had weathered blizzards to get here. No one in Iowa knew quite what had happened to Arthur — some sort of nervous breakdown, some famous hospital, out for the summer, back in for a month in the late fall, out now. Always “not bad, improving,” according to Rosanna, according to Lillian. Timmy’s death, it would have been. Rosanna said, “I saw this coming,” and Joe said, “Funny you never said a word about it.” But when he gave Minnie a hug and Andy a peck on the cheek, Arthur was grinning in his usual way, pulling off his hat and gloves, already talking about a VW bus they had seen on the highway, painted like a landscape, green with flowers around the bottom, blue along the roof, faces painted on the windows. “When it passed us, the face in the back window was screaming,” said Arthur. His hair was completely gray.

“Dad wanted to follow it into the Joyce Kilmer Plaza and trade the station wagon for it,” said Tina.

“Straight up,” said Arthur. “Kids thrown in, if need be.”

Everyone laughed.

The lamb was delicious, and so were the au-gratin potatoes and the asparagus with Mornay sauce. Minnie and Annie had wolfed theirs down before Minnie noticed that everyone else was picking politely. Janet took no lamb at all. Andy seemed to have begun another Old Fashioned.

Arthur and Lillian kept up the conversation, with occasional assists from Tina, who otherwise sat by Annie and whispered to her about rock bands. Annie preferred Creedence Clearwater Revival, but Tina was still loyal to the Stones. Annie said, “I really like your T-shirt.” Tina said, “I made four of them. I can send you one.” Please do, thought Minnie.

“Where are you girls going to college?” said Andy. Minnie wondered if she was mixed up — the kids were only sophomores.

“Rhode Island School of Design,” said Tina.

“She’s already working on her portfolio,” said Lillian. “She’s been working on her portfolio for ten years.”

Annie didn’t say anything.

Minnie said, “It’s so funny that all of you were born within a couple of months of one another.”

Andy said, “It’s like a genetic experiment.”

Frank said, “Boys take a while, no matter what.”

Lillian said, “How tall are Richie and Michael now? Dean is six four. I don’t know where that comes from.”

Frank said, “I was six feet by the time I was their age. I think Richie is five ten and Michael is a little taller. Michael outweighs Richie by fifteen pounds, and it’s all muscle. He’s a true mesomorph. Richie’s a bit of an ectomorph.” He seemed to disapprove of that. Nedra appeared from the kitchen, saw all the food left on the platters, and put her hands on her hips. Minnie said, “My goodness, that was delicious. Thank you, Nedra.” Nedra gave a nod.

Andy said, “She always makes an effort when Frank is going to be home.”

Yikes, thought Minnie.

A tiny muscle beside Frank’s right eye twitched.

Arthur said, “Yes, delicious.” He had his arm across the back of Lillian’s chair in a relaxed but possessive way, and, maybe without even knowing it, he glanced fondly at her. Well, everyone could see which marriage the old maid should envy.

But Minnie didn’t envy any marriages at all. She still loved Frank in the way that ghosts inhabited abandoned houses, but if your job was to monitor the products of all sorts of marriages as they paraded through your office between September and June, then the whole institution of marriage became suspect, didn’t it? Minnie, fifty, could see that little Billy Crocker resembled Mom’s brother, who had come to no good, but the parents themselves were stunned, still had hope, still thought Minnie could turn the kid around by talking to him, giving him Saturday detention, making him do some extra work, or agreeing that more beatings might be the ticket. To Minnie, they were all bent twigs, for good or ill.