by Leslie Meier
“Eudora said she found Mireille sitting on that raised slab chatting with Ed’s spirit, and she conked her on the head, then wrapped her up in duct tape.”
“But what was Eudora thinking?” demanded Bob. “You can’t carve a fetus out of a woman’s body and expect it to live.”
“It’s hard to know what Eudora was thinking,” said Lucy. “Maybe she did want the baby. Maybe she did believe that Mireille stole Alison and Ed from her, but there’s also the fact that Ed’s will left his entire estate to his children, which meant that Mireille’s baby will get it all. Maybe Eudora wanted the baby in order to get the money or maybe she just wanted it out of the way.”
“Quite extraordinary,” said Miss Tilley, who had moved on to a large helping of refried beans.
“The one who puzzles me is Tag,” said Bill. “He’s smart and good looking. He’s well-educated and has great connections. Why did he risk it all by firebombing the restaurant?”
“An Oedipus complex?” suggested Rachel. “To please his mother?”
“Probably, plus he might well be a bigot like Ed,” suggested Bob. “And it could be he wanted to gain some cred with the America for Americans crowd.”
“Maybe he’s every bit as crazy as his mother,” suggested Lucy.
“The evil one at work, again,” said Rebecca with a sigh.
“Well, all’s well that ends well,” said Bill. “Mireille’s in good hands in the hospital—”
He was interrupted by Rey, who was tapping a glass tumbler with a spoon and beaming.
“I have good news to report: Mireille has given birth to a healthy little boy.”
Both Miss Tilley’s and Rebecca’s faces fell at this news, and they shared a look.
“A girl would have been so much nicer,” whispered Rebecca.
“I have it here, eight pounds, fourteen ounces, and twenty-one inches long.”
This news was met with great applause and a few cheers.
“And his name is Lucas,” Rey added.
“Lucas,” repeated Bill. “I think he’s named after you, Lucy.”
Hearing this, Lucy blushed. “I’m sure she just liked the name,” she said.
“Let’s all raise a glass to Lucas,” said Rey. “May he have a long and happy life.”
“To Lucas,” they all said, standing and clinking glasses.
“And also, I’m happy to announce that my son Matt will soon be joining me and managing our new restaurant, Cali Kitchen, which my friend Bill Stone is building. Construction will begin immediately and Cali Kitchen will be open in time for the summer season.”
This news was greeted with wild applause and a few whistles.
When the crowd quieted down, Rey approached Lucy and Bill’s table.
“How do you like the food?” he asked.
“Delicious,” said Lucy.
“Really good,” said Bob.
“Terrific,” said Rachel.
“And what about you, Miss Tilley?” asked Rey.
“Well . . .” she began. “Personally I prefer roast turkey, stuffing, and giblet gravy . . . but I think I could manage a bit more of that spicy cranberry salsa. And, oh dear, don’t tell me the burritos are all gone?”
“For you,” said Rey as they all laughed, “I will make some more.”
Lucy’s energy began to flag when dessert was served, but she wasn’t about to miss tasting the pumpkin flan that everyone was raving about. She was clearly exhausted, however, and Bob drove her and Bill home in Lucy’s SUV, followed by Rachel in their Volvo. The familiar route took them past the town green where Zeke Bumpus and the America for Americans group were scheduled to hold their much-publicized demonstration demanding tougher immigration policies.
“Where’s the demonstration?” asked Lucy as they passed the green where Zeke stood entirely alone, draped in an American flag and holding an AMERICA FOR AMERICANS placard.
“I think they’re all over at the church, eating Rey’s Mexican Thanksgiving Dinner,” said Bob, and they all laughed.
