by Jay Quinn
“Coffee smells good,” Melanie said as she broke her father’s reverie at the kitchen table.
Karl offered her a genuine smile in return, then said, “What are you doing up so early?” He took in her fresh face and trim form dressed in a sweatshirt identical to his own over a pair of outsized boxer shorts. The boxer shorts called to mind Melanie’s boyfriend, whom he didn’t really want to think about just now.
“I have tests to grade before I can take off tomorrow,” Melanie replied as she walked to the coffeemaker. She peered into the spout to make sure the coffee wasn’t still running into the carafe. “I should have my head examined for giving them an essay question after the slide identification part of the test.”
Karl watched as she took a pair of mugs from the cabinet over the coffeemaker and then retrieved the carton of half-and-half from the refrigerator. “What was the essay question?”
Melanie poured coffee for each of them, doctoring it with cream and packets of calorie-free sweetener. She took a sip of her own and turned back to face her father. “Mmmmm, that’s good.” Sleepily, she regarded her father’s questioning gaze and nodded. “Oh, the question.” Taking the other mug, she walked to the table, carefully placed Karl’s coffee by his right hand, and sat opposite him. “Discuss the role of light in art between the Sumerian era and the Roman Empire.” She smoothed her honey-colored hair back from her forehead, shook it, and gave her father a smile. “That probably threw them for a loop.”
Karl laughed. He had always admired his daughter, never more than when her self-assurance and intelligence trumped her good looks.
“Seriously, Dad, the girls in the class need to know the course is about more than memorizing slides of the Venus of Willendorf or the Pyramid of Cheops. Though they resist it, they have to learn to think.”
“No doubt they know now,” Karl replied dryly, and took a sip of his own coffee. He smiled in satisfaction; she had made it exactly the way he liked. “You sound like your mother in the way you challenge your students.” Caroline had retired early from an academic career, tired of university departmental politics and the relentless call to publish. Now she worked part-time as an English instructor for senior students at an affluent local private school, where she was improbably and wildly popular for her insistence that students read contemporary novels along with the typical high school canon.
“I should hope to be as good as she is, though I don’t really love the teaching. So are you working this early?” Melanie asked as she turned the sketch on his legal pad to face her.
“Always.”
Melanie studied the sketch and read the notes, then slid the pad back to face her father. “It never ceases to amaze me how you can make so little say so much.”
“Do you know what you’re looking at?” Karl asked with a smile.
“Not really. But I get the gist of it. Besides, the sketch is really for you, isn’t it?” Melanie replied as she took up her own mug once more.
“Well, it will be for my drafter as well, so I’d better polish it up some before I shoot it off to him.” Something in the sketch caught his eye. He added a few strokes to the drawing, then a few words to the notes. Satisfied, he allowed himself another sip of coffee.
“Dad, do you have any idea why Grandpa Frank wants us to tear down there to see them in such a hurry?”
Karl raised his eyes to meet his daughter’s question. His earlier concentration was scattered now, and the sketch would have to wait until he could take it into his office to refine. “I don’t think it’s anything dire or he would have said so,” he answered.
“I suppose you’re right,” Melanie said. “I thought he might just be feeling particularly dictatorial since we couldn’t make it down for Christmas this year.”
Karl hesitated before replying. “I don’t think so, Mel.”
“Well, I really couldn’t help it. I had to get Drew settled in Manhattan, and if I’d left the details up to him, we’d be living in either a place we totally couldn’t afford or a place I’d skeeve in when I move up there.”
This was not a happy topic for Karl. He knew Melanie had job applications in for several positions at museums and auction houses all over Manhattan, but he didn’t relish the thought of her living with Andrew Rigg, her boyfriend of five years. It wasn’t that he disliked Drew, who was nice enough for the most part, though Karl suspected he was a bit too rich for his own good. Things seemed to come very easily to Drew, without the benefit of any real work on his part. Though that rankled Karl, he was loath to admit he still had some trouble with the thought of Melanie as an adult, especially m Manhattan.
“And, for once, it was nice for you and Mom to have the holiday to yourselves at home, without spending it in an airport,” Melanie concluded.
“I don’t disagree, sweetheart. But I don’t think that’s what’s got into your grandfather,” Karl answered sincerely.
“I don’t know, then. I think he and Grandmere must just be lonely. In any event, I’m glad we’re going. I’ve missed Uncle Sven.”
Karl smiled. “You think your Uncle Sven will take you shopping.”
Melanie gave him a sly smile in reply.
“Come now, Mel. Aren’t you a little old to be so spoiled?”
Melanie laughed. “Never. Besides, if he doesn’t take me shopping, I’ll have just as much fun staying at his place.”
Karl gave her a puzzled look.
“That’s right… you’ve never been to his house, have you? Shame on you. He’s lived there for nearly eight years.”
“There’s just never been time. Our trips down have been so quick. It’s on the beach, right?” Karl answered defensively.
“No, not on the beach, but it is just a short walk away. It’s heaven. It’ll be good to see Uncle Rob, too…” Melanie suddenly stood and cocked her head. When Karl started to speak, she held up a hand and then pointed it toward the radio.
