When Patty Sue was occupied in the living room opening bottles of wine, Arch said to me, "You know Dad has a new girlfriend."

I said, "I know." I was looking through Laura's pantry for extra sugar in case we needed additional lemonade. I had brought the rest of the new bag, but the warmth of the day made me worry about the possibility of needing more. The only thing I found was some flour she had put in a canister sporting, naturally enough, a painted flower. Since I knew no homonym for sugar, I gave up.

"Maybe she'll be here," said Arch.

"Right," I said. I turned to him. "The girlfriend. Do you care?"

He stared down at the lemons and I was immediately sorry. I knew his warning was meant to prepare me for not caring, not him.

"Sorry, hon," I said. "I've just got a lot on my mind." "Will Vonette be here?" he asked. "I wanted to talk to her yesterday but Fritz said she was sick again."

Arch did not use words like grammy or grandpa because John Richard and I had never taught him to. He had a child's devotion to his grandmother, who doted on him. Fritz had always been too involved in his practice to pay any more attention to Arch than recognizing him. But Vonette's "being sick" was the euphemism the adults in Arch's life used to refer to her cocktail hour beginning at eleven in the morning. I often wondered if Arch knew, or suspected, the truth.

"Sick again," I repeated as I scanned the kitchen. "Yes, Marla told me that."

"They're coming," called Patty Sue from the other room.

"Quick, slip on your apron, kiddo," I told Arch. "Then go to the front door and greet people. Tell them to leave coats, if they have any, in Laura's bedroom, which is on the other side of the living room." I hesitated. Then I said, "And show them where the bathroom is."

His apron was in place; he raised fearful brown eyes to mine at the word bathroom.

I put my hands on his shoulders. "I checked it, and it's all clean."

He said, "I really don't like this. I'm afraid." And so, for different reasons, was I.

-3-

Parsley tendrils brushed the sides of the salmon and the exposed pink backmeat when I set the silver platter down on the long main-course table. I ladled the mayonnaise into a crystal bowl and placed it next to the salmon. Then I carried out the asparagus and the rest, including a packet with the mushrooms I had minced to replace the Jerk's tomatoes. Arch had ushered the first group into Laura's bedroom to leave their coats. The murmur of voices and click of heels on the brick walkway filtered through the air.

Backing up to the kitchen, I gave the room a quick scan before putting on my apron. Catering a reception was much like directing a play: the props and actors all had to be in place before the entertainment could begin.