The Accidental Tourist

"Pretty soon he'll do that for three hours straight."

"Three hours?"

"Easy."

"Isn't that sort of cruel?"

"I thought you promised not to talk like that," she told him.

"Right. Sorry," Macon said. "Maybe tomorrow he'll lie down on his own."

"You think so?"

"If you practice. If you don't give in. If you don't go all soft-hearted." Then she stood up and came over to Macon. She patted his arm.

"But never mind," she told him. "I think soft-hearted men are sweet."

Macon backed away. He just missed stepping on Edward.

It was getting close to Thanksgiving, and the Learys were debating as usual about Thanksgiving dinner. The fact was, none of them cared for turkey. Still, Rose said, it didn't seem right to serve anything else. It would just feel wrong. Her brothers pointed out that she'd have to wake up at five a.m. to put a turkey in the oven. But it was she who'd be doing it, Rose said. It wouldn't be troubling them any.

Then it began to seem she had had an ulterior motive, for as soon as they settled on turkey she announced that she might just invite Julian Edge.

Poor Julian, she said, had no close family living nearby, and he and his neighbors gathered forlornly at holidays, each bringing his or her specialty. Thanksgiving dinner last year had been a vegetarian pasta casserole and goat cheese on grape leaves and kiwi tarts. The least she could do was offer him a normal family dinner.

"What!" Macon said, acting surprised and disapproving, but unfortunately, it wasn't that much of a surprise. Oh, Julian was up to something, all right. But what could it be? Whenever Rose came down the stairs in her best dress and two spots of rouge, whenever she asked Macon to shut Edward in the pantry because Julian would be stopping by to take her this place or that-well, Macon had a very strong urge to let Edward accidentally break loose. He made a point of meeting Julian at the door, eyeing him for a long, silent moment before calling Rose. But Julian behaved; no glint of irony betrayed him. He was respectful with Rose, almost shy, and hovered clumsily when he ushered her out the door. Or was that the irony? His Rose Leary act. Macon didn't like the looks of this.

Then it turned out that Porter's children would be coming for Thanksgiving too. They usually came at Christmas instead, but wanted to trade off this year due to some complication with their grandparents on their stepfather's side. So really, Rose said, wasn't it good they were having turkey? Children were such traditionalists. She set to work baking pumpkin pies. "We gather together," she sang, "to ask the Lord's blessing

. . ." Macon looked up from the sheaf of stolen menus he was spreading across the kitchen table. There was a note of gaiety in her voice that made him uneasy. He wondered if she had any mistaken ideas about Julian-if, for instance, she hoped for some kind of romance. But Rose was so plain and sensible in her long white apron. She reminded him of Emily Dickinson; hadn't Emily Dickinson also baked for her nieces and nephews? Surely there was no need for concern.

"My son's name is Alexander," Muriel said. "Did I tell you that? I named him Alexander because I thought it sounded high-class. He was never an easy baby. For starters something went wrong while I was carrying him and they had to do a Caesarean and take him out early and I got all these complications and can't ever have any more children. And then Alexander was so teeny he didn't even look like a human, more like a big-headed newborn kitten, and he had to stay in an incubator forever, just about, and nearly died. Norman said, 'When's it going to look like other babies?' He always called Alexander 'it.' I adjusted better; I mean pretty soon it seemed to me that that was what a baby ought to look like, and I hung around the hospital nursery but Norman wouldn't go near him, he said it made him too nervous."

Edward whimpered. He was just barely lying down-his haunches braced, his claws digging into the carpet. But Muriel gave no sign she had noticed.

"Maybe you and Alexander should get together some time," she told Macon.

"Oh, I, ah . . ." Macon said.

"He doesn't have enough men in his life."

"Well, but-"

"He's supposed to see men a lot; it's supposed to show him how to act.

Maybe the three of us could go to a movie. Don't you ever go to movies?"

"No, I don't," Macon said truthfully. "I haven't been to a movie in months. I really don't care for movies. They make everything seem so close up."

"Or just out to a McDonald's, maybe."

"I don't think so," Macon said.

Porter's children arrived the evening before Thanksgiving, traveling by car because Danny, the oldest, had just got his driver's license. That worried Porter considerably. He paced the floor from the first moment they could be expected. "I don't know where June's brain is," he said.

"Letting a sixteen-year-old boy drive all the way from Washington the first week he has his license! With his two little sisters in the car! I don't know how her mind works."