Karl listened as the news from Iraq was intoned with a brisk efficiency that belied the story of another car bomb and the number of dead.
As the report concluded, Melanie gave him a pointed look. “I wonder if your president or his sainted mother cares to have this news presented to their ‘beautiful mind’ today. After all, body counts are sort of beside the point m this little war, aren’t they?”
Karl sighed. In a way, he welcomed the idea of Melanie moving to Manhattan if it meant he wouldn’t need to continually defend his vote in the last election for the next three years. He held up his hands in surrender, though his pride demanded he respond. “It is hard to continue either an unwinnable war or argument, Mel. It’s too early in the morning to have this discussion again. I suggest you take your views on the president and this war to your grandfather. I’m sure he can give you a run for your money, but I’m worn out by it, okay?”
Melanie visibly relaxed. “I’m sorry, Dad. It’s just very real to me. I have a visceral disgust for the man and his sycophants. He doesn’t even read, for God’s sake; he relies on them to give him his news. He’s like a child; he wants to be told only what he wants to hear.” She shook her head as if to rid herself of an extremely unpleasant thought, then smiled. “Are you first in line for shower time?”
“Does it matter? You have your own bath,” Karl replied evenly, again refusing to rise to the bait.
“I know. It just runs cold if two people are showering at once,” Melanie said as she took both their mugs to the counter for a heat-up.
“You go ahead. I have to get this sketch off and then I’ll get ready for the day,” Karl answered.
“What time is your flight?” Melanie asked agreeably.
“Not until nine, but I want to be at the airport by seven-thirty. I have no idea how long it will take to get through security,” Karl said.
Melanie nodded. He watched as she freshened their coffee, but his eyes were already back on his sketch, with his pencil in hand by the time she returned to the table, set his mug within reach, and kissed the top of his head. Abs
ently, he patted her hand as she left to go to her room downstairs. Karl studied the sketch and notes for a few minutes more, then tore the sheet from the pad. His pencil raced on a clean sheet as he refined the sketch and his notes, ignoring his coffee.
At last satisfied, he left the table and walked into his office. The sky was gray now, betraying dawn and emphasizing the need for him to move along with his day. He quickly scanned the sheet of paper into a digital format, then attached it to an email to Barry, who would absorb and disseminate it. When the email was launched, he allowed himself a small smile. This one sketch, which had come to him so effortlessly, would see out his two days away from the office as his staff incorporated the ideas into the bits and bytes of a proper drawing on their computers. By the time he arrived back in the office on Monday morning, he knew, some meaningful progress would have been made on the project.
Karl checked his email and deleted messages he didn’t recognize by subject or sender, and then he switched to the airline’s Web site to check his flight and print his boarding pass. That chore accomplished, he gave himself a moment to relax and look out his office window. The morning light had begun to seep into his street, leaving it no less beautiful but somehow more impersonal than it had been under the lambent streetlights’ glow. He missed the privacy of the predawn morning. Even Melanie, in a familiar loving way, had been an intrusion.
Karl allowed himself a smile at her eagerness to see his brother. Sven had never let the polite distance from his brother come between him and Melanie. During the time she was growing up, there were gifts and cards on all the great events of the child’s calendar. At Caroline’s insistence, Melanie had been allowed to fly down to visit her Uncle Sven for entire weeks during the summer or for spring break. Visits with her grandparents were entirely tangential. Karl marveled at their closeness and happily accepted it as the child’s due. After all, she was the only niece and the only grandchild, and her fan club in southern Florida was a reflection on Karl himself, at least as far as he was concerned. He and Caroline had never been selfish with their child. She functioned as a presence in his family’s lives by her own right and not merely in loco parentis.
Now that Melanie was a grown woman, he was pleased she had a sense of family and continuity. His brother and mother spoke to her in Swedish in the same way one speaks to a small child, and Melanie obliged with a small child’s command of Swedish. As she grew older and her education expanded, she conversed with her grandmother m French, which delighted her French-educated grandmother to no end. In the midst of so much open admiration, Melanie was not spoiled. Again, that must have been a gift of the family’s natural reserve.
Caroline’s family was much different. They had a familiarity with each other that bordered on intrusiveness, in Karl’s opinion. They were, as he put it, “wooly”—they concerned themselves with each other’s business in a way that Karl felt was entirely inappropriate. Caroline was indulgent with them but always seemed to be more comfortable with the way Karl related to family. Melanie saw family relationships in much the same way her parents did: close enough for comfort but far enough not to encourage overinvolvement in petty details.
