Chapter Seventy-Six
Carrie followed me through a sparse sanctuary to the small mint green classroom for Ray Bolger’s new Sunday School class – “Evil”. The puns were numerous, and terrible.
“What I want to know is,” Carrie asked me later, working cabbage over the stove. “Who actually teaches that class?”
I guess Ray gets it from all sides every time he gets behind the lectern. He always gets the class of yakkers. Granted, the “problem of evil” does elicit a lot of commentary.
Carrie split at 11:30 to make our Irish dinner while I pulled on my weathered Target gloves and ancient pea coat. It might be three days from spring, but the ice and snow had already made another appearance early that morning, even if in fractional form. I was happy anyway.
Candles, soft-glow lamps, Irish music, a roaring orange fire in the wood stove. Jaya was coming over for the first time, for lunch. Not that Mom wouldn’t have all that stuff going anyway.
I guess it was a good thing she was coming, because when I texted Joe to bring back a loaf of French bread, I didn’t have a lot of confidence that he would even know what French bread was, let alone where to find it…
“Did you have to help him find it?” Mom asked Jaya later.
“Well… sort of…”
Never send the Snicketts boys to the grocery store. They will either never be able to find what you asked for, or will come back with ten sacks of Texas toast, Cheetos, and Chew Chips Ahoy!. Anyway, Carrie and Mom had the corned beef, cabbage…
“What’s that smell?” was Puck’s predictable, and alarmed question.
…homemade mashed potatoes, the bread, sweet tea, and then brownies or green sprinkle-topped Krispy Kreme ring donuts for dessert. Only Francis mostly missed out. He had taken a shift for a girl at the Y whose grandma was just getting out of the hospital…
“Yeah…” Carrie looked at him skeptically. “Which basically translates to – she’s going to go see her grandma, say hi, and run off to the St. Patrick’s Day parade.”
Francis was not entirely convinced he had been taken in, however. Although he didn’t seem too happy about supervising a pool on Sunday afternoon. His weekly nap time.
I guess things went pretty well for a meet-the-girlfriend dinner. I mean, I suppose this is only the second time that’s happened in our family. We keep things tight. When we had enough food, Linnea and I discussed her future in meteorology while she stretched a blanket out on the brick hearth and fell asleep. Even I would have roasted. Mom and Dad talked about Europe, Jaya’s family in Nebraska, how Starr’s husband used to date Avril Lavigne’s sister, and stuff, with Joe and Jaya in the dining room for a long time.
We had just heard from Rose several times over the morning. Her connection in North Carolina had been easy, apparently. I guess she was pretty tired. Dad had taken her out at 3:30 that morning for her 6:00 flight. When they recommend two hours in advance, Dad gets you there two hours in advance. And then touch-down in Miami, a shuttle to the dock, and on board, where she gave Dad a ring, just as we finished the corned beef.
Linnea peeled herself off the brick and transferred to the wood floor. I don’t know what it is about us Snicketts girls and sleeping on the floor. It just sort of works. The Bear contacted me while I was island-sweating on the love seat. What’s one man’s Arctic is another man’s Sahara. He missed us. He was having a good time with his brothers. Puck had burst through my door at 6:30 that morning…
“Where’s Dad?”
That cuts the heart strings of the big guy. He was ready to just finish the semester, work on some ideas this summer to become rich… Joke. Before he ran out to Philly on business next month. Things just keep happening, don’t they. So I decided to make myself sick on another brownie. I’m sure those statements are related.
Rose texted Carrie-Bri…
“I’m watching a guy put on lip gloss.”
Why am I not surprised. Things just happen to Rose. Weird things and really good things…
“Yeah,” said Carrie, “she’ll probably accidentally drop something on a table at the casino and win the jackpot.”
Carrie, who was just bringing out the bunnies for Jaya’s first brief flavor. They stayed for a long time, actually. As the rain began to fall again. While they chatted in the cool retreat of the basement, Dad, Mom, Carrie, and I discussed heavier elaborations of church and all that nitty gritty. Decisions must be made. Then evolution and lectures. Then Carrie found an online program to test our St. Louis accents. We were pretty solid across the board.
A few hours later, Joe took Jaya back home where they were going to watch “The Quiet Man” with her family. Dad obliged us. “Us” meaning Mom, myself, and surprisingly Linnea-Irish. We took a drive in the pelting rain through Old St. Charles. The lampposts lining cobblestone. Mostly original cobblestone, maybe 200 years old or more, I guess. The town has existed since 1769 anyway.
CRACK!
Lightening split the sky. Just one time. A universal…
“Ooooooh!”
…went through the van. Of course Francis was already asleep as we drove by Great Grandma Jewel’s other place of residence, post 85. The white Victorian house where they grew tomatoes in the garden. Francis’ head rolled around back and forth, side to side. It’s amazing how he can do that without waking himself up. Sometimes we just watch the show.
More thunder rumbled, echoing, in the night…
“Oh, Mom! Oh baby! Thunder! Thunder, Mom!” Puck announced loudly.
He pierces ear drums. Heavier rain. Crackers spinning around on the rug, all wound up. This is a good St. Patrick’s Day.