From the kitchen, the soft clatter of dishes and the scent of sausage and eggs stole into his office. Karl looked at the clock on his computer; it was nearing six o’clock, and he had only an hour to go before he had to leave for the airport. He reluctantly shut down his computer. Now, with leaving so close and the inevitable hassles at airport check-in and security to go, he wished he could simply stay home. More than anything, he’d prefer to spend the weekend alone with his own family here in this town house in Cary. Caroline often teasingly mocked him for being such a creature of habit, but it was a quirk she shared as well. As a couple, they had long fell into their domestic rewards and rituals. Weekends were as orderly in their eagerly anticipated pleasures as their lives were regular and satisfying. It was not in their natures to blast away for the weekend. The rest of the world held little allure for them. Now, with the trip upon him, Karl resigned himself to it and made his way back to the kitchen.
Caroline stood at the counter, fishing two croissants from a plastic bag. Dressed in a white sweater with a pattern Karl always associated with L.L.Bean and a pair of jeans tight on her small hips, and with her short hair tousled from sleep, she reminded him of a young boy. The thought of it didn’t give Karl any pause. Caroline had never been a voluptuous woman, but she had all her curves where Karl loved them most. He sidled up to her and, putting his arm around her waist, gave her neck a companionable nuzzle. Caroline rewarded him with a smile and an unembarrassed giggle when he allowed his hand to slide from her waist to give her ass a tentative squeeze.
“If you don’t watch yourself, buster, you’ll miss your flight,” she said.
“That might not be such a bad thing,” he said, and reluctantly left her to take his place at the table.
“Oh? And why is that?” she asked as she made her way to the table with their breakfast and an orange to share.
Karl took his plate as she sat down and sighed. “Oh, no reason, really. It’s just that I can’t shake the feeling there’s some larger reason for us to drop everything and fly down so suddenly,” Karl said and reached for the butter.
Caroline broke her croissant in two and took a tentative bite of a half without butter or jam. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment and then said, “Don’t assume there’s trouble, Karl. Older people get more demanding and petulant as they age.”
Karl gave her a look as he wolfed down his croissant and wiped his hands on his napkin. Satisfied for the moment, he left his sausage and eggs for a bit. “I know that neither my father nor I can ever imagine him being ‘petulant.’ ”
Caroline took a sip of her coffee and then said, “Do you think it’s something grave?”
Karl shook his head. “It’s just this notion of stepping into something I’m not ready for… having something sprung on me and not knowing how to react.”
“I see.” Caroline picked up the orange and scored it carefully with a sharp knife. “You shouldn’t be so anxious. You’re just afraid it will be something untidy.”
Karl gave her a sharp look in reply.
Exasperated, Caroline said, “Oh, Karl, for God’s sake, don’t be so fastidious or act so affronted. You and I both know that what you’re really saying is you’re happy with the status quo and you don’t really relish the thought of your father or mother being particularly needy.”
Karl watched as she peeled away the skin of the orange in neat segments. “I don’t do needy very well—I admit it,” he said.
Caroline smiled forgivingly and presented him with half of the orange. “Eat your eggs; they’ll be stone-cold in another minute or two.”
Eager to leave the uncomfortable tack the conversation was taking, Karl obeyed, eating the sausage and eggs with a real appetite. Caroline placed the uneaten half of her croissant on his plate and left the table momentarily. She returned with an opened bar of dark chocolate and the carafe of coffee. Once she’d reclaimed her seat, she poured hot coffee in both their cups and broke off three squares of her treat.
“Chocolate for breakfast?” Karl scolded.
“It’s heavenly with the orange. You should try it sometime,” Caroline responded, nonplussed. It was a taste she’d acquired when they’d visited Melanie in Tuscany the summer before. The friendly smell of the orange brought the trip back to Karl in a flood of happy memories.
Despite the happy association of oranges and chocolate, Karl grunted. “If I did, I’d be eating antacids all morning.”
“It’s a menopause thing,” Caroline admitted.
Karl noted the dampness across her forehead and over her upper lip. Wordlessly, he folded his napkin to the clean side and, reaching across the table, gently wiped his wife’s brow.
“Thank you,” Caroline murmured. “It’s hot as four hells in here this morning.”
Karl gave her a sympathetic smile and said, “Melani
e is certainly looking forward to the trip. I hope Sven is ready for the niece from hell.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing Sven myself,” Caroline admitted. “I’d love to go rummaging in that shop of his. I’d really like something striking and Swedish for my office.”
Karl had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. After nearly a year, the spare bedroom Caroline had designated as her office was still a collection of boxes on the hardwood floor in a room painted builder’s white. Meanwhile, her papers and books cluttered the dining room, with its table doubling as her desk. Actually, he dreaded the time when she would commit herself to a “look,” knowing full well it would mean a weekend of painting and an unexpected drain on their checking account, ultimately to no avail. As orderly as her mind was, Caroline was an inveterate slob when it came to her professional bits and bobs.
“I’d love some of your mother’s things,” Caroline said wistfully. “If I only had that lovely modern desk of hers, I’d be so much more organized.”
“You mean like she is?” Karl countered.
Caroline sighed. “Yes. She always has things so together.”
“That’s the benefit of six years of being knocked about by French nuns,” Karl said dryly.
Caroline took a small bite of a square of chocolate, obviously enjoying it a great deal. “Maybe that’s my problem.” She sighed. “I’m a product of the public schools.”
